Category: English

On the third day of my business trip, I idly opened my boyfriend’s private Instagram account. He had posted something new just a few seconds earlier. **“Biggest regret in life might be meeting the girl you want to take care of forever, right before you’re supposed to get married.”** The caption was paired with a candid shot of a young woman in a floral sundress. Her name is Lily. She’s my boyfriend’s classmate from his undergrad days. Sweet, innocent, and ten years younger than me. 01 I stared at the screen, my mind going blank for a second. My boss, sitting next to me, nudged my elbow. “Daydreaming again? Pay attention, the clients are talking. Go over the proposal one more time; you’re presenting in five. You got this.” I quickly shoved my phone back in my purse and gave him a thumbs-up. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna nail this.” After the meeting, my boss told me to grab a quick lunch. We were heading to the manufacturing plant for a site inspection in half an hour. I pulled out my phone to order something on DoorDash and saw the Instagram icon. I couldn’t resist. I tapped it open again. The post was gone. Just then, my best friend Megan called. “Dude, finally,” she said, her voice a dramatic rush. “You are not going to believe what I just saw.” “Your PhD-candidate boyfriend was at the grocery store with some young girl. They bought two huge bags of groceries, laughing and joking the whole time.” “I followed them. Subtly, of course. They went into your apartment building.” “Oh my god, he’s taking another woman into the condo you guys just bought together!” “Chloe, this is huge. Why are you so quiet?” I rubbed my forehead, a bitter smile on my face. “Meg, I’d love to say something, but you haven’t exactly taken a breath.” “Hold on, I took pictures. Sending them now.” My phone buzzed. A series of photos popped up. The angles were terrible—clearly spy shots—but the faces were crystal clear. The man, with his rimless glasses and handsome, scholarly look, was my boyfriend of eight years, Leo. And the girl… she was petite, radiating a youthful sweetness. Her name is Lily. A fellow student from his alma mater, from the same small town he grew up in. A senior at the local university now. “Did you see them?” Megan demanded. “Yeah,” I said. “That’s it?! Just ‘yeah’?!” My laugh was hollow. “What do you want me to say?” I could practically hear her cracking her knuckles over the phone. “You should be flying back here right now to key her car and make that asshole walk home in his boxers!” I massaged my throbbing temples. “First, I’m in the middle of a business trip. If this deal closes, I get a promotion. I can’t just leave.” “Second, we don’t know for sure if anything is actually happening. I could fly back and find nothing.” “And finally, even if they are sleeping together, so what? I go back and we have a huge, messy fight. Megan, breaking off an engagement isn’t like a normal breakup. It’s exhausting. This whole mess with him might make me cry, but my job just got me a big enough bonus for a new designer bag. You tell me which one’s a better investment.” Megan sighed. “I get it. I do. I just hate this for you. You’ve been with him for so long, supported him through two grad school applications, through his entire PhD program. You were cooking him special ‘brain food’ meals every single day while he was studying for his comprehensive exams. If he dares to cheat on you, I will personally ruin him.” “I know you’ve always got my back,” I said, forcing a smile into my voice. “I’ll bring you back something nice.” After we hung up, I just stood there. My nose started to burn, and I felt tears welling up. I squeezed my phone, forcing them back down. After a few minutes of deep breathing, I put on a smile, pulled out my phone, and ordered a salad. I needed to eat. I had a long afternoon ahead of me. 02 The trip was a huge success. We landed a major contract, and just like my boss promised, I was promoted to Director of Sales for the West Coast. Three days later, we flew back to San Francisco. As a reward, my boss gave me two days off and offered to have his driver take me home. I smiled and told him not to worry about it; my boyfriend was coming to pick me up. I stood at the arrivals curb with my oversized suitcase and called Leo three times. I sent five texts. No answer. The early March rain was cold, like icy needles against my skin. Defeated, I hailed a cab. I punched in the code to our condo and was hit by the rich aroma of a home-cooked meal. There were already four dishes on the dining table. Leo, wearing an apron, was at the stove. And on our new white sofa, a stranger—a man in his fifties—was asleep. He looked tired, his hair graying. A lit cigarette was perched between his fingers. A long column of ash broke off and fell onto our brand-new white shag rug. I slammed the door shut, startling him awake. He sat up, stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray, and rubbed his eyes. He glanced at the wedding portrait on the wall, then at me. “You must be…” The man stood up, smiling. “You’re Leo’s girlfriend, Chloe, right?” Leo heard the commotion and came out of the kitchen, spatula in hand. He looked surprised to see me. “You’re back already?” He walked over, completely naturally, and pulled my suitcase inside. “This is Lily’s dad,” he explained. He pulled a spare pair of men’s slippers from the shoe cabinet and placed them at my feet. “Lily’s mom is in the hospital right now, just a couple of blocks from here. Lily and her dad are taking shifts staying with her, so I told them they could crash here for a few days.” “I see,” I said flatly. Leo had to get back to the stove, so he rushed back to the kitchen. I wheeled my suitcase into the master bedroom. The heat lamp in our en-suite bathroom was on, and I could hear the shower running. The sound was like a punch to the gut. The water shut off. A moment later, the door opened. A young woman in cotton pajamas walked out, toweling her wet hair. Her face was fair and dewy, like a jasmine flower after a winter rain. It was Lily. She saw me and froze. “Ch-Chloe? I thought you were on a business trip.” Just like Leo. The exact same words. My eyes fell to her feet. She was wearing my pink, bunny-ear slippers. Lily shifted uncomfortably, taking a step back. “I don’t know if Leo told you, but my mom’s in the hospital. I couldn’t really shower there, so… I just borrowed your bathroom.” Just then, Leo’s voice called from the other room. “Dinner’s ready!” 03 There were four dishes and a soup on the table, a full-on home-cooked meal. All made by Leo. In eight years, he had never cooked a proper meal. The best he could manage was instant noodles. I had no idea he had this in him. The atmosphere at the table was painfully awkward. Lily and her father exchanged nervous glances and ate in silence. Leo put a piece of braised short rib on my plate. “How was the trip?” “Good,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back today? I would have picked you up.” “I called,” I said, chewing slowly. “You didn’t answer.” He paused. “Oh, right. My phone was charging in the other room. I was in the kitchen, I must not have heard it.” Another suffocating silence. Lily’s dad finally broke it with a cheerful, forced laugh. “Chloe, you’re a lucky woman. A guy like Leo, smart, thoughtful, and he can cook? They don’t make ‘em like that anymore.” I pulled out my phone and opened the HotelTonight app. “Sir, I’ve booked you a hotel. It’s very convenient, just a few minutes from the hospital.” The man slowly put down his chopsticks and turned his head away. Leo nudged my arm. “Her mom is getting out in a few days. Her dad is going through a tough time. It’s just for a little while.” I held up my phone. “I solved his tough time. He can stay at the hotel.” Leo’s face flushed with anger. “Do you have to make such a big deal out of this?” I looked him straight in the eye. “Do I? This is our condo, Leo. The place we’re supposed to get married in. We spent a year renovating it, another six months letting it air out. I’ve lived here for less than two weeks. My slippers aren’t even broken in yet, and you’re moving strangers in without even asking me?” He clenched his fists. “They’re not strangers! They’re from my hometown. Lily is my friend.” At that, Lily, who had been silent this whole time, put down her chopsticks. “I’m so sorry, Chloe.” Her eyes were red. She stood up and pulled on her father’s arm. “We shouldn’t have stayed here without asking you first. We’re very sorry.” She gave me a deep, formal bow. Her father sighed and bowed as well. The slump of his shoulders screamed of shame and humiliation. “We’re sorry, Chloe.” For a moment, my resolve softened. Was I being too harsh? Lily wiped a tear from her eye, her voice choked. “We’re so sorry for the trouble. My mom is still at the hospital… We’ll leave now.” Leo jumped up to stop them. “Lily, don’t cry. Chloe doesn’t mean it. She’s not kicking you out.” The last of my sympathy vanished. “Yes, I am. I don’t like strangers staying in my home.” Lily looked at me, then pulled her father toward the door to get their things. A few minutes later, they were ready to leave, suitcases in hand. Leo was still hovering, trying to apologize. “It’s still raining. Wait, let me grab a jacket for you. I’ll drive you. Just wait for me in the garage.” 04 After seeing them into the elevator, Leo came back into the condo for his car keys. He stood in the entryway, staring at me. I sat at the table, looking at the four dishes and soup, my expression calm. But under the table, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. “Chloe, when did you become so heartless?” he demanded. “If you’re mad, be mad at me. Why did you have to humiliate them like that? Her dad is a taxi driver, a good, honest man. He was trying to hide it, but I saw him crying. You were so arrogant.” I let out a cold laugh. “Don’t you dare try to guilt-trip me. If they had asked me beforehand, I might have said yes. But this is on you. You made a decision behind my back, and now you have to live with the consequences.” He was cornered, and it made him angrier. “Lily is so shy and sweet. She would never have the guts to ask you. Besides, it’s not a big deal.” Shy? Sweet? I remember about four months ago, it was around 11 PM, and Leo and I were about to get intimate. I had just gotten out of the shower. He looked at me with this awkward, apologetic expression and said he wasn’t in the mood, that he couldn’t… perform. He asked if we could just try another time. What was I going to do, force him? Half an hour later, I pretended to be asleep. He quietly slipped out of bed and went to his study. I heard him get on a video call. It was with Lily. “Which problem are you stuck on?” he asked her. “This one,” she said in this super sweet, girly voice. “I feel like I just can’t get my head around it. Oh no, I’m totally going to bomb the math section of the GRE.” “It’s okay,” he said, his voice incredibly gentle. “We’ll work through it step by step.” “Is Chloe asleep?” she asked. “I hope I’m not bothering you guys, asking for help so late.” “Not at all,” he said quickly. “She has a crazy work schedule. She was out like a light hours ago.” As he was explaining the problem, I saw him discreetly take a few screenshots of her on his screen. … I had tried to rationalize it back then. Eight years is a long time. People say there’s a seven-year itch. He’s only human. I could allow him a moment of weakness, a small crush. As long as he respected our relationship, as long as he stayed on the right side of the line, as long as he still loved me, I could let it go. But he kept pushing that line, further and further, until now, I couldn’t pretend anymore. Just look at the way he was looking at me now. Pure, cold indifference. 05 There was nothing left to say. Leo shot me one last glare, grabbed his keys, and stormed out. The apartment was finally quiet. I looked at the cold food on the table and let out a small, choked laugh. And then the laughter turned to sobs. I hadn’t had a single drink, but my head was spinning. I called Megan. “Hey—” I managed to get one word out before I broke down completely. “What’s wrong? Chloe, don’t cry,” she said, her voice instantly alert. “You’re home, aren’t you? Did you catch them? Did that bastard really cheat on you?” “Hold on,” she said. “I’m coming over right now.” “Don’t,” I managed to say. I told her everything that had happened. She listened patiently. “That son of a bitch!” she finally exploded. “He’s the one who screwed up, and he has the nerve to call *you* arrogant? What a scumbag.” “Do you think,” I said, my voice thick with tears, “that all men just want someone younger?” “No,” she said firmly. “It means he’s a shallow asshole who doesn’t deserve a smart, successful woman like you.” I curled up in the chair and was quiet for a long time. “You know, I always just thought he was the typical nerdy, logical type. Too rational to be romantic.” “Two years ago, when I had the miscarriage… he made me chicken soup. He burned his hand doing it.” “I knew he just bought it pre-made from the grocery store, but I was still so touched.” “Then he had to go to a conference out of state. He asked me if I’d be okay by myself.” “I told him I was feeling better, that I’d be fine.” “So he ordered me a pizza on his phone, and he left.” “And then tonight… seeing him cook that whole meal, watching him chase after that girl…” “I realized it then. It’s not that the nerdy, logical guy doesn’t know how to be romantic. It’s just that his romance isn’t for me.” … I heard Megan light a cigarette and exhale slowly. “From the way you describe it, I don’t think they’ve slept together yet. Chloe, what are you going to do?” What was I going to do? I used to think that we would get married, and that would be that. Every couple has problems. And eight years… you don’t just throw that away. But now… the difference between being loved and not being loved was so painfully obvious. I couldn’t bear the thought of him sleeping next to me, making love to me, while thinking of another woman. “Megan,” I said quietly. “I don’t think I want to marry him anymore.” “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice gentle. Just then, my phone vibrated. A new message. It was from Leo. 06 **“Chloe, I’ve been thinking a lot. I can’t accept your arrogance and the way you treat people. Lily and her dad were my guests. The way you treated them was really a reflection of how you see me. I think we need to seriously consider if our values are even compatible.”** I read the text and laughed. A moment later, my phone rang. It was him. I told Megan I’d call her back and answered. “Hello, Chloe. It’s me.” “Lily is sitting right here next to me. She’s been crying this whole time. The phone is on speaker. I need you to apologize to her. Right now.” “If you refuse to apologize, then I think we need to seriously reconsider whether we should be getting married.” I paused for a beat, a cold smile spreading across my face. “Fine,” I said. “Then let’s not get married.”

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I was back at the Cavill Enterprises tech showcase. I knew Tristan would storm the stage crying plagiarism, but this time, I did nothing. Last time, his accusation wiped out ten percent of Cavill’s market value instantly. I was the one who stepped up, turned the scandal into a triumph, and boosted the company’s reputation. My reward? My fiancée Isabel framed me with fake evidence and had me imprisoned. The project I’d bled for was handed to Tristan on a silver platter. I screamed, demanding to know why. She looked at me with sickeningly sweet guilt. “Tristan came from nothing,” she said. “He needs this chance. I’ll marry you when you get out.” I appealed from my cell until I was beaten to death by inmates. This time, with no hero to save them, I watched as panic swept Isabel’s face. “Leo, do something!” she cried. 1 “Leo, did you hear me?” I was still frozen, the ghost of suffocation still clawing at my throat. Isabel’s hand clamped down on my arm, her nails digging into my flesh, and the sharp pain finally yanked me back to the present. The familiar scene of the launch event swam into focus, with Isabel’s frantic expression filling my vision. “Leo, the data was leaked! We’re being accused of plagiarism. You have a solution, right?” she pleaded, her voice a desperate hiss. “You managed this project from the ground up! You have to fix this!” I ignored the chaos erupting around us and forcefully shook her hand off my arm. “I managed the timeline,” I said, my voice cold as ice. “I don’t know the first thing about the science. What could I possibly do?” I let my gaze sweep across the panicked faces in the room. “Besides, only a handful of people had access to the final data. Who, exactly, was in a position to leak it and create this mess?” Isabel’s eyes darted away for a fraction of a second before she locked them back on me, her lower lip trembling. “Who leaked it doesn’t matter right now! What matters is surviving this nightmare. The marketing department has been pushing this for three years! We have contracts signed, partnerships on the line! It’s all turning to dust!” She mumbled on, her body trembling uncontrollably. The polished smile she wore for the cameras was now a grotesque, frozen grimace, drawing worried stares from everyone nearby. I watched her unravel, not with concern, but with a cruel, satisfying thrill. On stage, Tristan was in his element, radiating passion and conviction as he laid out his “stolen” research. He looked every bit the rising star of the tech world, a stark contrast to the woman who was slowly losing her mind in the front row. Fate, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor. In my last life, when Tristan had pulled this same stunt, I was the one who charged the stage. I debated him for nearly an hour, point for point, until I finally produced the original experimental drafts, proving him a fraud. We didn’t just avoid disaster; we ended up closing three more major deals that night because of the “drama.” But later, as the crowds cleared, Isabel had looked at me with pure disgust. “Tristan was giving the performance of his life, and you had to jump up there and turn it into a street brawl. Red in the face, shouting… you had no class at all, Leo.” A client had pulled me away before I could process her words, and I’d missed the simmering, intimate look she exchanged with Tristan. By the time my night was over, I found myself being sued by my own company for leaking proprietary data. Isabel stood against me in court. She produced documents I’d never seen—forged agreements, falsified bank transfers—that sealed my fate. When my appeals failed, she visited me in private. “Leo,” she’d whispered, her eyes wet with tears, “Tristan came from nothing. He needs this. Technically, I was the one who leaked the data. You’d go to prison for me, wouldn’t you?” Her tone was casual, as if asking me to pick up groceries, but her eyes were filled with a terrifyingly convincing devotion. “Don’t worry. The moment you get out, we’ll get married.” “You can forget it,” I’d spat back. “I’m not pleading guilty to anything.” Her expression had hardened instantly. She looked at me like I was an unruly child. Before I knew it, her security team had me bound and dragged away, claiming I was a flight risk attempting to flee the country. Just like that, I was in prison. And to add insult to injury, she transferred ownership of every project I had ever worked on to Tristan’s name. My entire career, my life’s work, became a footnote in his story. A joke. I refused to let it end like that. But my fight for justice ended with a shiv in a dark corner of the prison yard. It was only as I bled out that I learned the worst of it: my parents, trying to clear my name, had died in a “car accident.” Rage was the last thing I felt. White-hot, all-consuming rage. I had saved her company, and for a man she had known for less than three months, she had destroyed me and my entire family. So now, without me to ride to the rescue, I wondered: did she still find Tristan so dazzling? “Wait!” A shaky voice cut through the noise. “Tristan’s accusation of plagiarism is baseless!” I snapped back to the present. Isabel, her face pale as a sheet, was now on stage, dragging the lead researchers with her. For a moment, panic flashed in Tristan’s eyes, but he quickly replaced it with righteous fury. “Ms. Cavill! Are you going to lie to the very end? Every byte of that data, every single equation, came from my own two hands!” he boomed. “I have the original drafts right here! Your family’s money can’t buy my genius or my integrity!” He theatrically slammed a stack of yellowed papers onto the lectern, covered in a frantic scrawl of equations that captivated the audience. Isabel, speechless with fury, shoved one of her lead scientists forward. “Prove it! Prove to them this project was ours from the start!” But it was a fool’s errand. For efficiency, the project had been siloed. Each team worked on a separate module, completely ignorant of the others’ work. They were no match for Tristan, who, armed with my complete dataset, could speak with flawless authority on every single detail. Within ten minutes, her experts were stammering, defeated. The contrast was damning. A wave of murmurs and snickers rippled through the press corps. “Cavill Enterprises is a joke. A three-year hype train for a stolen project. How embarrassing.” “They couldn’t even hire a decent actor to defend them. Look at him, he can’t answer a single question. I’m cringing.” “I heard they leveraged this project to secure massive new contracts. That’s all going up in smoke now.” Camera flashes strobed across Tristan’s face, fueling his performance. He was the crusader, the righteous victim. Isabel just stood there, trapped in the spotlight, her face shifting between shades of crimson and ghostly white. Her research team had already slunk off the stage, abandoning her completely. Watching the beautiful disaster unfold, I felt a profound sense of release. Isabel and I had been inseparable since childhood, our engagement a forgone conclusion. I once believed that even if love wasn’t there, two decades of history had to count for something. But she had stabbed me in the back without a moment’s hesitation. Her eyes found mine across the room, pleading. I could see the stubborn pride in her posture, the way her body trembled on the verge of collapse. The old Leo would have rushed to her side. The new me simply gave her a slow, deliberate shake of my head, then stood up and walked out of the conference hall. On the way home, the news was already breaking, painting Cavill Enterprises as the laughingstock of the tech industry. I watched their stock ticker plummet in real-time on my phone’s screen, and without a second thought, I made a call. “Hello, I need to speak with my asset manager. I want to freeze everything under my name. Yes, all of it. As soon as possible.” Just as I hung up, my phone rang again. It was Isabel. I let out a sigh and answered. “Leo, honey, where are you?” Her voice was thick with unshed tears. “I need you. You’re the only one who can save me now!” “I’m on my way home,” I said, my tone flat, offering zero comfort. Her sobbing stopped for a beat, replaced by a surge of relief. “Okay! I’ll meet you there! Wait for me! Don’t you dare go anywhere!” By the time I’d finished my arrangements and arrived home, Isabel was already waiting on the couch. Sensing this was my chance, I pretended to answer a text, but secretly started a video recording on my phone. The moment she saw me, her impatient frown vanished, replaced by a dazzling smile. She jumped up, pulled me to the couch, and shoved a document into my hands. “Honey, sign this,” she said, her voice breathy. “You won’t let me go down for this, will you?” The words on top screamed at me in bold letters: CONFESSION AGREEMENT. I stared at the document in silence. I waited, letting the silence stretch until the smile on Isabel’s face began to crack. Then, I picked up the pen and signed my name. Relief washed over her face, though she quickly replaced it with a mask of worried devotion. “Don’t worry, Leo. This time, you’re taking the fall for me, but I’ll take care of everything. I’ll get you the best lawyers. And the moment you get out, we’ll get married!” She paused, adding, “And your parents, I’ll look after them…” “Don’t,” I cut in sharply at the mention of my parents. She carefully folded the agreement, her expression still a perfect picture of concern. “I promise, this will stay between us. It won’t be submitted until the hearing in three days.” Then, her tone shifted. “Leo… Cavill is in a really deep hole right now. I might need to… liquidate some of your assets to cover the losses.” “Do whatever you want.” It was all frozen anyway. She could try, but she wouldn’t get a dime. Overjoyed, she lunged forward to hug me, but I sidestepped her embrace. I was done with the charade. “I’m exhausted,” I said, faking a yawn. “I’m going to bed.” I turned to leave, but a man’s voice called down from the top of the stairs. “Bella, darling, I’ve got all my stuff set up!” I looked up. It was Tristan. He was standing there in one of my silk robes, a smug grin plastered on his face as he looked at Isabel. Isabel flinched, then quickly composed herself. “Tristan is getting swarmed by the press, Leo. It’s not safe for him out there. I told him he could stay here for a while,” she explained, her voice a little too high. “Besides, we need his cooperation to navigate the company through this. You understand, right?” Tristan sauntered down the stairs and wrapped an arm around Isabel’s waist, pulling her close. His eyes, fixed on me, were gleaming with open provocation. “Bella, I really don’t like the decor in this house. I’ve already drawn up some new designs. We can start renovating tomorrow.” This house… we bought it with the first real paycheck we ever earned. We had furnished it piece by piece, every item holding a memory. It was supposed to be our sanctuary. Isabel hesitated, glancing at me before shrugging. “You’re right, it’s outdated anyway. Whatever you want, Tristan.” The heavy scent of Tristan’s cologne was making me nauseous. I didn’t want to watch them anymore. I turned and headed upstairs. But when I pushed open the bedroom door, I froze. Everything was gone. All of my belongings had vanished. In their place were piles of luxury brand shopping bags and gadgets—all clearly belonging to a younger man. The large, framed engagement photo that hung above our bed was gone, replaced by a cheap, blown-up selfie of Isabel and Tristan. And tossed on the bed were several pieces of lingerie I had definitely never seen before. The air was thick with a cloying, unfamiliar scent. I lifted my phone and silently recorded everything. Just as I pocketed it, I heard footsteps approaching. “Leo, honey, your things are in the guest room,” Isabel said from the hallway. “You don’t need to sleep in the master…” She trailed off as she saw the state of the room, her eyes widening in feigned surprise, as if she had no idea what Tristan had done. Her gaze flickered to where our engagement photo used to be, a flash of awkwardness crossing her face before she coated it with that same, suffocating affection. “Leo, this was all Tristan’s idea. I just… given that he’s now the public face of the project, I thought it was best to…” Her voice dwindled under my dead, silent stare. I let out a short, humorless laugh and gestured to the lingerie on the bed. “Was this his idea, too?” Isabel’s face went white. “Leo, I swear, I didn’t know about this!” she insisted. “I’ve been running around all day trying to save the company! I just gave him a key! I had no idea he’d do all this! If you don’t want him here, I’ll tell him to leave right now!” “Don’t bother,” I said coldly, my eyes fixed on the fresh, angry-red hickey on the side of her neck. I went to the guest room. My belongings were dumped in a heap on the floor. Important company files were scattered about, some trampled with muddy footprints. Isabel followed me, with Tristan trailing lazily behind her. He saw the mess and a flicker of triumph crossed his face before he draped himself over Isabel, the picture of remorse. “Oh, Bella, I’m so sorry. I’m just terrible at organizing. I didn’t mean to make such a mess of Leo’s things,” he cooed. “But you know, coming from a small town, I’ve never even seen stuff this fancy before. I honestly didn’t know what to do with it.” His words melted her instantly. She hugged him back, stroking his hair. “It’s okay, baby. I’ll buy you new things. Leo’s a good guy. He won’t mind, will you, Leo?” The last part was less a question and more a threat. I looked at the scattered files—all sensitive Cavill Enterprises business—and almost laughed. I walked to the door, and under Isabel’s wary gaze, I shut it in their faces. I pulled out my phone and checked the video. Perfect. It had captured everything. I couldn’t show my hand just yet. Untangling my family’s assets from Cavill Enterprises would take time. And I had to warn my parents, to make sure the tragedy of my past life would never be repeated. Around two in the morning, a video call came through. It was Isabel. I enabled screen recording before answering. The first thing I heard was her breathy, exaggerated moans. It was obvious what they were doing. Then came Tristan’s smug voice. “Does it turn you on, Bella? Knowing your fiancé is right next door?” “He loves me so much,” Isabel purred back. “He wouldn’t say a thing even if he knew.” “You’re a genius, getting him to take the fall for you like that. But… after he gets out of prison, are you really going to marry him? What about me?” “Hush, baby,” she crooned. “I was just saying that to keep him quiet. The moment he’s behind bars, I’ll be the one calling the shots out here…” “Hehe, I knew you’d take care of me, Bella.” I had what I needed. I ended the call. I immediately packaged the evidence and sent it to my parents with a detailed explanation, telling them to prepare for the storm. Once I knew they were on board, I pulled a worn business card from my wallet and dialed the number. “Ava? It’s Leo. I need your help. Can we meet?”

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The day my childhood sweetheart urged me to divorce my vampire husband, I started seeing the comments. They floated in the air like ghostly text messages, visible only to me. 【OMG, girlie, no! The second you sign those papers, the main characters are going to sell you off as a blood thrall!】 【Sweetheart, you have no idea. You’re about to abandon a Seventh-Order vampire lord to run off with that manipulative jerk?】 【NOOOO, MY SHIP CANNOT SINK! Can’t the female supporting character just… accidentally eat the divorce papers or something?】 The next second, with my vampire husband watching, I stuffed the entire document into my mouth and swallowed. I offered him a weak, sheepish grin. “I guess I was just… really hungry.” 1 Matthew Malins stared at me, his crimson eyes filled with a quiet confusion, trying to decipher my endgame. I suppose anyone would think I was insane. One second he was signing the papers, the next I was swallowing them whole. I guiltily avoided his gaze, my voice barely a whisper. “If I told you I lost a game of Truth or Dare with a friend, and the dare was to ask for a divorce and then eat the papers in front of you… would you believe me?” A fresh wave of comments erupted in derisive laughter. 【LMAO, she would’ve been better off saying she was sleepwalking.】 【Girl, you can’t just take advantage of the fact that he’s obsessed with you and treat him like an idiot.】 【If he actually believes that excuse, I will personally go wash my hair while doing a handstand.】 I wanted to hide my head under the table, to stammer out another, better excuse. But Matthew simply nodded, his expression calm. His tone even held a trace of guilt. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault for not feeding you enough.” He paused. “What would you like to eat?” Me: “Huh???” The Comments: 【WTF???】 【He is so ridiculously whipped for her!】 【I vote she eats his Adam’s apple!】 【Seconded! Just drink his saliva!】 A rush of blood went to my head, and the words tumbled out before I could stop them. “I want to eat… your cooking?” Damn it. Those perverted comments almost led me astray. 2 Without a word, Matthew rolled up his sleeves and walked into the kitchen. The black apron, cinched at his lean waist, gave him an air of domestic charm that was surprisingly potent. I found myself staring, mesmerized by his efficient movements. The summer air was thick and hot, and he casually undid the top button of his shirt. A single bead of sweat trickled from his temple, tracing a path down the elegant column of his throat. I had never realized how devastatingly attractive a man could be while cooking. Gulp. The sound of me swallowing was embarrassingly loud in the quiet room. Matthew’s pointed ears twitched, and he glanced in my direction, a questioning look in his eyes. The moment our gazes met, my toes curled in my shoes with such intense awkwardness I could have excavated a new basement. Just then, my phone rang, saving me from my mortification. It was Alan, my childhood friend. “Elara? I thought we agreed I’d pick you up after you divorced him. Why did you suddenly change your mind? Are you really planning to spend the rest of your life with that… cold-blooded animal?” A loud crash echoed from the kitchen. My heart seized. I frantically lowered the volume on my phone. The comments were unimpressed. 【Why are you bothering? A vampire’s hearing is superhuman. He can hear you even if you whisper.】 【Girl, if you actually listen to this guy, you’re on the fast track to becoming a human raisin.】 【I’m just saying, if she were even a little nicer to him, he wouldn’t have ended up cradling her corpse in his coffin later in the story…】 My fingers tightened on my phone, a chill running down my spine. I raised my voice, making sure Matthew could hear every word. “Don’t you dare spread rumors! My hus-band and I are doing great, thank you very much! Next time, try shaking the empty space in your head before you talk to me. Hearing your whining gives me a headache.” 3 I hung up and, for good measure, blocked and deleted his number. Matthew was standing at the kitchen doorway, holding a plate, a stunned expression on his face. I forced a gentle smile, a stark contrast to my usual cold demeanor. He blushed, the color creeping up from his neck to the tips of his ears. “The green beans… they might be a little overcooked,” he stammered. “It’s fine! If you made it, I’ll love it.” The next second, I was staring at the unidentifiable black objects on my plate, lost in thought. 【Go on, girl, keep smiling. Why’d you stop? You just naturally hate smiling?】 【LMAO, he heard her say ‘husband’ and got so excited he added five extra spoonfuls of soy sauce.】 I gritted my teeth, speared a… bean… with my fork, and swallowed it whole. “Who said, ugh, these are overcooked? Gag. They’re… fantastic.” It turns out, you can’t fight biology. That night, I was struck with a severe case of nausea and stomach cramps. I distinctly remember Matthew staying by my side all night, but when I woke up, he was gone. 【No way, did he blame himself so much his psychic energy went into a feedback loop?】 【I mean, her blood is supposed to stabilize him, right? She should go to the basement!】 【Please, she hates it when he touches her. You think she’d willingly let him drink her blood? He always just endures it alone.】 The more powerful the vampire, the more susceptible they were to these violent psychic instabilities. If they lost control completely, they devolved into mindless, blood-crazed monsters. 4 When I reached the basement, I found Matthew slumped painfully beside an ornate, velvet-lined coffin. The moment he saw me, he flinched and pulled his jacket tighter around himself, looking like a startled animal. I reached out, wanting to stroke his hair. “Don’t touch me.” His voice was cold, sharp, and it stopped my hand in mid-air. In the year we’d been married, Matthew had never spoken a harsh word to me. The sudden distance was a shock. “You… you just snapped at me?” “I’m sorry, I—I just…” He instinctively moved to comfort me, but as he did, his jacket slipped, revealing his true vampire form. His inky black hair had turned a shimmering silver, and his eyes glowed with an eerie red light in the darkness. He quickly shrank back into the shadows, turning his head away. “Don’t… don’t look at me. I’m hideous…” I took a step closer, trying to soothe him. “No, you’re not. You’re beautiful.” The air was still for a moment. He looked up at me, silver bangs falling over his eyes, looking utterly fragile. His voice was low but certain. “You’re lying.” 【Sigh. A while back, she had a nightmare and stumbled in on his vampire form. She freaked out and screamed that he was a disgusting monster. He hasn’t let her see it since.】 【You can’t really blame her. She watched her mother get killed by a vampire. Anyone would have trauma from that.】 【Am I the only one who’s noticed his psychic energy gets unstable every time she wears that one specific perfume?】 【There are good and bad people, and good and bad vampires. I just wish she would stop being so cold to him.】 I fell silent. 5 Seeing Matthew’s pain intensify, I bit my own finger and held it to his lips. He pressed his lips together, resisting, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead from the effort. I cupped his cheek, my voice a low, coaxing murmur. “Be a good boy. Open up.” He stared at my face, a dazed look in his glowing eyes. Seizing the opportunity, I slipped my bleeding finger into his mouth. The moment the blood hit his tongue, his entire body went rigid. A wave of primal excitement washed over him, and he began to lap greedily at the wound. As he became lost in the sensation, a mischievous thought struck me. I slowly pulled my finger away and used it to tilt his chin up. “Say ‘Master’ for me.” He was hovering in a haze between lucidity and delirium. The corners of his eyes were damp, his voice hoarse. “M-Master.” “Good boy.” As a reward, I offered him my finger again. A moment later, comprehension dawned, and he flushed with a mixture of shame and annoyance, the tips of his ears turning a shade of crimson so deep they looked like they might bleed. But he couldn’t stop himself from gently nipping at my fingertip. If only I had a muzzle for him, maybe a leash… the possibilities were… intriguing.

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After my best friend got a boyfriend, she became a phone addict. One night, her 47th call made me miss a critical work alert, costing me my job. Yet she accused me of being jealous of her happiness. The next day, she “surprised” me by showing up with her boyfriend at my job interview, getting me disqualified. When my mother had a heart attack, her incessant calls caused my phone to crash—I missed the hospital’s update and never saw my mother alive again. At the funeral, she sobbed louder than I did, claiming it was her fault. Driven to despair, I jumped off a rooftop. When I woke up, I was back at the day she started dating him. 01 The name ‘Chloe’ glowed on my phone screen. Memories from my past life flooded back like a tidal wave. This was the first day she started dating him, and the first day of my nightmare. Taking a deep breath, I answered. “Anna!!! I have the most amazing news!” Her familiar shriek pierced my eardrum. “I’m in a relationship! It’s with Mark! You know, that gorgeous guy from the party last week!” “He just asked me to be his girlfriend! Ahhh, I’m going to lose my mind!” I gripped the phone, my knuckles turning white. “Anna, are you listening? Why aren’t you saying anything?” “I’m listening,” I said, forcing my voice to remain calm. “You’re not happy for me, are you?” Her tone immediately shifted to wounded. In my past life, this was where it all began. Every reaction, every word, was twisted into an accusation of jealousy. “Congratulations,” I said flatly. “That’s it?” she huffed, dissatisfied. “We’ve been best friends for ten years! Can’t you at least pretend to be a little more excited?” “Chloe, I’m at work.” “Work, work, that’s all you ever care about!” Her voice climbed an octave. “Is your stupid job more important than me getting a boyfriend?” I glanced at the project timeline on my computer. The proposal was due in three days. Last time, her endless calls had made me miss the deadline. “Chloe, can we talk tonight? I’m really busy right now.” “No! I need to share this with you right now!” “Mark just kissed me! In the middle of the coffee shop! Oh my god, my heart is still pounding!” “He said I’m the cutest girl he’s ever met!” “And he wants to take me to the movies!” I silently put the phone on speaker and continued typing. She rambled on for twenty minutes. Finally, I had to cut in. “Chloe, I really have to get back to work.” The line went silent for a few seconds. Then, a quavering, tearful voice. “Anna, you’ve changed.” “You used to be happy for me. Now, all you care about is your job.” “Is it because I have a boyfriend now? You don’t want to talk to me anymore?” The familiar guilt trip. Last time, I would have felt guilty. I would have apologized, dropped my work, and spent hours listening to her. Not this time. “Chloe, I wish you all the best. I’m hanging up now.” I decisively ended the call. The phone immediately rang again. I silenced it and focused on my work. Ten minutes later, a storm of texts. Chloe: “How could you hang up on me!” Chloe: “Anna, you’re being so unfair!” Chloe: “I thought you were my best friend, and this is how you treat me?” Chloe: “Are you jealous of me?” Chloe: “ANSWER ME!!!” I muted her notifications. By the time I left the office, I had 32 missed calls and 156 unread messages. I turned off my phone and went to the hospital to pick up my mom from her check-up. “Annie, you’re so early today!” my mom said, her face lighting up. “The project’s wrapping up. I’m taking you out for a nice dinner.” Last time, I was always late to see my mom because I was too busy managing Chloe’s emotional crises. This time, I was saving my time for the people who truly mattered. At 9 PM, I turned my phone back on. 78 missed calls. Over 300 messages. The latest one read: “Anna, Mark and I are downstairs. Come out and talk to us.” I walked to the window and looked down. Chloe was in a pink dress, nestled in Mark’s arms. The sight of them, so close, was like a needle in my eye. I drew the curtains and texted her back: “I’m asleep.” Her reply was instantaneous: “I can see your lights on! You’re just avoiding me!” “Anna, you get down here right now, or I’m going to keep ringing your doorbell!” Sure enough, the piercing buzz of the doorbell started, sharp and incessant. I picked up the intercom. “Chloe, if you press it one more time, I’m calling the police.” “The police?” Her voice crackled through the speaker, thick with disbelief. “I’m your best friend! You’re going to call the cops on me?” “It’s ten o’clock at night,” I said calmly. “You’re disturbing the peace.” “Disturbing the peace? I just want to see my best friend!” Her voice grew shriller. Then, Mark’s voice cut in. “Come on, babe, maybe she’s really tired.” “She’s not tired! She just doesn’t want to see me!” “I don’t care! She needs to come down here!” Chloe started throwing a full-blown tantrum. The doorbell ringing became more frantic. I disconnected the power to the doorbell and calmly dialed 911. “There’s someone causing a disturbance outside my building.” Ten minutes later, the police arrived. Chloe and Mark were taken to the station to give a statement. As they were led away, Chloe screamed at me, tears streaming down her face, “Anna! How could you do this to me? We’ve been best friends for ten years!” I closed the door, my face a mask of indifference. Ten years of friendship? Or ten years of me being her emotional support animal? 02 The next morning, my phone vibrated violently. A glance at the screen showed 48 missed calls. Chloe had been calling since 2 AM. I turned off the phone and got ready for work. As I opened the door, I found them standing there. Chloe’s eyes were red and swollen, Mark was in a crisp suit. “Anna!” Chloe lunged to hug me. I stepped aside. She stumbled, looking at me with wounded eyes. “Are you still mad?” “I didn’t mean to bother you, I was just so excited and wanted to share.” “We were at the station for three hours last night. I did a lot of thinking.” “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come over so late.” As she spoke, the tears started again. Mark handed her a tissue. “Don’t cry, babe. Anna’s not the type to hold a grudge.” He turned to me. “Anna, Chloe is really sorry. She was worried all night that you were really mad at her. You two have been friends for so long, after all.” I checked my watch. “I have to get to work.” “Wait!” Chloe grabbed my arm. “Have you forgiven me?” “Let go of me first.” “Not until you say you forgive me!” “Chloe, I’m in a hurry.” “Then I’ll go with you!” she insisted, clinging to me. “I’ll drive you,” Mark offered immediately. I wanted to refuse, but Chloe was already dragging me towards the elevator. The whole ride, Chloe chattered nonstop. “Anna, you know what? Mark is so good to me.” “After we left the station last night, he wasn’t mad at me at all.” “He even said it was his fault for letting me go to your place so late.” “He’s honestly the kindest man I’ve ever met.” Mark caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “Which company do you work for, Anna?” “Apex Tech,” Chloe answered for me. “She’s a project manager. She’s amazing!” “Impressive, making it to management at such a young age,” Mark said, his tone layered with something I couldn’t quite place. “It’s a shame she’s too busy to date.” “Anna’s 28 and still single!” Chloe said thoughtlessly. “My mom always says a woman’s priority should be her family. No matter how successful you are in your career, it’s pathetic if you don’t have a man to love you.” I stared out the window, not bothering to reply. As we neared my office, Chloe suddenly said, “Anna, let’s have lunch together!” “My treat, as an apology.” “I have a meeting.” “Then dinner! You have to be free for dinner!” “I’m working late.” “Anna!” She was on the verge of tears again. “You just don’t want to forgive me, do you? You’re still mad!” Mark pulled the car over. “We’re here.” I opened the door. “Thanks for the ride.” “Wait!” Chloe scrambled out after me. “When are you free? I really want to have a proper talk with you. It’s been so long since we just sat and talked.” I turned to face her. “Chloe, we’re adults now. I have my work, and you have your life. We can’t be joined at the hip like we were in school.” “But we’re best friends!” “And because we’re friends, we should respect each other’s lives.” With that, I walked into the building, the sound of her crying echoing behind me. For the next few days, Chloe left me alone. She sent a few texts, but they were just casual updates. I thought she had finally gotten the message. Until Friday afternoon. I was putting the final touches on my proposal when the office door swung open. Chloe walked in, carrying a birthday cake, with Mark trailing behind her. “Surprise!” she yelled. The entire office turned to look. “Anna! Happy birthday!” I froze. It was my birthday. But I never, ever celebrated at the office. “What… what are you doing here?” “Celebrating your birthday, of course!” Chloe placed the cake on my desk. “I remembered you love mango cake!” “Make a wish!” My coworkers started to join in. “Make a wish! Make a wish!” My team lead, Sarah, walked over, frowning. “Anna, what’s this?” “My… my best friend,” I managed, my face burning. “I’m sorry, I had no idea she was coming.” “Well, since it’s your birthday, cut the cake quickly,” Sarah said, glancing at the clock. “Don’t let it interfere with work.” Chloe had already lit the candles. “Hurry, make a wish!” With everyone watching, I had no choice but to close my eyes and pretend. When I opened them, I saw Chloe was livestreaming the whole thing on her phone. “Hey everyone! This is my bestie!” she narrated to her phone. “It’s her birthday, and I came to surprise her! Look! She’s so touched, she’s about to cry!” I snatched the phone from her hand and ended the livestream. “Chloe! What are you doing?!” “I’m capturing a beautiful moment!” she said, completely unapologetic. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime memory! Of course, I have to go live!” “This is my office!” I hissed, keeping my voice low. “You can’t just livestream in here!” “Why not?” she shrugged. “It’s not like I’m filming company secrets.” Sarah’s expression was thunderous. Mark finally stepped in. “Babe, maybe we should go. Anna still has work to do.” “No!” Chloe shook him off. “We haven’t even cut the cake!” She grabbed the plastic knife and sliced into the cake. A glob of frosting splattered onto my keyboard. “Oops, sorry about that,” she giggled.

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To enter Sterling City’s elite, I forged a new identity: Hope, the lost granddaughter of master Alistair Finch. My target was Andrew Burke, the city’s untouchable tech mogul. I buried my true self, polishing every rough edge until I was flawless as jade. It was the only way, I thought, to stand beside my radiant, distant moon. I believed if my performance was perfect, we could share a lifetime under that moon. Then I saw my ever-calm husband publicly explode over a wild-haired coffee shop girl, destroying a billion-dollar deal. I stayed to clean his mess at a gallery gala. But on the terrace, I overheard a world-shattering talk: “Andrew, your ‘artist’ wife is quite dutiful, playing nice with the sharks for you.” “She’s the perfect facade for my new-money mansion—a perfect fake.” “A painter from the projects… thinks mixing colors can hide her poverty?” Through the phone, Andrew’s lazy chuckle rang with amusement. He knew. He’d always known. He had been acting, too. 1 My heart felt like it had been plunged into ice water, the shock so cold it was numbing. “I heard that old mentor of hers, the one she supposedly learned from, is desperate for cash. Telling everyone he has a ‘star pupil.’ I give it three months before the whole story blows up. Then Mrs. Burke’s ‘art prodigy’ halo is going to shatter into a million pieces.” “I’ll bet a month!” That was Leo, Andrew’s childhood friend and a well-known gallery owner. “That forgery of Dusk Over Riverstone Ridge was damn good, I’ll give her that. But you can’t hide the soul of a craftsman. You see the way she pontificates about Rembrandt’s use of chiaroscuro? Like she’s cramming from a textbook, desperate to prove she’s read a book or two. It’s pathetic.” Andrew let out another soft laugh, his tone casual. “I’ll bet… a year. Her pride is her weakness. She’ll do anything to keep that secret buried, probably pay the old man off. It won’t be a problem, not for a while.” He sighed, a light, theatrical sound. “Old Mr. Sterling was so insistent I marry his granddaughter, that girl who can’t paint anything but pretty little flowers. I wasn’t having it.” “Then Hope showed up, right on cue. She’s a technician, not an artist, but her hands… her hands are magic. I needed a world-class forger to get Sterling’s Moonglow out of his vault. If she could paint me a flawless counterfeit, he’d be too distracted to meddle in my marriage ever again.” He paused. “And watching her try so hard, every single day, to play the part of the ethereal, secluded artist… honestly, it’s been quite amusing.” The blood froze in my veins. So, Andrew had known from the start. My talent, my skill, was nothing more than a tool for his elaborate heist, a performance for his entertainment. A burst of laughter echoed from the main hall. Andrew suddenly shushed them. Through a gap in a modern sculpture, I saw a young woman sitting on a bench in the lounge area, looking dejected. She was wrapped in Andrew’s cashmere coat, a piece that cost more than my first year of rent. The moment she looked up, Andrew silenced his friends. “Keep it down. Don’t bother her. She pulled three all-nighters for her graduation exhibit. She’s exhausted.” Leo clicked his tongue. “Seriously, Andrew? She’s a student. Her work is… juvenile. What do you even see in her?” Andrew propped his chin on his hand, his gaze fixed on the girl. “Unlike Hope’s work, which is technically perfect but has no soul, Zoe’s is real. An ordinary piece of paper comes alive under her brush. It’s that raw, unmarketable honesty… that’s what draws me in.” Just then, the girl, Zoe, stood up as if to leave. She carefully slipped off the coat and handed it back to Andrew. “Mr. Burke, thank you again for buying my painting at the auction. I promise I’ll pay you back…” “You don’t have to.” “No, I insist,” she said, her lip trembling with a stubborn pride. “I don’t want my first sale to be… charity.” A smile touched Andrew’s lips. He reached out, his finger lightly tracing a stroke of color on her canvas. It was a gesture of incredible tenderness. “Alright, alright, you win. How about this? Host a solo exhibition at my gallery. I’ll give you the main hall.” Zoe’s eyes widened. “But… I’m just a student. My work isn’t ready…” “Forget about résumés. You have a gift, Zoe. You’ll stun them all.” She hesitated for only a second before nodding. A sharp pain, like the edge of a palette knife, twisted in my chest. That main hall at Andrew’s gallery… it had been promised to me. The minimum requirement for an artist to exhibit there was a major international award. My artistic identity was a sham, but the smaller awards I’d won, those were real. I’d entered countless competitions, building a believable history to bolster the lie of my heritage. Andrew was often away on business for his art foundation in Italy. I was so afraid he’d find my knowledge lacking that I devoured books on art history, learned restoration techniques, and spent every spare moment haunting museums and libraries. And now I knew. None of it had ever mattered to him. I finally understood. You didn’t have to be perfect to earn his affection. You just had to be someone else. Andrew gently helped Zoe pack her art supplies. “My gallery always has space for a genius.” 2 Zoe beamed, a genuine, unburdened smile. Hidden in the shadows, my limbs grew numb. I felt like I was about to collapse. I stumbled back to the event organizer’s office. He was still hoping I could smooth things over. “Mrs. Burke, this is a very awkward situation for us. You see…” He gave me a strained smile. In the past, to expand Andrew’s network in the art world, I had endured so much. I’d sipped wine with greasy collectors, listening to their half-baked theories on art, and plastered a polite smile on my face. Not anymore. I wasn’t that fool any longer. I stood up and grabbed my clutch. “Mr. Davies, your business with my husband is your own to solve. I have other matters to attend to. You’ll have to excuse me.” I walked out of the gallery like a zombie, my body moving on autopilot, and returned to the Burke estate. Andrew’s mother was in the living room, perched on a rosewood chair, sipping a rare single-origin tea. She heard me enter but didn’t bother to look up. “The luncheon with the museum board tomorrow, have you confirmed the artist list for the dinner gala?” she asked, her voice crisp. “And for the biennial in Europe next month, the butler has emailed you the itineraries for our family friends. I expect you to arrange everything personally.” “Hope, we allowed you into this family to be its artistic face. You are expected to handle these duties flawlessly. Otherwise, what’s the difference between marrying you and some common craftsman from a print shop?” Craftsman. The word stabbed into my heart again. I stood silently at the entrance, then turned toward the staircase without a word. “Stop! Are you deaf? Or is all that supposed culture you affect just an act?” I paused on the first step, my back still to her. “Find someone else,” I said, my voice flat. “I’m tired.” Her stream of venomous words followed me up the stairs, but I tuned them all out. I slammed my bedroom door shut, the sound a welcome finality. Memories rushed back, and I suddenly remembered the first time I saw Andrew Burke. I was working my way through college as a dogsbody in a small gallery, restoring broken frames. It was my first glimpse into the world of high-end art, a world that made me feel small and crushingly poor. One day, I accidentally smudged the packaging of a client’s painting. He exploded. “Watch where you’re going, you clumsy little gutter rat!” he screamed, his finger jabbing at my face. “Do you have any idea what this is worth? More money than your kind will ever see in a lifetime!” I just stood there, a prisoner in the dock, apologizing over and over, my face burning with a mixture of humiliation and shame. Then Andrew stepped in, his voice as cool and smooth as silk. “It’s a decorative piece, hardly a masterpiece. Is it really necessary to terrorize a young woman over it?” The way he signed the check to cover the perceived damages—effortless, elegant, utterly dismissive—is burned into my memory. My heart had hammered in my chest. For the first time, I felt the chasm between our worlds. I was an art student, just like the names on the gallery walls, but because I was born poor, I was destined to be trod into the mud, a nameless craftsman. But I didn’t want to be a craftsman. I wanted to be an artist. I wanted a life that glittered. And I wanted the man standing before me. In that moment, a dangerous cocktail of desire and ambition gave birth to an audacious plan. I forged paintings. I wove lies. All for a ticket into the hallowed halls of the art world. All to stand beside him. And in the end, I succeeded. Only to discover it was all a game to Andrew. He didn’t love my perfect technique; he was captivated by the clumsy, amateurish scrawls of an intern. All because she was real. How utterly laughable. I picked up my phone and called my lawyer, telling him to draw up divorce papers. It was time to end this. I tossed and turned in bed for hours. Andrew didn’t come home until well after midnight. I could hear his mother’s muffled complaints from the living room before he came upstairs. He still smelled faintly of turpentine. The scent of Zoe’s studio. He unfastened his cufflinks as he spoke. “Mother said you were rude to her today. Go down and apologize later.” I lay still, my back to him. He gently patted my shoulder. “What’s wrong, darling? You seem upset.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to my forehead. The same gentle touch, but this time, I felt nothing but cold. I forced my voice to be steady. “It’s nothing. I just don’t feel well.” “By the way, how did things go with the auction house?” “They’re not resolved.” Andrew paused for a second. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll cut ties with them if I have to. The last thing I want is for you to be upset.” A bitter laugh almost escaped my lips. I wanted to ask him, who was it he didn’t want to be upset? But in the end, I said nothing. “Okay.” 3 I didn’t sleep a wink. The next day when I went to the gallery, the girl was already there. Zoe. She was even prettier and more innocent-looking in person, like a wildflower that had never been tamed. She was also completely clueless about the business of art. At the exhibition planning meeting, she didn’t understand the basic principles of lighting design, and her curatorial proposal was a mess of incoherent thoughts. Andrew was notoriously demanding with his staff. But with Zoe, he was a bottomless well of patience. I held my tongue until the meeting was over, then followed Andrew to his office to discuss the next quarter’s exhibition schedule. Zoe offered to pour me a glass of water. Her wrist tilted, and icy water splashed all over my silk blouse, blooming into a dark stain. The documents on the table were soaked. I finally snapped. “What is wrong with you?” She slammed the glass down, her face a mask of defiance and stubborn pride, but said nothing. “Don’t you think you owe me an apology?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. Her temper flared. “It was an accident! Why do you have to be so aggressive? Don’t think you can bully me just because you’re the boss’s wife.” Beside us, Andrew watched with an expression of pure admiration. So this was the raw authenticity he found so appealing. I was about to let her have it when he grabbed my hand, running interference for her. “She’s just a kid, Hope. She doesn’t have much experience. Let me apologize to you on her behalf, alright?” My heart stuttered. I pulled my hand away. The matter was dropped, unresolved. After we finished discussing work, I prepared to leave. Andrew cleared his throat. “I have a dinner meeting tonight. You go on home, don’t wait up for me.” I knew him too well. He had a tell—he always adjusted his cufflinks right before he lied. “Alright.” Back in my office, I got Zoe’s number from HR and sent her a friend request. Sure enough, just after eight o’clock, she posted an update to her story. Andrew was in the picture. They had gone to a gritty night market near the art academy. The background was a chaotic jumble of street food stalls. This was a man who drank only one specific brand of imported water, now sitting on a plastic stool, eating spicy street-side noodles with her. It was almost funny. I scrolled through her feed. The few posts she had were all about Andrew. [Turned twenty today, and Mr. V. got me my first set of expensive art supplies! But I still love my old brushes best, hehe.] [The big boss’s first time at the night market! He was frowning the whole time but still remembered to pick the cilantro out of my bowl for me!] The more I read, the tighter the knot in my chest became. Just then, my phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. My heart seized when I read the message. It was him… my old mentor, the one I’d cut all ties with. [Hope. You need to help me. You think just because you’re famous now, you can pretend I don’t exist?] [I’m rotting in a basement, and I swear I’ll drag you down from your pedestal with me!] [Don’t forget where Dusk Over Riverstone Ridge came from. Five million dollars, and I’ll keep your secret safe.] I didn’t reply. My hands trembled as I deleted the message. I suddenly remembered the bet Andrew and his friends made that night at the gallery. They were betting on how long it would take for me to be exposed. My old mentor was a ticking time bomb. Sooner or later, he would explode. But I was done living in fear. So I would be the one to light the match. 4 Andrew didn’t come home until the next morning. He gave a vague excuse about a business dinner that ran all night. But I’d already seen it on Zoe’s feed. There was no dinner. He had driven her out to her favorite spot for landscape painting. They had watched the stars and painted the sunrise together. At breakfast, my mother-in-law spoke up. “The Burke Foundation’s annual charity gala is approaching, Hope. It’s time you started the preparations.” The gala was their family’s most important social event of the year, attended by a who’s who of politics, business, and the arts. I listened as she droned on, then asked, “What date is the gala?” “The twentieth.” My phone was still vibrating. One threatening text after another. [You little bitch! If you don’t answer me, I’m coming to your house!] I hesitated for a moment, then typed a reply: [You want money? Meet me on the twentieth, at the venue for the charity gala.] 5 The days ticked by. The twentieth drew closer. For some, it was a date of dread. For others, a source of joy. Zoe’s social media was a daily diary of her time with Andrew. He skipped out of the office to help her find inspiration in the countryside. He spent a weekend with her at an artist’s market, hawking her little paintings that no one was buying, just to “experience life.” A picture showed the two of them squatting on a curb, sharing a single roasted sweet potato. Every post, every photo, was a poisoned knife twisting in my heart. The threatening texts from my mentor continued unabated. The language grew more and more vile. He called me a treacherous snake, a talentless copyist. He said I was destined to rot in a basement, a ghost painter for the rest of my life. The sealed-off memories broke open again. Him, drunk, tearing up a piece I had spent two weeks on. Locking me in a windowless cellar, forcing me to copy a painting for three days straight without sleep. Beating my hands with the wooden stretcher of a canvas, screaming that I had no real talent. My head felt like it was about to split open. The pain in my chest was so intense I was shaking. I had to dig my nails into my palms, breaking the skin, just to stay calm. The twentieth was almost here. Money couldn’t save me. The glittering dream couldn’t save me. To pull myself out of this swamp of lies, I had to rely on myself. And myself alone.

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My husband Leo’s car was blocking the neighbor’s driveway. I grabbed the spare key to move it. He had just left for a three-day conference in the city. I slid into the driver’s seat. The navigation screen was still on, displaying his recent history. One address had been searched repeatedly, and even saved as a favorite. “Annie’s Place: 7 Crescent Moon Bay, Unit 901” I scrolled through the history, my fingertips turning to ice. For the last six months, there were regular trips to that address, with the return time always logged after midnight. He’d told me he was working late, entertaining clients. I took pictures of everything on the screen, then dialed my father-in-law’s number. “Dad, Leo has been going to Crescent Moon Bay a lot recently. Do we have any relatives over there?” There was a pause on the other end of the line. When my father-in-law finally spoke, his voice was tense. “Don’t panic, Sarah. I’m on my way.” 1 Less than half an hour later, the doorbell rang insistently. My father-in-law stood on the porch, his usually immaculate suit jacket buttoned incorrectly. “Where is he?” he demanded, his sharp eyes scanning the room. I held out my phone, the screen facing him. “7 Crescent Moon Bay, Unit 901. Dad, do you know where that is? Leo told me he had work dinners every Wednesday and Friday.” His gaze fell to the screen, and his face turned ashen. He didn’t answer, but I saw his hand tremble slightly. “Maybe… maybe it’s a colleague’s place. He has a lot of young people in his department…” “Dad,” I said, taking my phone back and looking him straight in the eye. “What kind of male colleague would name his home ‘Annie’s Place’?” All the strength seemed to drain out of him. He sank onto the bench by the door and covered his face with his hands. “That bastard,” he rasped. “His mother mentioned something last month, said he was getting a little too close to a female coworker…” He looked up, his eyes bloodshot. “Sarah, it’s my fault. I didn’t raise him right. I’ll handle this for you.” “Dad, this is beyond your control now,” I said, handing him a tissue. “I just want an explanation.” “What are you going to do?” he asked, grabbing my wrist with surprising strength. “If this gets out, his career is over!” “Did he think about his career when he was doing this?” My voice was devoid of any warmth. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to make a scene at his office.” I walked over to the balcony. The city lights were just beginning to twinkle. “He’s away at a conference, right? That gives me some time to pay a visit to this ‘Annie’.” “No!” My father-in-law shot up and blocked my path. “It’s too dangerous for you to go alone! A woman like that, she’s capable of anything!” “What’s she going to do, eat me?” I said, looking at him. “Dad, I’m not going there to fight. I just need to see it for myself. I need the closure.” He stared at me, his expression a mixture of emotions. Finally, he sighed and dropped his hand. “Fine. If you have to go, I’ll go with you. I want to see what kind of trash he’s been messing with.” “You can’t come,” I said, stopping him. “If you go, are you going to disown him on the spot, or are you going to beg on his behalf? Either way, it will just escalate things and make him feel like we’re the ones cornering him.” “So what, we just sit here and do nothing?” “What does Leo care about most? His reputation. His position as a junior partner.” I pulled out my phone and started scrolling through my contacts. “What do you think would happen if I anonymously sent his navigation history and the address of that apartment to the DA’s office?” “You wouldn’t dare!” He snatched the phone from my hand. “Do you want to ruin his life?” “He ruined my life first!” I stared him down. “Dad, what do you think his main competitor, that guy Mark, would do with this information? Do you think Leo’s promotion would still be a sure thing?” The color drained from my father-in-law’s face. His hand went limp, and the phone fell onto the sofa. I picked it up and put it back in my pocket. 2 “I’m not actually going to send it,” I said. “But Leo needs to understand that the thing he values most is now on very thin ice.” I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. “Where are you going?” “Crescent Moon Bay,” I said, opening the door. “Don’t worry, I’m not going inside. I just want to know the name of the owner of Unit 901.” “And then what?” “And then,” I said, pausing, “I found something else in his car.” I pulled up a photo of a crumpled receipt on my phone and showed it to him. “A receipt from a pharmacy last month. For prenatal vitamins.” “What?” He shot up from the bench, nearly losing his balance. “Sarah, what are you saying?” “He told me he was out of town with his boss on a business trip last month. Dad, who do you think he was really with at that prenatal appointment?” My father-in-law stared at the photo, frozen, unable to speak. I walked out, leaving his heavy, ragged breathing behind me. The elevator’s metal doors reflected my face—expressionless, but with eyes as cold as steel. My phone buzzed. A text from Leo: *“Made it to the hotel, babe. This conference is a big one. I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you.”* I slowly typed back: *“Okay. I have some good news for you too.”* Charging over to Crescent Moon Bay without a plan would only tip them off. I called my sister, Claire. “Claire, I think Leo is cheating on me.” The other end of the line went silent. “Do you have proof? That scumbag!” I told her about the navigation history and the receipt. “Send me the address. I’ll have someone run a check on the owner, the property records, everything. What’s your plan? Are you going to confront him?” “No,” I said. “Not yet. I need to know who this woman is, and if he’s moved any of our assets. When I kick him to the curb, I want to make sure he leaves with nothing but the clothes on his back.” My sister laughed. “Alright, Sarah! Leave it to me. Owner’s info, building access records, financial transactions… I’ll get you everything. You just stay calm. Don’t let him suspect anything.” “He’s back in three days.” “That’s plenty of time. I’ll be in touch.” After I hung up, I went back into the living room. My father-in-law was still sitting there, looking like he’d aged ten years. “Sarah…” “Dad,” I interrupted, “stay out of this. And don’t tip him off. I’ll handle it.” He opened his mouth, then just waved a tired hand. The rest of the day, I acted completely normal. I even cooked dinner as usual. My father-in-law barely ate, his eyes constantly darting in my direction. That afternoon, a message from my sister came through. “Got it. The owner is Annie Wen, 26, single. She’s a VP at a consulting firm that works with Leo’s company. Parking garage surveillance shows her red car parked next to Leo’s every Wednesday and Friday night. The times match.” A few blurry but identifiable screenshots followed. It was him. And a photo of Annie, her arm linked through his, a triumphant smile on her face. I replied: “Keep digging. Especially the money.” I decided to take a drive to Crescent Moon Bay. I told my father-in-law I was just going for a walk. He just nodded, his eyes full of a complicated mix of emotions. I parked across the street from the apartment complex. A few minutes later, a flashy red Porsche Macan pulled up. The window rolled down, and it was her. Perfectly made-up, smiling as she talked on the phone. I watched her disappear into the underground garage, and I felt the blood turn to ice in my veins. I texted my sister: *“I just saw her. I need you to check their shared expenses, any money he’s moved without my knowledge.”* She replied instantly: *“On it. I’ll dig up everything. Are you… are you holding up okay?”* I typed back two words: *“I’m fine.”* My heart was dead, but my mind was clearer than ever. Now, it was their turn to suffer. 3 I drove home, my face a mask. My father-in-law was waiting for me. “Sarah, did you… see her?” “Yeah, I saw the car,” I said, my voice flat as I took off my shoes. “I’m tired. I’m not eating.” I went into the bedroom and locked the door, collapsing onto the bed. The tears I’d been holding back finally came, soaking the pillow. Tears for the five years of my marriage, for the trust I’d so blindly given, for the promise of a life together that was now just a lie. When the tears finally stopped, I got up and splashed cold water on my face. My reflection stared back, eyes red and swollen. “Sarah,” I said to myself, “that’s enough. Tears are useless.” He would be back in two days. I opened my laptop and started organizing. The navigation screenshots, the owner’s information, the surveillance photos, Annie’s picture… I encrypted and backed up everything. Messages from my sister started rolling in. “Found regular charges at a high-end sushi restaurant. Every Wednesday or Friday, on Leo’s card.” “Annie posted a picture on Instagram of a new watch. Same model as the one you gave Leo last year, just a different color. The purchase date matches.” “No hotel records. Looks like the apartment is their main spot.” “Still working on the bank records. He’s being careful.” Reading through it all, my heart was numb. This wasn’t a one-time mistake. This was a second life he had carefully constructed. The next day, I went into his home office, pretending to organize his files. In a hidden compartment of his old briefcase, I found a flash drive I’d never seen before. I plugged it into my computer. It contained a single encrypted folder. I called my sister, and she had someone remotely crack it. Thirty minutes later, the folder was open. Inside were stock trading records. My sister called immediately, her voice tight with suppressed rage. “Leo has been liquidating a joint investment account. Over the last six months, he’s cashed out over nine hundred thousand dollars!” “The money was funneled through several third-party accounts and ended up with Annie!” “He used it for the down payment on the Crescent Moon Bay apartment! The deed is in her name!” My hand trembled on the mouse. Nine hundred thousand dollars. That was the money we had been saving to buy a bigger house. Any lingering hope I had for him died in that moment. That evening, I went to the supermarket and bought the freshest ingredients. My father-in-law watched me come in, laden with grocery bags. “Sarah…?” “Leo’s coming home tomorrow,” I said calmly. “I’m making him a welcome-home dinner.” My father-in-law’s lips moved, but no words came out. He just looked at me with a mixture of guilt and helplessness. All the pieces were in place. The evidence, the lawyer, and my own dead heart. Welcome home, Leo. He arrived the next afternoon. I was in the kitchen, the sweet and sour aroma of his favorite pork ribs filling the house. The table was set with all his favorite dishes. My father-in-law sat in the living room, pretending to read the newspaper, his eyes darting nervously toward the kitchen. The sound of a key in the lock. “Honey, Dad, I’m home!” Leo walked in, dragging his suitcase, a weary but happy smile on his face. He kicked off his shoes and headed straight for the kitchen, his arms open to hug me from behind. I picked up a platter of food and turned at the exact right moment, neatly avoiding his embrace. I smiled, a perfectly calibrated, welcoming smile. “You’re back. Go wash up. Dinner’s almost ready.” He seemed to hesitate for a second, but my movements were so natural, he didn’t question it. “Okay! It’s good to be home!” He walked to the table and reached for a piece of pork. “Wash your hands first,” I said, my voice gentle, betraying nothing. “Right, right, of course!” He went to the bathroom, humming happily. My father-in-law stood up and started setting out the rice bowls, never once looking at his son. The atmosphere at the dinner table was strangely harmonious. Leo was starving. He ate heartily, regaling us with detailed, witty stories about his “conference.” I listened quietly, smiling, nodding, serving him more food, playing the part of the perfect wife. My father-in-law barely touched his food, just stared down into his soup. When the meal was over, Leo leaned back in his chair, satisfied. “I’m so full! Nothing beats a home-cooked meal!” He looked at me, his eyes full of warmth. “Thanks, honey. You worked hard.” I put down my chopsticks, picked up my napkin, and slowly, deliberately, wiped my mouth. The smile on my face faded. I looked him straight in the eye. “Are you full?” I asked, my voice soft. “Huh? Yeah, I’m stuffed.” He was starting to sense the shift in the mood, his expression turning serious. “Good. Now that you’re full, let’s talk.” “Talk about what?” “Let’s talk about Crescent Moon Bay,” I said. “Number 7, Unit 901.”

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My boyfriend was a boy genius, cold and brilliant, with a pathological aversion to physical touch. We’d been together for years, but we’d never done any of the intimate things couples do. Not a single one. I’d convinced myself that was just his nature, and I was prepared for a life of platonic love. That is, until his birthday. I took a forty-hour trip in a cramped coach seat, all the way across the country, just to surprise him. And I saw him. Standing under a streetlamp. He was smiling as he gave the ponytail of the girl next to him a playful tug, then laced his fingers through hers. In that single, shattering moment, I decided I was done with him. “I don’t do sloppy seconds. Any man another woman has touched is dirty to me.” And the calm, self-possessed boy genius I thought I knew… finally broke. 1 It was the fourteenth day of the silent treatment between Jerry and me, and it was also his birthday. I clutched the gift I’d spent six months of part-time work saving up for and tried to rub some feeling back into my backside, which had gone completely numb after forty hours on a train. Two thousand miles, from my state university in the Midwest all the way to his prestigious campus in the city. Standing under a flickering streetlamp on the edge of the Blackwood University athletic fields, I couldn’t help the nervous flutter in my chest as I imagined his reaction. He’d probably be the same as always. Expressionless. A slight, almost imperceptible nod in my direction. That was just him—an automaton, seemingly devoid of emotion. I sighed, thinking back to what started our fight. Distant figures swam in the hazy light, and then I saw him, a silhouette so familiar it ached. I started forward, but then I froze. He wasn’t alone. A girl in a high ponytail and a sleek tracksuit was looking up at him, laughing at something he’d said. And Jerry… I don’t think I had ever seen such a relaxed, easy expression on his face. As the girl chattered away, he reached out and gave her ponytail a gentle tug. She let out a playful squeal and slapped at his hand. Instead of recoiling, he laughed and joined in her game, their movements light and carefree. The lamplight cast a soft halo around them, a perfect portrait of youth and beauty playing under the moon. It was a scene straight out of a rom-com, but it filled me with a cold, hollow dread. There was a reason for that. The very reason for our fight was Jerry’s… condition. He was the boy genius who’d made headlines back home, fast-tracked into Blackwood University at seventeen. Now, at twenty, he was already a rising star in his academic field. But geniuses have their quirks. Jerry’s was a pathological aversion to physical contact. He avoided all team sports, never took public transit. In middle school, he’d beaten a classmate bloody just because the kid had jokingly touched his hand. And I, his girlfriend, was no exception. We never kissed. We never hugged. We had never even held hands. Once, on our first anniversary, beneath a sky bursting with fireworks, I stood on my toes and stole a quick kiss on his cheek. His eyes remained as flat and calm as a frozen lake, but the way he instantly took a half-step back was a wound that festered for a long time. I always told myself, That’s just Jerry. But sometimes, a bitter resentment would bubble up. On Valentine’s Day, my roommate made her new relationship Instagram official. The picture of their clasped hands was flooded with hearts and congratulations. I couldn’t resist taking a screenshot and sending it to Jerry. I tried to make a joke out of it. Three years together and we’ve never even held hands. I must be one of a kind. His reply was a single, devastating letter. “K.” I was so hurt, I decided not to message him. Fourteen days of silence. And of course, he would never be the one to reach out first. In the end, though, I caved. Just like I always did. I convinced myself it was fine, traveled halfway across the country for him, only to be greeted by this scene. The disconnect was so vast it felt like the ground was splitting open beneath me. A motorcycle suddenly roared past, coming dangerously close to the girl. In a flash, Jerry’s arm shot out. He pulled her behind him, his hand firmly gripping hers. That protective, instinctual gesture was another knife in my heart. And at that same moment, his eyes lifted and found me, standing alone across the street. 2 His face remained a mask of indifference. His movements hitched for a fraction of a second, and then he started walking briskly toward me. The girl, Chloe, let out a little cry and tugged on the corner of his jacket. “Hey, Jerry! What’s the rush?” He didn’t pull away. He just let her hold on as he crossed the street. He stopped in front of me, his gaze traveling down to my worn-out sneakers. “What are you doing here?” The faint light danced in his dark eyes. Before tonight, I would have mistaken that for a spark of warmth. I tried to stretch my lips into a smile. It felt like pulling taffy. I held out the carefully wrapped gift. “Jerry. I came to wish you a happy birthday.” He reached for it, but Chloe’s voice cut through the air. “Oh my god, Jerry! We’re going to be late for our reservation! We have to go, now!” His hand stopped in mid-air. Pulled along by Chloe’s insistent tugging, he took a few steps before pausing and looking back at me. “Well? Are you just going to stand there? Come on.” My feet felt like lead as I trailed behind them, my mind replaying that scene under the streetlamp on a dizzying loop. I knew I was the third wheel, the awkward extra sitting in the front seat of the taxi like a piece of forgotten luggage. But how do you just give up on someone you’ve loved for so many years? From the back seat, Chloe’s cheerful chatter filled the car. She was talking about lab gossip, inside jokes I couldn’t understand. Jerry would murmur a soft response now and then, the atmosphere between them easy and familiar. I couldn’t help but remember. I used to love sharing little bits of my day with him, too. He never really responded, but I didn’t care. Then one day, as I was excitedly telling him about the stray cat that lived near my dorm, he cut me off. “Lily, do you have nothing better to do with your time?” I never bothered him with “pointless chatter” again. I never knew that he would listen so intently to someone else’s. My knuckles were white as I gripped the handle of the gift bag, the plastic digging painfully into my palm. A wave of exhaustion and sorrow so profound washed over me, I thought I might collapse. The taxi driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror, noticing my red-rimmed eyes. He chuckled, trying to be friendly. “Hey, son, don’t just talk to your girlfriend back there,” he said, nodding toward Chloe. “Your little sister’s about to cry from being ignored.” The chatter in the back seat died instantly. My vulnerability exposed, I hastily wiped away my tears, a hot flush of embarrassment creeping up my neck. After a moment of silence, Chloe let out a soft, tinkling laugh. “Oh, I am so sorry. We completely forgot you were there.” She leaned forward slightly. “I’m Chloe Sherman, by the way. Jerry’s junior in the program. Though I skipped a grade, so we’re in the same graduate lab now. If all goes well, we’ll be doing our PhDs together, too.” She was still smiling, but there was a sharp, mocking edge to it now. “And you are? What school do you go to? Who’s your advisor? Published anything interesting? Funny, Jerry’s never mentioned you.” So this was Chloe. It was pathetic, I know, but I used to stalk the student forums for Jerry’s university. He was popular, a campus legend, and there were always threads about him. Since he never shared his life with me, it was the only way I could feel close to him. Her name, Chloe, always appeared alongside his. They called them the “Golden Couple of the Materials Science Department.” I’d even seen a photo of them. It was from some competition, the two of them on the winner’s podium, holding a trophy together, their smiles wide and triumphant. I’ll admit it. That picture made me burn with jealousy. The wind whistled past the car window. Jerry remained silent. He didn’t lift a finger to defend me against Chloe’s blatant provocation. “I’m Jerry’s… girlfriend,” I whispered. 3 The restaurant was an exclusive private kitchen specializing in fusion cuisine. A quick glance at the menu made my legs feel weak. Chloe ordered with the practiced ease of a regular. “The heirloom tomato tart, pan-seared scallops, and the duck confit for sure. Jerry loves those.” Did he? I had no idea. Before he was a genius, Jerry was just a kid from a normal family, like me. Our dates were usually at cheap noodle shops or diners. A real splurge for us was hot pot. I’d never even heard of a place like this. Chloe handed the menu back to the waiter. Just as he was about to leave, Jerry stopped him. “And add an order of the Nashville hot chicken. Extra spicy.” Chloe turned to him, her smile unwavering. “Jerry, I thought you never ate spicy food.” He just took a sip of his tea, offering no reply. But I knew. The person who loved spicy food wasn’t him. It was me. I felt that familiar, treacherous sting behind my eyes again. He always did this. Just when I was about to give up, about to walk away, he’d give me the tiniest crumb of hope to keep me chasing after him. Just like that night with the fireworks. After he’d flinched away from my kiss, he’d leaned in, just for a second, and pressed his lips softly to my hair. 4 The food was exquisite, but it tasted like ash in my mouth. After forty straight hours on a train, fueled only by a single pack of crackers to save money, my body was too exhausted to even feel hungry. Soon, the clock struck midnight. Chloe clapped her hands, and a group of waiters wheeled in an enormous, three-tiered cake. It was intricately decorated, with tiny fondant figures in lab coats dotting each layer. They must have been people from their lab. On the very top stood two figures, a boy and a girl, shoulder to shoulder, beaming. As the cake was placed in front of Jerry, Chloe began to speak. “Happy twentieth birthday, Jerry.” Her eyes sparkled as she pointed to the figures on top. “And here’s to us, reaching the summit together.” An entirely inappropriate toast. But that one order of spicy chicken had planted a foolish seed of hope in my heart. I prayed he would reject the cake, that he would say something, anything, to defend my place at his side. He just smiled faintly and thanked her. Then, he closed his eyes, hands clasped together, and made a wish. The candlelight softened the sharp, usually severe lines of his face. He had smiled more tonight than I’d seen him smile in all the years I’d known him combined. Was his wish about me? Or was it the same as Chloe’s toast—a wish for them to conquer the world together? They were geniuses. I was just an ordinary, broke student from a no-name college. The chasm between us had never felt so vast, so brutally real. I had my answer. The candles went out, plunging the room into darkness. And in that moment, my feelings for him dimmed, too. Chloe cheered and applauded. I forced a smile and clapped along weakly. She scooped a dollop of frosting with her finger and playfully smeared it on Jerry’s cheek. He just laughed, telling her to stop messing around. “Oh no, look what I did! I’ve ruined that perfect face of yours,” she giggled. “To make it up to you, I got you a proper gift!” 5 Like a magician, Chloe produced a large, sleek box from behind her chair and presented it to Jerry. The moment he opened it, my vision tunneled. I instinctively shoved the box at my own feet further under the table. Inside her box, nestled in black foam, was a brand-new, top-of-the-line laptop. It was the exact same one I had bought for him. “Your old one is so slow, Jerry. So, I got you a new one,” she said breezily. “I didn’t get anything too expensive, because I knew you wouldn’t accept it. Just picked one at random. You don’t mind, do you?” That laptop cost $1,299. To afford it, I’d spent six months tutoring. Every weekend, I’d take a two-hour bus ride to the other side of the city to teach, just because that tutoring center paid ten dollars more per hour than any place near my campus. The product of all my sweat and sacrifice, something I had treasured and protected… was just something she had “picked at random.” My hand, still holding my fork, began to tremble. Chloe’s eyes suddenly darted to me, a sly smile playing on her lips. “Oh, right! We haven’t seen what our guest of honor brought for Jerry yet.” Before I could react, she circled around behind me. Her hand shot out and snatched the box from under the table. I gasped and lunged for it, trying to get it back. The half-opened box slipped from her grasp and crashed to the floor. The laptop—the one I had cradled in my arms for two thousand miles—hit the polished hardwood with a sickening, final thud. “Oops, sorry,” Chloe said. Her tone held not a shred of apology. I dropped to my knees, fumbling to open the box. The chassis was bent, the screen was a spiderweb of cracks. I pressed the power button. Nothing. Jerry knelt beside me, reaching out to help me up. “Lily…” For the first time all night, I heard a trace of guilt in his voice. I shoved his hand away and numbly placed the broken computer back in its box. Then, I stood up and walked out of the private dining room. The moment I was through the door, I broke into a run. “Lily!” Jerry’s voice, sharp with alarm, echoed behind me. 6 I wasn’t fast enough. He caught me just outside the restaurant’s main entrance, his fingers digging into my shoulders. He was panting, his breath coming in short, harsh gasps. I looked up, meeting his eyes. For the first time, I saw genuine shock in them. His hand trembled as he reached up and touched my cheek, his thumb wiping away a trail of moisture. I hadn’t even realized I was crying. So this is what it felt like to be touched by him. A bitter taste filled my mouth. Tears streamed down my face, soaking the collar of my shirt. Jerry tried to wipe them away, but they just kept coming. Finally, in a move that stunned me, he pulled me into his arms. “Lily, don’t cry. Please, don’t cry…” he murmured, his voice laced with a frantic edge I’d never heard before. He repeated my name over and over again. In my moment of utter heartbreak, I had finally become his exception. But I was no longer the only exception. For all I knew, in all the moments I couldn’t see, he had been breaking his own rules for Chloe, time and time again. “Jerry.” I had been rehearsing this in my head for what felt like an eternity. When the words finally came out, my voice was shockingly steady. “Let’s break up.” He froze. When he pulled back to look at me, his eyes were filled with confusion. “Really, Lily? Over this?” A flicker of something—annoyance?—crossed his face before he sighed, a sound of weary resignation. “Lily, are you trying to get me to comfort you? When did you get so childish?” he asked, his tone flat. “This thing with Chloe… it’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand. Don’t make a scene.” He spoke as if I were a simple equation he could solve without effort, arriving at the perfect answer. He clearly thought I was too simple-minded to grasp the nuances of his relationship with Chloe, and that it wasn’t worth his time to explain it to a mere mortal like me. He just wanted me to stop being “childish” and pretend, like all the other times, that nothing had happened. Like a well-behaved pet. A hysterical laugh tried to bubble up, but it was choked off by a sob. Tears dripped into the corner of my mouth. I raised my hand, fully intending to slap him. But in that instant, all the strength drained out of me. My fingers just scraped across his cheek, leaving a thin, red line. “Jerry, you’re not a genius. You’re just an arrogant, self-righteous asshole.” He stood there, stunned, and slowly raised a hand to his face. Then, a strange look crossed his features. “There. Do you feel better now?”

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Isabel looked at me, her eyes flashing with a cheap sort of victory. “If you had any sense, you’d leave Marcus yourself,” she said. “He wants me. Not some barren old wife.” I’d heard the name, of course. Isabel Shaw. The scholarship kid my husband, Marcus, had sponsored. Six months ago, upon her graduation, he’d hired her as his executive assistant. The office gossip had reached me, whispers carried on waves of feigned concern, but I’d dismissed them. I had trusted Marcus. I had trusted the fifteen years we’d built together. But I never expected this girl to show up at my front door, demanding I abdicate my life. You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. She was hardly a threat. She was a footnote. I couldn’t be bothered to respond to her pathetic attempt at intimidation. Instead, I pulled out my phone and dialed Marcus. “Come home.” I hung up and met Isabel’s gaze. “Marcus is on his way. He can make his choice right here. If he chooses you, I’ll walk away. How does that sound?” A cold little smirk played on her lips. “I was trying to give you a graceful exit, but if you insist on humiliating yourself, so be it. Just don’t start crying when he tells you the truth.” I offered a small, knowing smile and said nothing. Thirty minutes later, the front door opened. Marcus was home. 1 “Marcus, darling,” Isabel began, her voice dripping with a cloying sweetness. “Tell her. She said she’ll leave if you choose me. Tell her who you want.” I looked at Marcus, a gentle smile on my face. I believed in him. I knew what his choice would be. In this, I had absolute confidence. The next second, a set of documents landed on the coffee table in front of me. Divorce papers. My smile froze on my face. It must have been the most awkward, pathetic smile of my life. A moment ago, I had been so certain he would choose me without a second thought. I’d seen Isabel as nothing more than a child, a silly distraction not even worthy of my competition. Reality delivered a slap so hard it left my ears ringing. I was a clown in my own home, a caricature of the confident wife I thought I was. The sight of those papers, with Marcus’s name printed next to mine, felt like a stone lodging in my chest, making it hard to breathe. Eight years of dating, five years of marriage. Thirteen years together, gone, like smoke. I didn’t scream. I didn’t plan to. I took a steadying breath, pushed down the chaos churning inside me, and picked up the papers. As my eyes scanned the terms, the fragile calm I’d just found shattered. “You want me to walk away with nothing?” I dropped the agreement and looked straight at Marcus. “You think this is reasonable?” My voice climbed, sharp with disbelief. “You cheat on me, and then you try to steal our entire life’s work? Marcus, do you really think I’m that weak?” The victor, Isabel, scoffed from her position by his side. “What, you think you deserve a cut? For years, you’ve eaten his food, lived in his house, spent his money. Now you want to take half? Have you no shame?” “Was I speaking to you?” I shot back, my glare silencing her. “Marcus, she’s scaring me,” she whimpered, turning to him. “Make her sign the papers and get out.” Marcus stroked her cheek, a soft, soothing gesture. The same gesture he’d used on me a thousand times. Now, watching it, I felt sick. He murmured a few comforting words to her before turning his cold eyes back to me. “Isabel is blunt, but she has a point. I won’t ask you to repay what I’ve spent on you over the years. Just sign the papers, Olivia, and we can be done.” A point? I stared into his eyes, searching for a flicker of guilt, of remorse. There was nothing. His indifference was a blade to the heart. I kept my voice as level as I could. “I want you to look me in the eye and say that again.” He didn’t hesitate. “It’s over, Olivia. Sign the papers.” I grabbed the divorce agreement, crumpled it into a tight ball, and threw it at his face. “Oh, we’re getting a divorce. But you’re the one who’ll be left with nothing. My lawyer will be in touch.” I stood, ready to walk away, unable to stomach the sight of them for another second. I had given him a chance. If he’d offered a fair split, for the sake of our history, I might have walked away quietly. But this was pure greed. This was humiliation. He could have the divorce, but he wouldn’t get a single cent more than he deserved. “Marcus, what is all this?” A woman’s voice cut through the tension as a figure rushed into the room. His mother, Helen. She grabbed my hand, her grip surprisingly firm. “Don’t you worry, Olivia. I’ll handle this.” She guided me back to the sofa. The divorce was happening, that was certain, but I had to consider Helen’s feelings. Her health had been fragile for years. I sat back down as she poured me a cup of tea. “Sweetheart, you listen to me,” she said softly. “I will not let Marcus divorce you.” She turned a stern gaze on her son and his new pet. “What have I told you both?” She looked back at Marcus. “Have you forgotten the last three years? When I was sick, who was by my side? It was Olivia. She took care of everything, never complaining. Have you forgotten that? The doctors themselves said I wouldn’t have recovered if it weren’t for her meticulous care.” I hadn’t cried when Marcus chose Isabel. But hearing Helen’s words, feeling that validation, tears pricked my eyes and began to fall. “Mom, what about the baby’s birth certificate?” Marcus asked, his voice strained. The baby? My head snapped up. Isabel placed a delicate hand on her flat stomach, a triumphant smile spreading across her face. The baby. It had always been the great sorrow of our marriage. We’d seen countless specialists, endured endless tests, only for the doctors to deliver the final verdict: Marcus was sterile. So… Isabel had agreed to that. If that was the case, then perhaps Marcus was right to choose her. I wasn’t the one who could give him what he wanted. As I sat there in stunned silence, Helen took my hand again. “Olivia, you’ve always been the reasonable one.” She wiped a tear from my cheek with her thumb. “How about this? You sign the divorce papers. But in my heart, you will always be my daughter-in-law. You don’t have to leave this house.” She squeezed my hand. “I promise you, your lifestyle won’t change one bit. When Isabel has the baby, you can help out. You know my health… I can’t raise a child. And I wouldn’t trust a stranger with my grandbaby. The doctors all say you’re the best caregiver they’ve ever seen. I know you’ll do a wonderful job raising the child.” I pulled my hand from hers. A wave of nausea washed over me as I remembered the tears I’d shed just moments ago. It was a performance. A perfectly rehearsed play. Stay in the house after the divorce? They wanted a free nanny. I laughed, a short, bitter sound. I stood up and faced Marcus. “I’m giving you three days to draw up a new agreement. If you insist on leaving me with nothing, I will find my own way to get justice.” “Olivia, I’m trying to help you, and this is how you behave?” Helen’s face hardened, the warmth vanishing completely. “How will you survive without Marcus? Do you think you can maintain this lifestyle on your own? A man of his stature, it’s practically expected for him to… have other options. Besides, Isabel is pregnant. She’s the hero here. She’s not even asking you to leave. Why are you making a scene?” Making a scene? There was nothing left to say. I turned and walked toward the door. “Stop right there,” Isabel called out. “Ever heard of pulling the rug out from under someone?” I paused. She was beaming. “Marcus has already transferred all his assets into my name. And just yesterday, as the CEO of the company, he secured a new hundred-million-dollar loan from the bank. If you want to split the assets, Olivia, the only thing you’ll be splitting is that debt.” She cocked her head. “Are you sure you want to go to court?” Marcus produced another file from his briefcase. “Out of respect for our marriage, I was trying to spare you this. But if you insist on fighting for half the assets, you can sign this agreement instead.” It was a masterstroke of cruelty. I locked my eyes on Marcus. “Scheme all you want. I’m only giving you three days. You’d better find a way to get those assets back. Trust me, if you don’t do what I say, in three days, your world will start to unravel.” “Have you been reading too many romance novels, you pathetic housewife?” Isabel shouted at my back. Housewife? I turned back, my gaze falling on Marcus. “I stayed home for three years to take care of your mother. Has it been so long that you’ve forgotten who I really am?” “Who is she?” Isabel cooed, clinging to Marcus’s arm. “Darling, I hear housewives have vivid imaginations. Tell me, what grand title has she given herself?” Marcus looked at Isabel with sickening affection. “She’s exactly what you said. A housewife.” I took one last, long look at him, then turned and left without another word. Tomorrow is the quarterly board meeting. Tomorrow, I would remind him exactly who I am. The next morning, I arrived at the corporate headquarters early and took my seat in the boardroom. At 9:30 a.m., the other board members began to file in. It had been three years since I’d last attended a meeting, and the looks they gave me were… different. It seemed they had all forgotten who secured the deals that put this company on the map. Soon, Marcus arrived. He was with Isabel. His expression flickered when he saw me, but he quickly composed himself. Isabel, however, shot me a look of pure venom. She walked straight to my chair. “Move.” There’s a hierarchy to a boardroom table. This seat was mine. I glanced up at her. “And who are you to be attending a board meeting? Get out.” “So you lost the war at home, and now you’re bringing the fight to the office?” She placed her hands on the back of my chair. “Gentlemen, perhaps one of you could explain to this woman who I am, and whether or not I have a right to be here.” Marcus stared at me, a hint of mockery deep in his eyes, as if he was savoring my humiliation. “Ms. Price,” he said, using my maiden name with deliberate formality, “Ms. Shaw is the new Vice President of this company. I believe she has every right to be here.” Isabel leaned over me, her voice a triumphant whisper. “Now you know who I am. The real question is, what are you doing here? What gives you the right to sit in this chair and attend this meeting?” I kept my eyes fixed on Marcus. “Since you were so kind as to explain Isabel’s presence, why don’t you explain mine?” He dismissed me with a wave. “This is a place of business, not your stage for throwing a tantrum. Leave now.” “Three years,” I said, my voice quiet but carrying across the silent room as I looked at the other board members. “Has it really been long enough for all of you to forget who I am?” Silence. “If you don’t leave, I’ll call security,” Marcus threatened. “Why?” I countered. “If Isabel can attend as Vice President, why can’t I attend as Vice President?” “Oh, that,” Isabel said with a theatrical laugh. “I suppose Marcus forgot to inform you. Two years ago, due to your continued absence from board meetings, the board voted to remove you from your position as Vice President.” She leaned in close, her breath hot against my ear. “Was that the ace up your sleeve? That you were the VP? So sad. Even if you were, it was a title Marcus gave you. A gift. You never really thought you were somebody, did you?” Her voice dropped to a hiss. “Now, tuck your tail between your legs and get out.” I stared at Marcus, my blood running cold. “You fired me? You fired me, and you never even told me?” “Security,” Marcus said, ignoring me completely. He gestured to the door. Two guards entered and approached my chair. He pointed at me. “Escort her out.” They moved toward me, but I stood on my own. “I can walk myself.” At the doorway, I turned back to Marcus. “You seem to have forgotten how this company was built. How every single one of our major contracts was won.” I saw his eyes flicker, a brief moment of avoidance. He hadn’t forgotten. He had chosen to erase me for her. My voice was ice. “I hear the company is hosting a gala for its partners tomorrow night. I assume it’s to build up Isabel’s profile?” His face hardened. “You’d better not make a scene. You’ll only embarrass yourself.” “We’ll see who’s embarrassed,” I said coldly. Isabel’s challenge followed me out the door. “Olivia, Marcus is being generous, but I won’t be. If you dare show your face tomorrow, I’ll destroy you. But I doubt you have the guts.” No guts? I said nothing more. Yesterday, I called him home to make a choice, and I was made a fool. Today, I came to the board meeting, and I was made a fool again. There won’t be a third time. I was the fool in those situations because Marcus held all the power. Tomorrow, he wouldn’t. Standing on the sidewalk below, I looked up at the gleaming skyscraper. It seemed that ever since this building became his, ever since the company truly became an empire, he had changed. Fine. Let’s see how he fares as a pauper again. I took out my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. “Dad, I want a divorce.” A beat of stunned silence, then an explosion of joy on the other end. “What? What did you say?” “I’m divorcing Marcus.” “Thank God! Oh, thank God! You’ve finally come to your senses.” “I didn’t come to my senses,” I said, my voice tight. “I was pushed.” My parents had always hated my marriage to Marcus. We were from different worlds, and they saw him as an opportunist. When I insisted on being with him, they cut me off. Later, after I used my own connections and skills to build his company from the ground up, they saw they couldn’t control me financially. They offered an olive branch: they would accept Marcus if we gave them a grandchild. I was their only child, and they desperately wanted a new life to dote on. But then came the diagnosis: Marcus was sterile. My parents’ disapproval hardened into outright hostility. They even launched a corporate attack against our company. I fought back, working myself to the bone, pulling all-nighters, drinking with clients until I was sick, just to fend them off. They eventually relented, but they never truly accepted him. “Sweetheart, just tell me what happened,” my father’s voice turned cold, sensing the suppressed rage in mine. “Tomorrow night, at his gala,” I said. “I want you to ruin him.” “Done,” he said without hesitation. “I’ll make the arrangements.” After hanging up, I let out a long, shuddering breath. I had cherished my marriage, fought for it, even at the cost of my relationship with my parents. It had been a shadow over my heart for years. Today, that shadow was gone. “When I loved you, you were the king of my world,” I whispered to the empty air. “Now that I don’t? You’re nothing.” I gave the building one last look and drove away. The next evening at seven, I pulled up to The Grand Regent Hotel. Just as I stepped out of my car, Marcus’s town car arrived. He and Isabel emerged, dressed to the nines. When she saw me, Isabel tightened her grip on Marcus’s arm and looked me up and down with disdain. “I guess you can’t afford designer clothes without Marcus’s money anymore. You really wore that to this event? Are you determined to be a laughingstock?” I glanced at her before my eyes landed on Marcus. “You should really get her out more. If she can’t even recognize couture, she has no business being seen in public.” “Couture?” Isabel’s face darkened. “Marcus, she must have been hiding money from you! You have to get that back, too.” Marcus squeezed her hand gently. “We will. We’ll expose her for what she really is. A crow can wear feathers, but it will never be a swan.” Isabel lifted her chin haughtily. “Did you hear that? You’re a crow.” I ignored them and walked into the hotel. “Olivia! It’s been too long.” “We’ve missed you, Olivia! It hasn’t been the same.”

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The HR manager told me to pack my things. I was being laid off. I smirked, looking him dead in the eye. “Does my dad know you’re firing me?” HR slid a paper across the desk. “The layoff list for the Security department just came down. Your dad’s on it.” I laughed. “Well, does my mom know?” He glanced at me. “We’re downsizing Janitorial, too. She’s on the list.” I leaned back in my chair, letting out a cold huff. “And I suppose my grandpa, the esteemed man at the front desk, has been informed of this momentous event?” HR tapped the last list. “Head of the chopping block for the Doorman staff. Your grandpa’s name is first.” … 1 There we were, three generations of my family, lined up like ducks in a row on termination day. The entire office was staring, their faces a mixture of pity and morbid curiosity. “They all got laid off? That’s their whole family’s income, gone in one day.” “So tragic. But honestly, who does that? You’d think a normal family would know not to put all their eggs in one basket. Now the whole carton’s smashed.” “Wait, isn’t that Mason guy dating Chloe, the VP? She’s really firing her boyfriend’s entire family?” A chubby guy with glasses chimed in, “Please. Mason had it coming. He’s a total mooch, and not content with that, he brought his whole family to leech off the company too.” “And on top of that,” he added, lowering his voice, “he had the nerve to piss off Julian. And everyone knows Julian is the one Chloe *really* cares about. It was only a matter of time.” Just then, Julian’s voice cut through the whispers. “Oh, Mason, buddy. I tried to talk Chloe out of it. I really did. I told her your family was struggling and that this was a bit extreme.” Julian, looking sharp in an expensive custom-tailored suit, shot me a look of pure triumph. “But what could I do? She insisted on defending my honor. Said she had to get rid of you all.” He leaned in, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “You’re not mad at me, are you?” I scoffed. “Cut the act, Julian. You know you threw yourself down those stairs to frame me.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “So what if I did? What does it matter if there’s security footage? Chloe refuses to even look at it.” “It’s just how it is, Mason. She believes whatever I say. I’m the one she’s always cared about. We’ve known each other for twenty years. You never stood a chance.” 2 Julian’s arrival only fueled the office gossip. The comments got louder, and meaner. The most vicious was Stacy, Chloe’s best friend. She’d always hated me. “Mason, if you had any self-respect, you would have bowed out ages ago. Look at you. Your family, your education… what part of you can even compare to a man like Julian?” Her round-faced friend nodded eagerly. “Exactly. Julian and Chloe are childhood friends. He’s an Ivy League grad from a family of academics. And your family is…?” She let out a derisive snort, scanning the four of us with utter contempt. My mom’s face went rigid with anger. She was about to let loose when my dad put a hand on her arm. “Let it go,” he murmured. “This is good for him. A little humiliation might finally knock some sense into him and stop him from being Chloe’s doormat.” My mom nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re right.” Stacy wasn’t done. “Mason, you should take a good long look in the mirror. Chloe is rich, she’s beautiful. Did you really think she would ever be serious about a leech like you?” That was the last straw for my grandpa. “Hey! You watch your mouth, young lady! Who are you calling a leech?” Before Stacy could answer, a sharp voice cut in from behind me. “He’s talking about your grandson, you useless old man.” 3 I turned. It was Chloe. Julian arched an eyebrow at me, then smugly wrapped his arm around Chloe’s waist, pulling her close in a clear display of victory. Chloe looked at my grandfather with her usual air of imperious disdain. “You’ve been fired. Don’t you dare cause a scene in my company, you old fossil.” My grandpa was so stunned by her vulgarity that he started wheezing. My parents rushed to his side, patting his back. “Dad, don’t listen to her. She’s not worth it.” I stepped in front of my grandpa, shielding him. “You can say whatever you want about me, Chloe. But you don’t talk to my grandfather like that.” My dad’s anger flared. “That’s right! You can insult my son, but you will not insult my father!” My mom crossed her arms. “And you can’t insult my son, either!” Chloe threw her head back and laughed, a high, sharp sound. “Oh, is that right? Did I hurt the beggars’ feelings? Are you seriously going to stand there and tell me you’re *not* mooches?” Her eyes swept over the four of us. “A janitor, a security guard, a doorman, and a ‘Director’ I appointed out of pity. You have the nerve to deny you’re leeches? Your entire family should be on your knees, thanking me for my charity.” “Now you listen here, young lady,” my mom snapped back. “That’s not right. If it weren’t for my—for my son busting his ass in the project department, drumming up clients, this ‘charity case’ of a company would have gone bankrupt years ago!” Chloe doubled over with laughter. “Oh, ma’am, are you serious? You think this company runs because of *your son*?” “What kind of connections does Mason have? Do you really think he’s the one who got Isabella Sterling, the heiress to Sterling Enterprises, to personally come in and sign that contract?” My mom snorted. “Why not? She happens to be very fond of—” My dad shot my mom a look, a silent signal to hold back. Seeing my mom fall silent, Chloe pounced. “What’s the matter, cat got your tongue? Don’t tell me you were actually going to say the great Isabella Sterling signed that deal because of your son?” 4 Looking at Chloe’s face, it was like seeing a stranger. Julian was her childhood friend, and ever since he’d returned from overseas, he’d made it his mission to make my life a living hell. It started the day he arrived, when he walked into my office and declared, “I think I’d like this office.” I knew then he was trouble. “If you want it, you have to earn it,” I’d told him. “This is the Project Director’s office. Can you bring in investors? Can you even manage a project?” Before he could respond, Chloe had stepped in, linking her arm with his. “Mason, don’t you dare look down on him.” “Julian isn’t like you, from a family of uneducated blue-collar workers. He’s a top graduate from a university abroad, from a highly respected family. He has connections and resources overseas you can’t even dream of. He’ll do a better job than you ever could.” I’d raised an eyebrow. “You really think so?” “Of course!” she’d snapped. “Julian is the company’s new good luck charm! He just got here and he already landed a massive deal with Sterling Enterprises. You know, only the biggest multinational corporation on the planet.” I almost laughed. “A good luck charm? Him? That project was my—” “Oh, stop it, Mason,” she interrupted. “Don’t tell me that old story about how your department’s ‘all-nighters’ landed the client. In the seven years I’ve been VP, Sterling Enterprises has never given us the time of day.” At that, Julian had smirked. “Hey, isn’t your dad one of the security guards here?” “And your grandpa’s the doorman, your mom’s a janitor—oh! Speaking of which, since your mom’s on staff, why don’t you call her up here to clean my new office?” Even Chloe hesitated. “Julian, that’s Mason’s mom. Maybe that’s going too far—” He just ruffled her hair. “Sweetheart, you’re too kind. That’s how people take advantage of you. Fine. If making his mom clean is in poor taste, Mason can do it himself.” Chloe didn’t spare me a second thought, didn’t care one bit about my dignity as her boyfriend. She and Julian flirted right in front of me while I was on my hands and knees cleaning. “Julian, look,” she’d cooed, presenting him with a lavish gift box. “A little something to celebrate you joining the company.” He opened it to reveal a Rolex. “Wow, Chloe. This is way too much.” “You deserve it,” she said. “You landed us a billion-dollar deal on your first week.” Meanwhile, I was scrubbing the floor. Chloe shot me a glare. “Hurry it up. Don’t hold up the transition.” That was just the beginning. Even after I moved offices, Julian wouldn’t let up. He’d intentionally “bump” into me during meetings, spilling scalding coffee on my hand and then playing the victim. Chloe never once asked if I was okay. She’d rush to his side in front of everyone. “Julian, are you hurt? Meeting’s adjourned, I’m taking you to the hospital.” He locked me in a supply closet overnight to “teach me a lesson” for his own manufactured slights. He made my grandpa park and wash his car every single day, treating him like a valet. He made my mom clean his office a dozen times a day, always finding some new speck of dust to complain about. He ordered my dad around like a personal servant. Every time I tried to talk to Chloe about it, she’d dismiss me. “Mason, you’re being too sensitive. They’re just doing their jobs. They get a paycheck, they should do the work.” “You’re only like this because you’re poor. It’s made you paranoid. You always assume the worst of Julian.” Then came the annual company gala. Chloe gave a heartfelt speech about the man who had stood by her all these years, who helped her achieve her dreams. Everyone, including me, thought she was talking about me. I was getting ready to stand up. But the name she called was Julian’s. I watched them embrace under the spotlight as the entire company laughed at me. From that day on, I was a joke. They called me “the clown” and “the simp” to my face. The last straw was a few days ago. Julian cornered me on the stairs. “If you don’t break up with Chloe,” he sneered, “I’ll make her kick you to the curb.” And then he just… threw himself down the flight of stairs. As always, Chloe didn’t investigate. She didn’t listen to my side of the story. She demanded I get on my knees and apologize to him. I refused. So she had HR fire my entire family. After so many humiliations, I was numb. The love I once felt for her had curdled into something else entirely. Pity, maybe. 5 Seeing us silent, Chloe continued her tirade. “What’s the matter? Nothing to say? Finally realize what pathetic losers you are?” My grandpa couldn’t take it anymore. “Of course not! It’s because of my—” My dad stopped him. “Dad, not yet. Let’s see how far she takes this.” Chloe took our silence as agreement. She tapped her designer heel on the marble floor. “Your entire family eats my food, wears clothes paid for by my salary. You should have learned your place as my dogs.” Stacy chimed in. “Exactly! Being Chloe’s dogs is the best thing that ever happened to you.” “Chloe,” I said through gritted teeth. “Don’t push it.” *CRACK.* Her hand slapped across my face, the sound echoing in the silent office. “Who do you think you are,” she hissed, “to speak to me like that?” That did it. My mom was fiercely protective. The second she saw me get hit, she lunged forward and grabbed a fistful of Chloe’s hair. “You dare touch my son? I have had it with you!” My mom slapped Chloe right back, just as hard. Stacy tried to pull my mom off, but I shoved her away. Julian rushed forward. “Mason, you’re such a mama’s boy! You’re just going to stand there and watch your mom attack Chloe?” My grandpa shot Julian a withering look. “And you, young man. Of all the things to be, you chose to be a homewrecker.” Julian’s face turned beet red. Chloe, reeling from the slap, looked at me in disbelief. “Mason! You’re really going to let your mother do this to me?” She glared at my mom. “You’re a fired janitor and you have the audacity to lay a hand on me? This isn’t over.” I stepped in front of my mom. “She did nothing wrong. If you have a problem, you take it up with me.” A slow, cruel smile spread across Julian’s face. “Mason, I told you. You can’t win against me.” Chloe’s face was a mask of hatred. “Don’t you dare act tough now, you leech. Ganging up on me with this old hag.” My dad and grandpa just stared, their eyes wide with a strange kind of awe. “Fine,” Chloe said, regaining her composure. “I’ll give you one last chance. I can forgive your mother. You can even stay. If you get on your knees, right now, apologize, and sign this document disowning your entire family. Then I’ll consider letting you take over your mother’s old job. You can stay and scrub the company toilets.” 6 “That’s—that’s just inhuman!” my grandpa sputtered. Julian sneered. “Shut your mouth, old man. Your doorman job is gone. You keep barking, and I’ll make sure you’re blacklisted from every security firm in the city.” My dad’s eyes widened in mock horror. “Wow, you can do that?” Julian puffed out his chest. “I’m the man who landed the Sterling Enterprises deal. Even Isabella Sterling listens to what I have to say.” I started clapping slowly. “Bravo. A truly masterful performance.” “But I have to ask,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “You’re firing us. Does Ms. Sterling know about that?” For a fraction of a second, Julian looked nervous, but he quickly recovered his swagger, adjusting his tie. “I don’t need to report the firing of a few nobodies to Isabella Sterling.” “That’s right,” Chloe said. “Julian is the Vice President of this company now, the hero who saved us with the Sterling deal. If he doesn’t like you, he can fire you. Does he need to pick a special day?” “Who do you think you are, that we’d need to clear it with Ms. Sterling?” She looked at me. “Mason, kneel to Julian, sign these papers, and I might keep you around.” “Yeah, Mason,” Stacy added. “Don’t be an idiot. Chloe’s company is about to go public thanks to this deal. Don’t throw away your meal ticket. Besides, you’ve knelt before. It’s not like your knees have much value left.” Chloe shoved a document into my hand. It was a legal form to formally sever all parental ties. “This is your last chance, Mason. Disown them, and I’ll still consider marrying you.” 7 I looked at the document. Then I looked at her. And I started to laugh. Under Chloe’s expectant gaze, I took the papers and ripped them into a hundred tiny pieces. I looked at her stunned face and realized, with blinding clarity, that I had been a fool. I had been in love with a monster. “Chloe,” I said, my voice steady and clear. “Remember this moment. Today is the day that I, Mason Hayes, am breaking up with you. And you will live to regret it.” I turned my back on her. Behind me, my dad, mom, and grandpa all gave me a simultaneous, triumphant thumbs-up. For the first time ever, Chloe saw me fight back. For the first time, she looked… scared. “Mason!” she yelled after me. “If you walk out that door today, don’t you ever think about coming back!” “None of you will ever work in this building again!” “Hilarious,” I called back over my shoulder. “We quit.” Julian rolled his eyes. “Go on then. Plenty of people are desperate for your jobs. Go eat out of a dumpster. It’ll save you some money.” As I walked out, I saw Chloe’s confident mask crumble. She stumbled slightly, shocked that I had actually left. Stacy rushed to her side. “Don’t worry, Chloe,” I heard her say. “He’s a total simp. He can’t live without you. Besides, I did some digging. His family’s broke. They don’t even have a house, they were living in the staff dorms. Now that they’re fired, where are they going to go? I guarantee you, he’ll be back tonight, on his knees, begging for your forgiveness.” “You’re right,” Chloe said, her voice regaining some of its strength. “He’ll be back.” 8 The second we were out of the building, my grandpa clapped me on the shoulder, his eyes shining. “Well done, grandson! You finally made all the crap we put up with these past few weeks worth it.” My mom sighed in relief. “Your grandma was right. The only way to cure a simp is to let him get his heart broken. If we had tried to intervene, you would have just accused us of trying to ruin your life.” My dad nodded. “Your grandmother is a wise woman. You see things clearly now? You’re really over Chloe?” I looked at them, my family. “I’m so sorry. I dragged you all through hell because I was an idiot. But I see it now. I’m done. I’m never going back to being her doormat. Tonight, when we get home, I’m calling the Sterlings. It’s time to move forward with the marriage arrangement.” Tears welled up in my grandpa’s eyes. “Oh, son. I’m so glad to hear you say that.” We walked around the corner of the building. Lined up along the curb was a fleet of black Escalades. A row of men in sharp, black suits stood waiting. As we approached, they all bowed in perfect unison. “Mr. Hayes. Sir. Ma’am. Young Master Hayes. Welcome back.”

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Before graduation, Holden Blackwood, the heir to a fortune, got brutally dumped by the most popular girl in school. I was gnawing on a dry bagel, sidling up to him as he stared blankly out the window, his textbooks forgotten. “You know,” I said, “I kind of look like her. Why don’t you go for me instead?” He was silent for a long moment, then he handed me the single perfect rose he’d been about to give her. I accepted my role with zero guilt, milking it for all it was worth. A million dollars a month, I demanded. He didn’t argue. He sent two. After we got married, it was clockwork. Sex four times a week, always on schedule, service with a smile. Everyone said Holden had finally found his true love. Until the day his assistant quietly pulled me aside. “That new secretary Mr. Blackwood just hired… I hear she used to be the most popular girl back in your high school. “Ma’am, he seems to really like her. He gave her your favorite private lounge…” 1 I only ever wanted Holden Blackwood for his money. The man was a hopeless romantic, the kind who showered his girlfriend with gifts. While I was scraping by, so hungry I’d count a stale bagel as a meal, I could only envy Sophia, who wore $200,000 earrings before she even had a diploma. What I couldn’t understand was why she’d throw away a man like Holden for some broke scholarship kid. So, the moment Sophia slapped Holden across the face and stormed off, I blocked her path at the classroom door. “Are you two really over?” She shot a disdainful look at my frayed school uniform and flicked my hand off her arm. “Yes. We’re over.” “So, can I make a move on him?” Her eyes raked over my shabby clothes, and a smirk blossomed on her face. “Sure. Go for it. If you actually manage to land him, I’ll give you these earrings.” My gaze fixed on the glittering diamonds he’d given her. I nodded. At our graduation party, when Holden walked in with his arm wrapped around my waist, Sophia’s smile froze on her face. The second Holden stepped away to the restroom, she requested a song for me. As the lyrics “cheating bitch” echoed through the bar, the room fell silent, all eyes turning to me. “You’re pathetic, Chloe,” Sophia sneered. I knew exactly what Holden saw me as. A stand-in. A replacement. But I just grabbed a bottle of champagne, popped the cork, and poured the entire thing over her perfectly styled hair. Then, I plucked the earrings from her lobes. “A bet’s a bet,” I said coolly. “If you didn’t want me to have him, you shouldn’t have gotten engaged to that charity case.” “Chloe!” she shrieked, lunging at me. But a strong arm yanked me back, and Holden took the force of her slap for me. He pulled me out of the bar, and we drove in suffocating silence. He was hurting, I knew. His heart still ached for her. And I knew my place. I followed Sophia on Instagram. Every new outfit she posted, I bought the exact same one. And I’d wear it on our designated nights together. Each time he saw me dressed in her style, a flicker of something unreadable would cross his face. I knew he was looking at her, not me. That he secretly stalked her profile too, seeing in me a ghost of the girl he’d lost. My best friend, Mia, was furious for me. I was his wife, after all. But I didn’t mind. I asked for a million a month; he gave me two. I pushed my luck and asked for three; he wired me five. With a life like this, who needed love? I was born into a world devoid of affection and money. I would claw at any opportunity to make a buck, shame be damned. As long as Holden was still interested in this game, I was going to play my part to perfection. On our first anniversary, Sophia posted a new photo. A delicate butterfly tattooed on the nape of her neck. Tears streamed down my face as the needle dug into my skin, but ten agonizing hours later, I had a perfect replica. When Holden emerged from the shower, toweling his hair, he stopped dead. He saw me, perched on the bed in a lavender lace nightgown, the fresh tattoo on my neck exposed. “What’s wrong? You don’t like it?” “Don’t ever do this again,” he said, his voice flat. He showed no interest in the butterfly. “And get rid of all your purple clothes.” My heart sank. Lavender was Sophia’s favorite color. Was he tired of me mimicking his first love? Was my time as the stand-in finally over? “I mean, it must have hurt,” he clarified, flicking my forehead gently. “From now on, you don’t have to copy her. I’ll still give you plenty of money.” The next day, our housekeeper cleared every last purple item from my closet. I didn’t care; I’d always hated the color anyway. She replaced them with racks of elegant black dresses. I ran my hand over the exquisite fabric. He knew I loved black? But if I wasn’t Sophia’s clone anymore, what was my purpose? To test the waters, I asked for eight million. He gave me an unlimited black card. A companion card to his own. While shopping with Mia, she poked me. “I thought your plan was to stick it out for five years, then take the money and run. It’s almost been five years. When are you filing for divorce?” I found my gaze fixed on a display of tiny baby clothes in a shop window, and for a moment, I was lost in thought. 2 I had been Holden Blackwood’s substitute for five years. I didn’t know what it felt like to truly love someone. My only reference point was a faded memory of my mother, before she left with another man. The kindest thing she ever did for me was knit me a scarf. Now, my fingers were covered in bandages, but the scarf was finished. It seemed Holden didn’t need it anymore. It was one of our nights, and he was half an hour late. I waited on the sofa until I drifted off, only to be woken by a soft kiss. “Sorry,” Holden murmured, his breath hot and restrained as he undid his tie. “A client added a last-minute clause. I got held up.” For the first time ever, I pushed him away. “When are you planning to divorce me?” His breath hitched. “What are you talking about?” I looked up at him. “I know she’s back. You even gave her my favorite lounge at the office. I checked—my access has been revoked.” His muscles tensed. “Holden, don’t get me wrong. I won’t cling to you. I don’t even need a huge settlement. Just give me—” He was already on his phone, his tone colder than I’d ever heard it. “Secretary? What secretary? What’s this about the lounge? Since when does my staff get shuffled around without my approval?” On the other end, the head of HR stammered, “Mr. Blackwood, she showed us photos of the two of you from back when you were dating. She said… she said your wife stole you from her. And your wife does look a lot like Ms. Sophia, and the photos were definitely of you, so we just assumed…” Holden’s expression was glacial. “Blacklist Sophia from the entire industry. I want to see my wife’s access to that lounge restored within the hour. And you? Go to accounting and pick up your final paycheck.” The HR manager tried to protest, but Holden had already hung up. I stared at him, stunned. He turned and pulled me into a fierce embrace, his lips crashing down on mine. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against my mouth. “I had no idea. I’ve been away from the main office…” I believed him. He was always jetting around the globe for business. But no matter how far he was, he never missed one of our four nights a week. Still, a seed of doubt remained. I clutched the front of his shirt. “You’re not worried she’ll be heartbroken? Blacklisting your old flame like that?” “What old flame?” he growled, kissing me until I was breathless. “I only have you.” “Are you… telling me how you feel?” “Yes.” “Then, Holden,” I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding on tight. “What am I to you?” He paused, then his lips found mine again, more intense this time. “You’re my wife.” A shiver went through me. “Then from now on, I’m going to start acting like it.” “It’s about time you did.” Neither of us slept that night. 3 My knitting had improved. I unraveled the first scarf and re-knit it, making it bigger, warmer. But then Mia sent me a video. In the clip, Holden was in Monaco. After a meeting at his private villa, he was walking under a black umbrella as it poured. He passed Sophia. Since being blacklisted, she had nowhere to go. She couldn’t even make rent. Soaked to the bone, her purple dress clung to her curves. She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears, her voice trembling in the wind. “Holden…” He hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then he walked right past her without a backward glance. “Holden! Have you forgotten everything we had?” she cried out after him, her voice desperate. He never turned around. I breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed he knew his place. But I had underestimated Sophia’s persistence. The storm raged all night, and she stood outside his villa all night. Until she finally collapsed. A black umbrella appeared in my line of sight on the screen. Sophia forced her eyes open, looking up at the man holding it. Holden was perfectly dry, his chiseled face unreadable. But the umbrella was tilted, ever so slightly, in her direction. The next day, Holden flew back to New York as planned. But he gave Sophia the villa in Monaco. “Chloe, what does this mean?” Mia fretted. “Holden only ever spends money on his women!” I thought for a moment. “If he sees me as his wife, then I’ll act like one.” That same day, Sophia was evicted from the villa. And for the first time since our wedding, Holden missed one of our nights. I called him a dozen times. He didn’t pick up. He came home the next day, looking exhausted, his eyes bloodshot. “Did you have her thrown out?” I didn’t flinch. “Yes.” “Who gave you permission to be so unreasonable?” The accusation in his tone stunned me. I looked up. “Are you saying that as your wife, I’m supposed to tolerate your ex-girlfriend living in our property?” Holden didn’t answer. He just scowled and tossed his phone at me, a video playing on the screen. In it, Sophia was being dragged into an alley by a group of men, her purple dress torn to shreds. Holden’s voice trembled with rage. “If I hadn’t gotten there in time, she would have been… violated.” I stared coldly at the screen. “What do you want me to do?” “Go to the hospital. Apologize to her.” “Holden,” I pushed the phone back at him. “I will not apologize to the other woman.” “The other woman?” A cruel, unfamiliar sneer twisted his lips. “If we’re getting technical about it, aren’t you the other woman?” The air left my lungs. He didn’t see my shock. He just turned and walked away. For the first time ever, he slammed the door. I sat alone on the sofa until the dead of night, my phone buzzing with messages from friends. Chloe! What’s going on? Why did Holden drop everything to sit by some other woman’s hospital bed? They’re saying she’s his first love. That’s not true, is it? Chloe, get to the hospital! You’re about to lose your husband! I didn’t reply to any of them. Instead, I packed my bags. When Holden came home three days later, he saw my suitcase and let out a short, humorless laugh. “What’s this? Running away from home?” I handed him the divorce papers. “It’s over. You can keep the settlement.” The teacup in his hand froze midway to his lips. 4 He scanned the agreement, page by page, his expression grim. His hands were trembling slightly. “Divorce me? Who’s going to give you that kind of money?” “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Blackwood. I won’t starve.” He hesitated. “Fine. We can get a divorce. But you have to return every penny I ever spent on you.” I froze. After five years as his stand-in, I’d earned a lot, but I’d also spent a fair bit. Seeing my hesitation, a flicker of relief crossed his face. “Can’t pay it back? That’s fine. Just as long as you don’t…” “I can.” He stared at me. I’ve always been insecure about money. No matter how much I had, I never spent lavishly. Even with a nine-figure bank balance, my idea of a feast when Holden was out of town was still ramen with a couple of eggs. Over five years, I’d made hundreds of millions, but I’d only spent two. I handed him my bank card. Then I reached up and unclasped the $200,000 earrings from my ears—the ones that would just about cover what I’d spent. “I won these from Sophia in a bet. Technically, they’re mine. Here. Now we’re even.” I took his hand and placed the earrings in his palm. As I turned to leave, he dropped them with a clatter and grabbed my wrist. “Don’t go! I didn’t really mean it!” The famously eloquent Holden Blackwood was suddenly at a loss for words. “Holden, let me go—” I snapped, turning back, but the words died in my throat. A single tear hit the back of my hand. I stared at him, incredulous. “Are you… crying?” “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his eyes red. “Don’t do this to me.” I’d never seen a man like him cry. If a photographer caught this, Blackwood Industries’ stock would plummet. So I sat down, and I listened. It turned out he hadn’t been at the hospital for days. He’d asked his friends to send me those messages to provoke me. He thought I had been the one who arranged for those men to attack Sophia. He couldn’t accept me doing something so vile. Kicking her out was one thing, but hiring thugs to violate a woman was something else entirely. He had put her in the hospital and visited her frequently only to ensure she wouldn’t press charges against me. “Calling you the other woman… I was angry. I’m so sorry,” he pleaded, his eyes swimming. I was silent for a long time. “Holden, you really hurt me this time.” A flash of pain crossed his face. “But I’ll give you one more chance.” His eyes lit up. “I want you to cut off all contact with Sophia. Send her away. Far, far away.” “Okay,” he squeezed my hand, clutching it like a lifeline. “I promise.” 5 Holden was a man of his word. The next day, Sophia was on a flight out of the country. Her destination: the same place her broke ex-boyfriend was currently backpacking. Holden seemed consumed with guilt over hurting me. His right-hand man secretly tipped me off—at this weekend’s press conference, Holden was going to officially announce his wife to the world. We had a secret marriage. As his canary in a gilded cage, I’d never had a problem with it. But now, I found myself looking forward to the announcement with a giddy anticipation. He was more passionate than ever during our nights that week. Afterwards, he’d hold me tight. “There’s a press conference this weekend,” he’d murmur. “I want you to come with me.” I smiled, pretending not to know. “Okay.” That weekend, I arrived as planned. Holden’s assistant personally led me to a seat in the front row, right where the spotlight would hit. The entire room was a sea of flashing cameras and reporters holding microphones like weapons. Everyone was desperate to know who the woman Holden Blackwood had hidden away for all these years really was. The assistant handed me a bouquet of roses—my favorite Bulgarian reds, their petals still jeweled with morning dew. They must have been flown in. Amidst the buzzing anticipation, Holden finally made his entrance. I watched from my seat as his eyes found mine across the room. A slow, intimate smile spread across his face. He held my gaze as he brought the microphone to his lips. “The woman I’m about to introduce,” he began, his voice echoing through the hall, “is the girl I fell in love with at first sight, back in high school.” Love at first sight? I blinked, confused. The curtains behind him swept open. The roses were gently taken from my hands and passed to another woman. “She was my first love, Sophia.”

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