Category: English

We had been secretly married for five years. Her life was a revolving door of tabloid rumors, but she would never, ever publicly acknowledge me. On the set of a late-night talk show, the host playfully asked if I was dating anyone. Even she, my wife, chimed in with a laugh. “Leo, I know so many wonderful, single women. Should I set you up?” In my past life, that was my breaking point. I pulled out my wedding ring and held it up for the cameras. A young, rising star named Dylan Croft, who was also on the panel, burst into tears and ran off stage. My wife, the award-winning actress Claire Sterling, said nothing, but from that day on, she grew colder and colder. When a sudden illness landed me in the hospital, bleeding out and needing emergency surgery, she was at a Michelin-star restaurant, celebrating Dylan’s birthday. When Dylan hired thugs to assault me and I called her, begging for help, she just watched, her expression blank. It was only then that I understood. In her heart, I was nothing more than a dirty secret, a piece of furniture to be kept in the dark. Reborn into this life, I just smiled at the host. “I am, actually. She’s not in the business. We’re getting married at the end of the month.” 1 A collective gasp went through the studio audience. No one had expected me to announce my relationship on live television. Claire’s face darkened. Her hand tightened around her water glass, the plastic crinkling under the pressure. She started to say something, but Dylan, sitting next to her with his boyish charm, jumped in first. “Whoa, Leo, you’ve been holding out on us! If you hadn’t lost that round of ‘Truth or Dare,’ were you just going to keep it a secret forever?” The show was broadcasting live, and Dylan’s comment sent the online chat into a frenzy. 【*Leo Vance’s fans must be devastated! Your man is officially off the market!*】 【*Hehe, at least our Dylan is focused on his career! No time for girls!*】 【*??? Devastated? Leo is an actor. He has a whole shelf of Oscars. He’s allowed to have a personal life. Unlike some people who still haven’t managed to book a decent role.*】 【*Besides, Leo has always said he would settle down when the time was right.*】 I smiled politely. “It might be a secret, but at least I’m not the other woman.” In my past life, I thought Dylan was an innocent victim, that he didn’t know about me and Claire. But just before I died, he had visited me, gloating about how much Claire adored him. He knew from the very beginning. Dylan’s face flickered for a second, but the other guests didn’t notice. They were all leaning forward, curious. “Come on, Leo, who is she? You have to show us a picture!” “She’s not famous? I’m dying to know who could snag Leo Vance!” I shook my head with a small smile. “She’s very private. I’ll introduce you all when the time is right.” Just as I finished speaking, a derisive snort came from Dylan. He raised an eyebrow, his eyes glinting with a challenge. “Leo, are you sure this person even exists? Or did you just make her up? I mean, you’re not getting any younger. It would be pretty embarrassing if you were still single at your age. Right, Claire?” He fluttered his eyelashes at her, a cocky, youthful grin on his face. My hand clenched into a fist under the table. To my horror, Claire gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. Dylan’s grin widened. A bitter laugh welled up in my throat. For a second there, I had actually hoped for something different. The other guests tried to smooth things over. “Don’t mind Dylan, Leo, he’s just kidding around!” “It’s his personal life, guys, we shouldn’t pry.” I was about to say something, but a woman’s voice cut through from the studio entrance. “Excuse me, is Leo Vance here? I’m here to pick him up.” 2 All heads turned. A young woman was standing just outside the studio doors. She had stylishly tousled dark hair, sharp, intelligent eyes, and a calm, confident air about her. When her eyes met mine, even I was taken aback for a second. She smiled at me. “Leo. Ready to go?” The live chat exploded. 【*OMG OMG IS THAT HIS GIRLFRIEND?! SHE’S GORGEOUS!*】 【*HOLY CRAP, I thought he was making it up! She came to pick him up from work!*】 I stood up and nodded to the other guests. “Well, that’s my cue.” The moment I stood, I felt a pair of eyes burning into my back. I didn’t turn around. Just as I reached the door, Claire’s cold voice stopped me. “Leo.” I paused and looked back at her. “Yes, Claire?” Her face was a mask of displeasure. Dylan chimed in with a saccharine smile. “It’s my birthday party tonight. Claire is throwing it for me. Are you coming?” I glanced at Claire. She said nothing. “No,” I said, turning to leave. “Happy birthday, Dylan. I have other plans.” 3 The feeling of being watched didn’t go away until I was safely in the back of her car. I turned to the woman beside me. “Thank you for that, Maya.” Maya Torres smiled. “No problem, Professor. I was watching the show live. Just happened to be in the neighborhood.” I didn’t press her for more details. She didn’t ask any questions, just said, “Where to? I’ll give you a ride.” I gave her the address of the house I shared with Claire. When we pulled up, she held up her phone. “Hey, can I get your number?” I hesitated for a moment. She laughed. “You never know, I might need a favor from you one day, too.” On that, I nodded and we exchanged numbers. As she drove off, I walked into the house. We had bought it before we got married. It wasn’t a mansion, but it was filled with memories. We used to spend our days off here, playing video games and binge-watching shows. I never wanted to move. But now, Claire was rarely here. The moment I stepped inside, my agent, Ken, called. “Leo, you need to see this. Check Twitter. Now.” 4 **#ClaireSterlingXDylanCroftOfficial** **#HollywoodsNewItCouple** I thought that in this new life, I would be immune. But seeing those words on the screen still felt like a punch to the gut. **[Claire Sterling V: So excited to introduce you all to my boyfriend. The one and only. @DylanCroft]** **[Dylan Croft: Here’s to a long and happy future together, my love. ❤️]** Five years of dating, five years of marriage. Ten years I had waited for her to acknowledge me. And now, she had given it to someone else without a second thought. Ken’s voice was still buzzing in my ear. “There have been rumors for weeks that Dylan was a homewrecker! She’s doing this to protect him! That little bastard *is* a homewrecker! You and Claire have been married for years, she can’t just—” “Ken,” I interrupted, my voice quiet. “How’s that visa application coming along?” He went silent. “Are you sure you want to do this, Leo? Quit the business, move abroad?” I nodded to myself. “I’m sure.” Ten years ago, I gave up my dreams for Claire. I wasn’t going to let her ruin the rest of my life. 5 Claire and I grew up together. My parents died when I was young, and I was a shy, introverted kid living with relatives who didn’t want me. The neighborhood kids used to pick on me relentlessly. Claire was always there, a tiny, fierce protector, fighting my battles for me. When we were fifteen, her parents’ business went bankrupt. They both jumped from a bridge, leaving her orphaned and buried under a mountain of debt. She was devastated, suicidal. I was the one who held her, who told her we would get through it together. We were each other’s lifelines, two broken kids clinging to each other in the dark. When we were eighteen, I was accepted to Juilliard. It was my dream school. The day the letter came, Claire just held my hand, her eyes red, and stood with me in silence all night. The next day, I turned down my acceptance and signed with a talent agent. I was going to pay off her parents’ debt. She was too young, too brilliant to have her future crushed by it. But Hollywood is a brutal place. I worked around the clock, taking any role, any gig I could get. I drank so much at “meetings” with producers that I ended up in the hospital with a bleeding ulcer. But five years after my debut, a hit TV show finally gave me the break I needed. I paid off every last cent of her family’s debt. People asked me if it was worth it. And at the time, watching Claire cook for me in our tiny apartment, her presence a warm, steady comfort, I thought it was. But now… A notification on my phone pulled me from my thoughts. A call from Claire. I hesitated, then answered. Her voice was cool. “Quite the performance tonight, Leo. Found another woman to play your little games with. Trying to make me jealous? It didn’t work. I know how much you love me.” I stayed silent. In the background, I heard a familiar voice. “Claire, babe, come cut the cake!” “Coming!” she called back, then said to me, “Dylan and I have a new movie coming out, you know that. We’ll ‘break up’ after the press tour is over. Don’t overthink it. Be a good boy and wait for me at home. I’ll bring you back your favorite takeout.” 6 My mind drifted back. Claire had gotten into acting by accident. She had come to visit me on set one day, and a director had spotted her and offered her a role. I had immediately said no. Her dream was to be a research scientist. Acting would derail everything. But she went to the director behind my back. Later, she had held me, her eyes filled with tears. “Leo, I don’t want you to have to struggle for me. I want to make a lot of money so you can have a good life.” And just like that, Claire gave up her dream for me and threw herself into the industry. We saw less and less of each other. The first time a tabloid linked her with a co-star, she flew five hours to see me, held me, and swore it was a misunderstanding, that she would handle it. I suggested we go public with our marriage. She said it would hurt our careers, that the fans wouldn’t understand. Not yet. But she promised me that I was her only husband, her only one. I believed her. I let it go. And then… Dylan Croft appeared. He was the innocent young actor, being harassed by a powerful producer at a party. He ran, fell into a pool, and Claire jumped in and saved him. A beautiful, tragic hero, soaked and shivering in her arms. The next day, they were on the cover of every magazine. This time, Claire didn’t say a word. 7 By the time I came back to myself, Claire had already hung up. I didn’t dwell on it. I called my lawyer and told him to draft the divorce papers. Before I left the country, I was going to sever every tie to her. But that night, she came home. And she brought Dylan with her. He peeked out from behind her, his cheeks flushed, and bounced over to me. “Ta-da! Leo, we brought you leftovers from my birthday party! You have to try the cake!” Claire stood by the door, a look of weary indulgence on her face. “Slow down, Dylan, you’re drunk. You’re going to fall.” She paused, then looked at me. “He had too much to drink. It’s not safe for him to go home alone. He’s staying here tonight.” She added, “Oh, and you make a great hangover cure, don’t you? Go make him a cup.” My ears were ringing. My hands started to tremble. She was cheating on me, and now she was bringing him into our home? And asking me to take care of him? “He has assistants, doesn’t he?!” I snarled. Dylan never went anywhere without a team of at least three people. “He can get a hotel!” Claire frowned. “Leo, when did you become so petty?” My voice shook. “This is my home! Get out!” Seeing the tears welling in my eyes, her tone softened. “Okay, Leo. Fine. I’ll call someone to pick him up.” She pulled out her phone, but at that moment, a loud cry echoed through the house. Dylan had tumbled down the stairs. Claire’s face went white. She dropped her phone and ran to him. The calm, elegant actress was gone, replaced by a frantic, terrified woman. “Dylan!” He lay in her arms, his eyes closed. Claire’s face was a mask of fury. She glared at me. A cold dread washed over me. “It wasn’t me…” But her hand was already connecting with my face, the slap echoing in the silent house. “Are you saying he threw himself down the stairs just to frame you, Leo? He’s an actor! You know how much his face means to him!” The blow stunned me. And with it, the last flickering light of hope in my heart was extinguished. She was helping Dylan up, ready to rush him to the hospital, when I stopped her. “Wait.” I held out the divorce agreement. “Sign this. Or you’re not leaving.” She shot me a look of pure hatred. In the past, whenever we fought, I would make her buy me something, make her sign the bill as a way of making up. She must have thought this was another one of my games. Without even looking at it, she scribbled her name across the bottom. Then she carefully helped Dylan out the door. Just before they disappeared, Dylan looked back at me and smirked. 8 The news that Dylan was in the hospital was everywhere. The photos showed him looking pale and fragile, a bandage on his forehead, with Claire by his side, tenderly caring for him. The internet was flooded with posts praising their beautiful, devoted relationship. Ken, who had been my agent since day one and knew everything, was livid. He came over and cursed Claire’s name. “Is the visa ready, Ken?” He nodded. “You can pick it up in three days.” I spent those three days quietly getting my affairs in order. On the third day, another headline exploded online. **#Exposed: Oscar-Winner Leo Vance Stalking Claire Sterling, Attacks Rival Dylan Croft!** The articles were accompanied by two photos. The first was of me, arriving home the night of the incident. The second was of Claire and Dylan, arriving at the same house shortly after. The comments section was a war zone. 【*WTF is going on? Why are all three of them at the same house?*】 【*OMG I have a friend who works in the industry, and he said Leo has been obsessed with Claire for years! He snuck into her house and pushed Dylan down the stairs!*】 【*Why would Leo Vance sneak into Claire Sterling’s house? This is so weird!*】 【*That’s bullshit! Why would Leo need to sneak into anyone’s house?*】 Then, a new comment shot to the top. **[Leo Vance doesn’t have a secret girlfriend! He made it all up! He’s been in love with Claire for years. When she and Dylan went public, he got jealous and attacked Dylan! I have proof! Look at this screenshot! Leo used to be the president of her fan club!]** When Claire was just starting out, she didn’t have many fans. I used to visit her on set, and I even ran her official fan account under a secret identity, creating content and defending her online. It was a secret only she and I knew. And now, here it was, exposed for the world to see. My hand was shaking as I called her. She didn’t pick up until the fifth try. “It was you, wasn’t it?” The photos, the fan club information… it could only have come from her. There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Finally, she spoke. “You deserved it, Leo.” “Your comments on the talk show made people think Dylan was a homewrecker. It damaged his reputation. I went public with our relationship to protect him, to fix the mess you made. I thought you would see your mistake. But then you pushed him down the stairs.” I started to laugh, a broken, hollow sound. “So this was all for my own good?” “What is he, if not a homewrecker? An innocent, pure-hearted boy who just happened to charm a famous actress?” “Leo, you are being so childish!” she snapped. “Look, I don’t want this to escalate. Just apologize to Dylan. He’ll publicly forgive you, and we can all move on.” Move on? As if it were that simple. As if she had never been a part of this brutal industry. I was about to say something else, but I heard a voice in the background. “Claire, Dylan is awake. He’s asking for you.” “I’ll be right there,” she said quickly. When I looked at my phone, she had already hung up. 9 As Claire rushed to Dylan’s room, she paused and turned to her assistant. “Did you buy that necklace I asked you about? The one Leo mentioned he liked.” The assistant nodded. “Have it sent to him,” she said. She knew Leo was proud. Forcing him to apologize to Dylan would be a blow to his ego. But he had made a mistake, and he had to face the consequences. Besides, Leo was easy to placate. A little gift always did the trick. “Oh,” she added, “and wasn’t there a matching bracelet? Give that to Dylan.” 10 The necklace arrived while Ken and I were watching Dylan’s live hospital-bed interview. In the video, Claire was gently tucking him in. “Dylan,” a reporter asked, “have you seen the news? Is it true that Leo Vance attacked you?” Dylan put on a brave face. “It’s not Leo’s fault. Claire is an amazing woman. It’s only natural that a lot of men are in love with her…” “So it is true?” the reporter pressed, outraged. “That’s disgusting! He’s no better than a stalker! How can he call himself an Oscar winner?” Dylan just smiled weakly and closed his eyes, looking exhausted. The reporter noticed the watch on his wrist. “Is that the vintage Cartier that was just up for auction? The one that was part of a set with a matching necklace?” Dylan glanced at Claire, and the reporters all understood. “Claire and Dylan’s love is so strong! No one could ever come between them!” Ken couldn’t take it anymore. He started cursing at the screen. He threw Claire’s assistant, and the necklace, out of my house. The production company I was signed with wasn’t going to take this lying down. I lived in that house. The security guards had seen me come and go every day for years. They released a statement, along with stills from the security footage. **[This house is Mr. Vance’s primary residence. He is seen here on a daily basis. Ms. Sterling, however, is rarely seen on the premises.]** **[Two photos of three people entering the same house is not proof of an attack. We urge the public not to jump to conclusions.]** The tide of public opinion started to turn. But then, Claire posted again. **[It appears Mr. Vance has been using my absence to secretly enter and case my home.]** The post was accompanied by a photo of the deed to the house. 11 I felt the blood rush to my head. Before I had paid off her family’s debt, we had lived in a tiny, cramped apartment. After, to make sure she felt secure, I had bought this house and put it in her name. “Leo,” she had said at the time, smiling, “you don’t have to do that. I trust you. I trust us.” And now, that trust was a knife she was twisting in my back. Ken exploded. “The marriage license! Show them the marriage license, Leo!” “She has it,” I said quietly. All of our important documents were kept by her. The day we got married, she was so happy, she had kissed the license over and over, saying she was going to have them framed and preserved forever. Ken was silent for a long time. “Leo,” he finally asked, “were you two really together for ten years?” A bitter smile touched my lips. My phone buzzed with a text. **[Need some help?]** It was from Maya. **[Thanks, but I’m okay.]** I turned off my phone and handed Ken a USB drive. “Ken,” I said. “Leak this.”

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On a school holiday, as I drove into a mountain resort with my daughter, a hypercar crossed the solid line and hit us from behind. The driver stormed out, furious. “Do you even know how to drive? This car costs more than your life!” I was about to argue when I recognized the car—it was the hypercar my mother gave me when I took over the family business. Even the license plate matched. My wife had claimed it was at the service center for engine failure. I asked calmly, “Is this car really yours?” He hesitated, then boasted, “A gift from my wife! Limited edition! You owe me a million dollars—start selling your house.” He threatened, “Don’t try anything. My wife is the CEO of Vanguard Enterprises. She’s on her way here.” I laughed coldly. So this was the “business dinner” Miranda skipped our daughter’s holiday for—to be with her lover and his son? 1 The first day of the school holidays, and we hadn’t even parked. I was driving my daughter to a mountain resort when a hypercar illegally crossed the line and slammed into my rear bumper. The man who emerged was a storm of fury. “Do you even know how to drive? Do you have any idea how much this car is worth? I could sell you for parts and it wouldn’t cover a scratch!” I frowned, pointing at the unbroken white line on the road. “Sir, you crossed the solid line, which caused the collision. This is clearly your fault—” He cut me off impatiently. “It’s your fault! When you see a multi-million-dollar car like this, you’re supposed to get out of the way! You deserve to pay!” I almost laughed. I was dealing with a lunatic. I pulled out my phone to call the police. But the man, Leo, shot me a disdainful look and snatched the phone from my hand. “Calling the cops won’t help you,” he sneered. “My wife has connections. I want one million dollars, right now. Start calling your family to sell your house, or I’ll make sure you lose everything you own!” It was utterly insane. He was the one at fault, and he was the one making threats. A crowd of onlookers had started to gather. “Wow,” someone breathed. “I’ve seen that car on TV. It’s one of only fifty in the world. Worth at least five million dollars! We’re looking at a serious tycoon here!” “That poor guy in the electric sedan is screwed,” another person commented. “He’s going to be bankrupted.” A third person sighed sympathetically. “Just bad luck. Anyone who can afford a five-million-dollar car has the power to make black look white. Even if it was the rich guy’s fault, the other driver is going to be the one who pays.” Leo swelled with pride under their gazes. “You hear that? Be smart about this. Right now, it’s just a million dollars. If you push it…” “Is this car yours?” I interrupted, my voice cutting through his tirade. The hypercar had seemed familiar from the moment I saw it. Then it hit me. This was the gift my mother gave me the year I became Chairman of Vanguard Enterprises. The last four digits of the license plate were my birthday. I clearly remembered my wife, Miranda, telling me the engine had seized and she’d sent it to the dealership for repairs. We had so many cars that I didn’t always keep track, which is why I hadn’t recognized it instantly. I’d chosen to drive our high-end electric sedan today precisely to be low-key. Leo’s face hardened. “What’s that supposed to mean? My wife gave it to me, so it’s mine!” Then, as if remembering his trump card, a smug, arrogant grin spread across his face. “My wife is a big deal. She runs Vanguard Enterprises, the biggest conglomerate in Haven City. She’s not someone a peasant like you can afford to cross!” My eyes narrowed. “Vanguard Enterprises?” I repeated slowly. He nodded, his chin held high. “That’s right. Scared now? Call your family and get the money. Or you’ll be doing it from a jail cell!” A part of me had wondered if this was a misunderstanding—maybe a mechanic from the dealership had taken the car for a joyride. But now it was clear. Miranda was cheating on me. Seeing my silence, Leo assumed I was intimidated. He shot me a contemptuous look. “Let me warn you, my wife is almost here. If you ruin our family’s holiday, she’ll have you blacklisted from every industry in the city. I don’t care what you do for a living—you’ll be finished!” A cold fury simmered within me. “You’ve got a lot of nerve!” An older woman in the crowd stepped forward. “Son, you can’t fight people like this. Just apologize, admit you were wrong. Maybe you can negotiate a smaller payment.” A frosty smile touched my lips. “Oh, someone is definitely going to pay today,” I said. “Someone’s going to lose everything they have. But it won’t be me.” What was the penalty for stealing a five-million-dollar hypercar, I wondered? The woman just shook her head. “You’re not listening. In Haven City, everyone knows what the name Vanguard Enterprises means.” “So naive,” someone else sneered. “Thinks the world is fair. He’s going to learn the hard way.” My defiance enraged Leo. “You low-life! You want to do this the hard way? Fine! Just you wait until my wife gets here. You’ll regret this!” I lowered my eyes, hiding the murderous glint in them. “She’s coming, is she?” Perfect. I had a few questions for Miranda myself. Starting with why, when she had everything, she was so determined to throw it all away. 2 As Leo and I argued, a commotion erupted from my car. A boy of about eight or nine darted out and ran to Leo’s side, holding up a small, silver locket. My daughter, Diane, scrambled out after him, her hair a mess, her eyes red and swollen. “Daddy,” she cried, “he got in our car and started going through our things! He stole the locket with our family photo inside!” Before I could react, Leo exploded. “I knew it! You two disgusting parasites! I thought it was too much of a coincidence, running into you here. You hit my car and act all tough because this was your plan all along—to seduce my wife!” He clenched his fist around the locket and swung at my face. The sheer audacity was breathtaking. I blocked his punch easily, my eyes glacial. “You know damn well who the homewrecker is here.” He snarled, trying to lunge at me again, but I held him fast. My years of boxing weren’t just for show. With a quick twist, I used his own momentum to send him sprawling to the ground. He instantly changed his tune, crying out to the crowd. “Everyone, look! Can you believe the nerve of this homewrecker? First, he crashes into my car, and now he’s trying to steal my wife in broad daylight!” He was just getting warmed up. As more people gathered, they started pointing and whispering at me and my daughter. “Oh my God, and I actually felt sorry for him! I thought he was just a regular guy being bullied by the rich. Turns out he’s the scumbag!” “How disgusting. What a great example he’s setting for his daughter!” I pulled Diane into my arms, shielding her face in my chest. My own chest was heaving with rage. This was beyond belief. I took out my phone, pulled up a photo of my marriage certificate, and held it high. “Everyone, look closely!” I said, my voice ringing with authority. “I am the legal husband of the CEO of Vanguard Enterprises. This man is the one who interfered in our marriage. And as for Miranda, she’s no better!” Someone leaned in for a closer look. “He’s right! I’ve seen her on the financial news. That’s Miranda Vaughn!” “Wait, so we got it wrong?” The crowd’s gaze shifted to Leo, now filled with doubt. Leo shot me a venomous look and pulled out his own phone. “Don’t be fooled by him! Anyone can photoshop a picture. My wife and I just celebrated our tenth anniversary. I have a video to prove it!” On his screen, he and Miranda were on a beach in Hawaii, holding hands, kissing, feeding each other strawberries—an display so intimate it made some of the onlookers blush. My head spun. A month ago, while my mother was on her deathbed, Miranda had insisted she had to fly overseas for a massive deal. She had gone against my express wishes. My fists clenched, my nails digging into my palms. She had abandoned my dying mother to be with her lover. The rage of betrayal coursed through me like poison. The crowd immediately switched sides again. “He’s right, a picture can be faked, but a video can’t!” “His marriage certificate is probably a fake! I bet he knew Ms. Vaughn would be here today and staged the whole thing. What a disgusting way to try and break up a family!” Leo’s son, Max, picked up a rock and threw it at us. “Get away from my mom, you jerks!” he screamed. “I’ll kill you for hurting my dad!” I shielded Diane, dodging the rock. Over the boy’s head, I met Leo’s eyes. They were filled with undisguised triumph. He subtly gave me the finger. A humorless, chilling laugh escaped me. This was interesting. I was done trying to prove myself. In one swift motion, I put Diane back in our car and slammed the door. The engine roared to life. I spun the car around and floored the accelerator, heading straight for Leo and his son. The crowd gasped. “What is he doing?!” A piercing scream cut through the air. I slammed on the brakes. The car skidded to a halt, the front bumper barely a hand’s breadth from them. Through the windshield, I saw the pure, undiluted terror in Leo’s eyes. His legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the pavement. I offered him a sarcastic smile. Scared already? We’re just getting started. Just then, a sleek Maybach sped towards us. I glanced at the license plate. Miranda had arrived. 3 Miranda leaped out of the car and rushed to Leo and her son. Max immediately started sobbing. “Mommy, that man tried to run us over!” Leo put on a show of righteous anger. “It’s all your fault, Miranda! I don’t know where you picked up this psycho, but he’s trying to kill me and my son just to get to you!” Miranda cooed at them, her voice full of concern. “Don’t say that. You and Max are my whole world. Whoever hurt you, I’ll make them pay. Anything you want, it’s done.” I watched this tender scene from my car, then opened the door and stepped out. “That would be me, Miranda,” I said, my voice cold as stone. The anger on Miranda’s face froze. Her color drained. Leo wrapped his arm around her possessively, pointing at me. “That’s him! Miranda, you have to stand up for us! Have him blacklisted! Ruin him!” I took a step closer, forcing her to meet my gaze. “Miranda. Don’t you have something to explain?” She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Someone in the crowd yelled, “Ms. Vaughn, that’s the low-life who claimed to be your husband! He even showed a fake marriage certificate! You can’t let him get away with it!” “Yeah, trying to worm his way into your life! Anyone can see how much you and Mr. Vance love each other. He’s a disgusting homewrecker!” “Don’t worry, with Ms. Vaughn’s power, she’ll crush this nobody! He’ll get what he deserves!” Spurred on by the crowd, Miranda steeled herself. She took the locket from Leo, threw it to the ground, and ground it under her heel until the family photo inside was completely destroyed. “Sir,” she said, her voice low and sharp, “do you have any idea that using someone’s image without their permission is illegal? I don’t know who you are, and I’d appreciate it if you stopped spreading these rumors. You’re making my husband and everyone else uncomfortable.” She paused, then added, “And as for your assault on my husband today, I will not let it slide. I demand that you apologize to him, right here, in front of everyone.” A cold smile twisted my lips. The woman whose entire career I had funded was defending her lover like this? Fine. I would give them exactly what they wanted. Just as I was about to speak, Diane bolted from the car. She saw the shattered locket at Miranda’s feet. “Mommy?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “That was our family picture. It was my favorite one. Why did you break it?” Max glared at her. “Who are you calling Mommy, you little witch?” The crowd’s murmurs turned venomous again. “Like father, like daughter. Ms. Vaughn already said she doesn’t know them, and the little girl is still calling her ‘Mommy.’ No shame at all.” Diane’s eyes welled with tears, but she stood her ground. “She is my mommy! Mommy, look at me!” Miranda finally turned to her own daughter, her voice like ice. “I don’t know you. Little girl, don’t let your father corrupt you. It’s wrong to call strangers ‘Mommy.’” I pulled Diane to my side, gently patting her back. I scanned the crowd and noticed several people were live-streaming the entire event on their phones. I smirked and raised my voice. “I’d like everyone here to be a witness. This woman, Ms. Vaughn, just stated that she does not know me or my daughter. Is that correct?” The crowd, though confused, nodded. “Is this guy crazy? One minute he’s forcing her to admit she’s his wife, now this?” “He’s lost his mind!” My gaze locked onto Miranda’s. “Then I hope you have some integrity, Ms. Vaughn. Because you’ll be held to every word you’ve just said.” Miranda scoffed. Leo looked smug, basking in the crowd’s support. The murmurs against me grew louder. “What is wrong with this guy?” “Is he trying to act crazy to avoid the consequences? Everyone in Haven City knows how ruthless the Vanguard legal team is. He can’t escape!” “Come on, everyone, get a good look at the most disgusting homewrecker in history, right here on my stream!” The insults kept coming. Just then, the sound of police sirens cut through the noise. A group of officers arrived. “Who called this in?” one of them shouted. “We received a report of a stolen hypercar worth five million dollars.”

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The year I turned twenty-seven, my family started pressuring me to get married. I abruptly ended things with the boyfriend I’d been practically worshipping for three years and started going on blind dates back in my hometown. My friend asked me, “You were so into Nick. Can you really just let him go?” I scoffed. “I’m not an idiot. He’s the kind of guy who’s fun to mess around with, but marrying him? That would be a lifetime of misery.” Just then, an icy, familiar voice drifted from behind me. “Oh? Is that the reason you dumped me?” 1 I was dragging my suitcase home when I nearly collided with a girl walking out of his apartment. She wore an oversized black sweater that slid off one shoulder, revealing a delicate collarbone. It was the “no-pants” look, paired with a pair of sky-high YSL stilettos. I recognized her as the bassist from Nick’s band. Amber, I think her name was. A stunning girl in her early twenties. I instinctively ducked back behind the hallway door, out of sight. A moment later, Nick emerged behind her, clad only in a pair of low-slung jeans. He leaned languidly against the wall and lit a cigarette. His upper body was bare, and water was still dripping down the chiseled lines of his abs. He casually tossed a Chanel handbag in her direction. “Take it.” Amber’s eyes lit up. She spun around and threw herself at him with a squeal. “Oh my god, I’ve wanted this bag forever! Where did you get it?” “Picked it up in Hong Kong a while back.” “I love it so much! Thank you, baby!” She tried to linger, but Nick was already growing impatient, a slight frown creasing his brow. “Alright, that’s enough. Get going.” The girl slid off him, her tone a mix of pouty and playful. “So cruel. One minute you’re calling me ‘baby,’ the next you’re kicking me out.” She wasn’t truly angry, though. She slung the bag over her shoulder with a delighted grin and blew him a kiss. “See you tomorrow!” After she left, I stepped out from behind the door. Nick clearly wasn’t expecting me. He froze for a second before his expression relaxed into its usual nonchalance. “Didn’t know you were coming back. Why didn’t you call?” I just looked at him for a moment. “It was late. I didn’t want to wake you.” The faint, reddish marks on his neck were still fresh, but he showed no trace of guilt. He simply wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me inside. “I’m starving. Make something to eat,” he said, flopping onto the couch and turning on the TV, as if nothing had happened. When I didn’t move, he frowned. “What’s wrong?” Then, as if realizing, a lazy smile spread across his face. “Miss me?” He got up and wrapped his arms around me from behind. His warm breath ghosted across my neck as his hands snaked under the hem of my shirt. “Then I’ll eat you first, and we can eat later—” Years of playing the guitar had left his fingertips calloused and rough. They scraped against my skin, a familiar mix of pleasure and pain. I closed my eyes and, with a weary sigh, gently pushed him away. I did like Nick’s body. In fact, his good looks were the main reason I’d pursued him in the first place. But maybe it was the long flight, or maybe it was the woman from moments ago, but right now, all I felt was a bone-deep weariness. I wasn’t in the mood. Nick wasn’t used to being rejected by me. His expression darkened. “What’s wrong?” My eyes fell to a black heap on the carpet. It was a pair of pantyhose, shredded beyond recognition. Nick followed my gaze. He let out a soft “tsk,” his face hardening. The air in the living room grew thick with unspoken tension. He pulled a cigarette from its pack and lit it. The pop of the mint-flavored capsule was a sharp crack in the silence. “Her lease was up. She had nowhere to go, so I let her crash here for a night,” he said, the excuse sounding lame even to his own ears. “Nothing happened.” I looked at him, our eyes meeting through the veil of white smoke. We couldn’t read each other’s expressions, but we both knew he was lying. This wasn’t the first time Nick had cheated. He was a natural-born player. He’d been that way when I first met him. My best friend had dragged me to see a popular rock band, raving about how insanely hot the lead singer was. I wasn’t interested in rock music and had been bored out of my mind. Until Nick walked on stage. He stood with his head bowed, fingers dancing over his guitar. His dark hair was unstyled, loose strands falling across his forehead, occasionally revealing a hint of his eyelids. He was the most plainly dressed person on stage—just a black t-shirt and jeans—but he was instantly the center of attention. That face was a luxury item all on its own. When he looked up, the stage lights caught in his amber eyes, a faint, teasing smile playing on his lips. It was my first rock show, and while my friend and the other girls screamed themselves hoarse, I was completely silent. His gaze swept over the roaring crowd, and for a fleeting second, our eyes met. Then he looked away. The music was probably great that night, but I didn’t hear a single note. In that moment, the world went quiet, and the only sound was the thunder of my own heart. After the show, a swarm of girls rushed backstage for his number. I was one of them. Single for all twenty-three years of my life, it was probably the bravest thing I’d ever done. Nick didn’t turn anyone down. Every girl who asked for his contact info got to scan his QR code, including me. A year later, all the other girls had given up. I was the only one still trying. I don’t know if it was out of pity, or because he was moved, or something else entirely, but Nick finally accepted our “relationship.” I became his girlfriend, and that’s how it had been until now. But I knew, even after all these years, that he had never really loved me. Or maybe he did—he loved how agreeable I was, how I never made a fuss, how I never held his indiscretions against him. I’d caught him cheating multiple times, but as long as he gave me a half-decent excuse, I would forgive him. He’d told me many times that I wasn’t his type, that he was only with me because I was good to him. He’d even joked that he’d dump me the second he found his “true love.” Our relationship had survived this long only because of my willingness to bend, to compromise, to swallow my pride. “You promised me you wouldn’t cheat again,” I said softly, my eyes fixed on the tattered designer pantyhose on the floor. A flicker of mockery crossed his face. He made no effort to placate me. “You actually believed that crap?” He leaned in, blowing a cloud of mint-scented smoke in my face, his eyes full of a familiar cruelty. “Can’t handle it?” “Can’t handle it? Then leave.” He’d said those words to me countless times before. Each time, it ended with me clinging to him, begging him not to go. Over time, he’d learned exactly how to control me. He knew that when he said those words, I was powerless. I turned away. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” Nick grabbed my wrist. His brow was prominent, giving him an intimidating look when his face was blank. “Natalie, don’t push it.” I pulled my hand free and went into the bedroom. Not long after, the front door slammed shut with a deafening crash. Nick was gone. He was angry. I knew it. In our dynamic, I was always the one placating him, fawning over him. I had never given him the cold shoulder like this before. I rolled over and opened my phone. In the family group chat, my mom had tagged me in a message. “I’ve never rushed you before, but you’re 27 now. It’s time to start thinking about marriage. Your mother’s colleague has a son who’s a great catch, and he’s handsome too. Why don’t you come home for the holidays and meet him?” Then I opened a message from my boss. “Natalie, the new branch is short-staffed right now. With your talent, staying on as an assistant department head is a waste. Are you interested in a manager position at the new branch? It’ll be tough getting things off the ground, but it’s a great opportunity.” My mom wanted me to come home for blind dates. The company had just opened a new branch in my hometown. The timing, the place, the people—it all seemed to align. There was no reason for me to stay here anymore. I sighed. The truth was, I really did like Nick. He was handsome, great in bed, and we were incredibly compatible physically. Most importantly, he was a total player. Being with him was easy because I never had to think about responsibility or a future. When I first started working, I was constantly stressed out. I needed a release, but I was picky—a die-hard sucker for a pretty face, even though I was just average-looking myself. I couldn’t find anyone who met my standards until I found Nick. He spent his prime years with me, and his body was a great stress reliever while I was building my career. And even though he was promiscuous, he was surprisingly careful. I’d heard before we got together that he required a clean health check from any woman he was with. I was always careful, too, so I wasn’t worried. Finding another man that perfect for my needs would be difficult. But it couldn’t be helped. Dating was one thing; settling down and getting married was another. I really liked Nick. But I also knew, with absolute certainty, that he was not the one. Now, it was time to make a choice. 2 Nick didn’t come back that night. He was gone for days. He didn’t answer my texts or calls. Soon, my messages were met with that single, damning red exclamation mark. He had blocked me. The silent treatment, his specialty. It had happened a few times before. Nick was a master of the cold war, and I always had to grovel and plead for days before he’d even look at me again. This time, however, I was too busy with work handovers to have time to coddle him. That evening, as I was booking my flight home, my phone rang. It was one of Nick’s friends. The background was a cacophony of laughter and loud music that blared even through the phone. “Nat, Nick’s wasted. Can you come get him?” Nick loved to party. He came from a wealthy family; the band was just a hobby. He didn’t need the money. I once asked him why he didn’t join the family business. He’d scoffed, saying his father’s illegitimate children were already at each other’s throats for a piece of the pie, and he had no interest in fighting over scraps. His grandfather’s and mother’s fortunes would all go to him eventually. He didn’t need to work. He just wanted to do what he loved. Nick had zero career ambition. It was one area where we had nothing in common. Whenever I told him about a project I’d landed or a promotion I’d gotten, he’d look bored. He once said disdainfully that it was pathetic to work yourself to death for a monthly salary that wasn’t even enough to cover his bar tab for one night. I knew we were fundamentally different people. Outside of physical chemistry, we had nothing to talk about. I didn’t care about his soul; I just loved his body. He ignored my inner world, content with my compliance. It was fine. It would make the breakup easier for both of us. I agreed to go and hung up, looking out the window. The city at night seemed even more brilliant than during the day, a river of light from countless windows and cars, so bright it eclipsed the stars. I glanced at my ticket. 8 a.m., the day after tomorrow. I sighed. To be honest, I wasn’t ready to break up just yet. Nick and I were really good in bed, and the stress of changing jobs was getting to me. I was kind of hoping for one last “breakup fuck.” It was a shame, but since the opportunity had presented itself, I had to take it. … When I got to the bar, Nick was surrounded by a flock of women. They were all different types, but they had one thing in common: they were all gorgeous and young, their faces glowing with collagen beneath their heavy makeup. I couldn’t blame them for flocking to him. Nick was rich, generous, and handsome. On him, even being a player seemed to be a charming trait. I touched my own face, remembering something he’d once said to me. “You’re 27. You should be getting facials, taking care of yourself. Can’t you at least try?” No wonder he thought I was old. He was surrounded by girls in their early twenties. I said nothing, just stood at the edge of the crowd. Our eyes met. He looked right through me and then turned away. Amber was flushed, her body pressed against his, her voice syrupy. “Nick, have another drink.” Nick smiled. Under the colored lights, his eyes were devastatingly beautiful, but completely devoid of warmth. “Just drinking is boring. Why don’t you feed it to me?” “How?” Nick didn’t answer, just lowered his gaze to her lips. A half-second later, understanding dawned in Amber’s eyes. A look of thrilled surprise flashed across her face as she tilted her head back and downed the caramel-colored whiskey in her glass. Then Nick grabbed her chin and kissed her, hard. It wasn’t a gentle kiss; it was raw and angry, a release of emotion. Amber tilted her head back to meet him, her eyes watering from lack of air. Liquor trickled from the corner of their mouths, catching the light as a long, silvery strand of saliva connected them when they finally pulled apart. The crowd erupted in cheers and catcalls. I knew he was doing it on purpose. He was punishing me for giving him the cold shoulder the other day and for not immediately trying to make up with him. It wasn’t until I walked right up to him that the crowd noticed me and slowly fell silent. Nick looked up, his expression blank. “What are you doing here?” I stared at that face, a ghost of our intimate moments flashing through my mind. In the heat of passion, we had even whispered words of love. Did it hurt? A little. But how much? Not enough to break me. I had always known this was who he was. A flirt, constantly seeking new thrills, incapable of saying no. Selfish, probably because he’d been spoiled his whole life, always putting himself first, never considering anyone else’s feelings. My voice trembled. “Nick, you’ve gone too far.” He looked up at me. He was sitting, and I was standing, but I felt like he was the one looking down on me. His expression was still blank, but a contemptuous smile played on his lips. “Too far? You can always break up with me. No one’s stopping you.” I said nothing, just stared at him. I had lost count of how many times he had threatened me with a breakup. Fifty? A hundred? One of his friends, who probably thought he was going too far, whispered to him, “Nick, man, don’t be like that. Look, Nat’s about to cry.” And I was crying. Acting requires commitment. As a single tear fell, I saw his expression shift. The hand holding his cigarette twitched, but he still said nothing, just watched me with cold eyes. In the next second, I said softly, “Fine, Nick.” “Let’s break up.” His face instantly turned ugly. For a moment, I thought he was going to explode. But instead, he laughed, a cruel, tight sound that seemed to come through gritted teeth. “Wow, Natalie. Bold move. Fine. But just so you know, I never go back for seconds. Don’t come crying back to me like a pathetic dog.” “Okay,” I nodded, wiping the tear from my eye. Then I turned and walked away without a single glance back. Nick didn’t come home that night. I spent the night deleting his contact information and everything related to him from my life. I packed my bags. The next morning, I was on the earliest flight back to my hometown. As the plane climbed above the clouds, I pulled out my SIM card and dropped it into the trash bag. 3 I never contacted Nick again. I posted a few emo, late-night thoughts on my social media to cultivate the image of a heartbroken woman, and then I promptly forgot all about him. Life back home fell into a routine. I quickly adapted to my new role at the company and went on the blind date my parents had arranged. The guy, a programmer who was already showing signs of balding at twenty-eight, droned on and on. “I think a woman’s place is in the home after marriage. What I mean is, you should quit your job. Don’t be so career-oriented. Take care of the family. Behind every successful man is a woman…” He prattled on, and I just smiled at my coffee cup, trying my hardest not to dump it over his piggish head. When he finally finished, he looked at me expectantly. “Did you get all that? Anything you’d like to add?” I maintained my smile. “No, but Mr. Wang, I don’t think we’re a good match. Maybe we should just leave it at that.” I walked away to the sound of him muttering about how “women over 25 are worthless” and “old maids can’t be choosers.” I’d been on several dates since I’d been back, and some of the guys were decent catches. But after being with someone like Nick, an absolute top-tier specimen, I just couldn’t bring myself to settle for an average Joe. That feeling lasted until a company meeting one morning. Everyone was already there, sitting in tense silence around the conference table. I whispered to the VP next to me, “What’s going on? Is the company in trouble?” He leaned in. “The old chairman’s son is being parachuted in. Rumor is he’s starting with our branch as a trial run before he takes over the whole group. This Mr. Grey is supposedly a Harvard grad, worked at Goldman Sachs, then started his own finance firm and made a billion overnight. The old man had to practically drag him back. He’s a real shark, so be careful what you say to him.” A few moments later, a young man in a black suit walked in. A black wool coat was draped over his shoulders, which an assistant respectfully took as he entered the room. His footsteps stopped. I looked up. In that instant, every eye in the room was drawn to him. The first thing that struck you was his presence. It was the aura of someone who was used to being in charge, of holding power. He wasn’t overtly arrogant, but everyone in the room, including me, felt an instinctive urge to lower their gaze. The second thing you noticed were his piercingly clear eyes. His dark hair was slicked back, revealing a strong brow. I’d heard the chairman’s wife was French, and you could see the perfect fusion of elegant, blonde-and-blue-eyed European bone structure and Eastern aesthetics in him. He had the sharp planes of a Western face softened by Eastern features. He was incredibly handsome, on par with Nick, but his powerful presence was so overwhelming that you barely noticed his looks at first. “Apologies. My flight was delayed. I’m late.” He acknowledged his tardiness first, then took his seat at the head of the table and got straight to the point. “My name is Julian Grey. I’m the new general manager of this company. I’ve reviewed the company’s financials and basic information. Now, starting with the VP, I want a brief report from each of you on your work over the past year and your current projects.” One by one, the department heads gave their reports, their voices trembling. Julian was just as sharp as the rumors claimed. He called out every attempt to fudge the numbers or gloss over problems. “I don’t like vague language, and I don’t like being played for a fool. I prefer to communicate openly, but if that doesn’t work, I’m not opposed to exploring other methods.” He didn’t raise his voice or curse, but a cold sweat broke out on everyone’s back. Even my palms were damp when I stood up. Thankfully, I was well-prepared, and my performance over the past year had been excellent. The more I spoke, the more confident I became. My career and education were my pride. They were the most important things in my life, and I never slacked off. Julian didn’t interrupt me. I could see a flicker of admiration in his eyes. When I finished, I paused. He nodded. “Natalie, right? Well done. From now on, all reports will be held to this standard.” … Since Julian’s arrival, everyone’s workload had increased. He cut out a lot of redundant processes and bad assets and brought in a slew of high-quality projects. We were all working longer hours, but our salaries had gone up accordingly. My colleagues, especially the younger women, were all fascinated by him. A couple of new hires, who must have gotten their ideas from romance novels, tried the whole “boss falls for the plucky heroine” routine. One publicly argued with him during a meeting. Another “accidentally” spilled coffee on his three-thousand-dollar shirt and then tried to wipe it off with her hands. The first one was fired the next day. The second one was fired on the spot. After that, the women in the office learned their lesson, but they still gathered in the breakroom to gossip about him. “I heard he’s never had a girlfriend. Do you think he’s still a virgin?” “No way. You watch too many dramas. A guy like that has women throwing themselves at him. He’s definitely not a virgin.” “I’d give up my entire year’s bonus to spend one night with him. He’s an absolute god. Did you see him in those trousers the other day? Oh my god, he is packing!” … I listened from the sidelines, a new idea taking root. With Nick gone, Julian seemed like a much better option. This man, I thought. I want to try. 4 I started making a point of appearing in Julian’s orbit. He always came in half an hour early. Three out of five days a week, I’d manage to catch the same elevator as him. At that hour, it was usually just the two of us. I kept it brief—a simple “good morning,” I’d press his floor button, and then stand quietly to the side. Every day at noon, like clockwork, I’d go for a coffee. He usually took his coffee break around the same time. I made sure never to be in the breakroom when he was, but I always timed it so he would see me leaving as he arrived. Occasionally, I’d work late, and he would pass my desk on his way out. In short, I made sure he saw me as much as possible, without ever saying more than a few words to him. Finally, on the seventeenth time he saw me working late, he paused and walked over to my desk. “I’ve noticed you’ve been staying late a lot recently. Are you running into any problems?” I looked up, feigning surprise. After a moment’s hesitation, I handed him the file I was working on. “It’s a new project. I’m just not sure about the risk assessment for some of this company’s assets, so I wanted to do some extra research.” Julian sat down at the empty desk next to mine. “Let me see.” He smelled of a subtle, woody cologne that mingled with my own light rose perfume, creating an intoxicating blend. “I think this project is viable. Look at their ’23 reports. Their financial situation is solid, and…” He spoke with an easy authority, and I listened intently, nodding and interjecting with a series of highly technical questions. After he answered each one, I let my expression shift to one of dawning understanding. “Oh, I see. Thank you, Mr. Grey. I hadn’t thought of it from that angle before.” “You have a strong skill set, just a bit light on experience. Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. You should head home,” he said, a rare hint of a joke in his voice. “I don’t want people thinking I’m some kind of sweatshop boss.” I nodded, packed up my things, and we walked downstairs together. As we stepped outside, a gust of wind blew rain against me. I hesitated, taking a step back. Julian, who had been about to leave, noticed I wasn’t moving and turned back. “What’s wrong?” I waved a hand dismissively. “It’s nothing, Mr. Grey. You go ahead. I just… remembered I have something else to do.” He didn’t press, just nodded and left. Five minutes later, his car pulled out of the underground garage. I was still standing by the entrance. Julian rolled down his window. “You didn’t drive?” I looked embarrassed. “No. It’s hard to get a cab in the rain. It’s fine, Mr. Grey. I’m sure one will come by soon.” He didn’t hesitate. “Get in. I’ll give you a ride.” … I talked a lot with Julian on the way home. He was surprised to find that we had a lot in common. Even one of my favorite niche films, The Holy Mountain, was his favorite as well. Julian, who had been reserved at first, gradually became more talkative. By the time we reached my street, he was so engrossed in our conversation that he drove right past my building without stopping. I bit my lip, about to point it out, but he noticed on his own. “Sorry, I wasn’t watching the GPS.” When the car stopped, I thanked him again for the ride. Julian just nodded. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but he swallowed the words. “Is something wrong, Mr. Grey?” I asked, looking at him. “What’s that perfume you’re wearing? It’s nice.” The moment the words left his mouth, he seemed to regret them. Saying anything else would only make it more awkward, so he just looked down, silent. I hid a smile. “Penhaligon’s The Coveted Duchess Rose. Well, Mr. Grey, see you tomorrow.”

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I’ve been reincarnated as the male teacher in a trashy romance novel. My gender: female. My current gender: male. If I’ve committed a crime, let the law punish me. What is this, painless gender reassignment? Now, when I’m tutoring the female lead, she “accidentally” falls into my arms, eyes glistening with tears, the picture of helpless beauty. “Oh… Mr. Hayes… are you alright?” Is this some kind of cosmic joke? Also, you’re currently crushing my crotch. So, no, I’m not alright. Smile. 1 This whole story is a mess, and now I’m the one sane person stuck in the middle of it. In class, I’m explaining to the students that one plus one equals three. They’re all listening intently, applauding from time to time to encourage me. I’m so moved… Not! Me, a girl who barely passed high school math, is now a math teacher in a steamy novel. I feel my soul ascending to a higher plane, like I can see my great-grandma waving at me from the afterlife. Thanks, Gram-Gram, but I’ll pass on the ghostly tea. This is just too ridiculous. Mixed in with the scattered applause are… other sounds. Indescribable ones. “Mmm… don’t, not here.” “They’ll hear us… Mr. Hayes will find out…” “So? Wouldn’t that be more fun? You were practically draped all over him yesterday.” Hold on. How did you see that? I thought your character lived in the building across from hers, not in her house. Do you have binoculars? X-ray vision? You’re a creep. The soft whimpers wash over me like a wave, leaving me stranded and spiritually dead on the shore. “Shhh…” “Who’s better? Him… or me?” You, me, him—everyone’s a winner in the game of life, right? Hello? Am I invisible? I’m right here. I scan the classroom. Okay, it seems every student here is conveniently deaf and blind. Perfect. I wouldn’t want to spoil your fun, even if it means my eyes might start bleeding from the second-hand embarrassment. 2 All jokes aside, the moment the bell rings, I decide I need to see the school nurse about my eyes. The handsome nurse, Dr. Cole, has a strange flush creeping up from under his glasses. “Well… you seem fine. Just get some rest. And…” He trails off, hesitating. He glances at me, then down at the eye drops he’s handing over. “You need to… exercise some self-control.” Excuse me? Control what? What did I do now? Behind him, the privacy curtain is pulled almost completely shut. I look down. Next to the leg of the cot are a pair of shoes. Sophie’s shoes. … Oh, no. I am not taking the fall for this. I dare you to look me in the eye and say that again with a straight face. Those are prescription lenses you’re wearing, buddy, not rose-colored glasses. Something is not right here. You, my friend, are acting very suspicious. 3 In a novel where any guy with a halfway decent face is a potential love interest, a handsome school nurse is a prime candidate. So why are you blushing at me? Hard pass. I just escaped a weirdly sapphic subplot; I’m not diving into a gay romance. Maybe you should be more concerned about the girl behind the curtain? If she keeps shaking like that, she’s going to vibrate the entire cot to pieces. 4 Honestly, this is my life now. By day, I’m forced to listen to the live, unabridged audio version of human procreation. By night, I have to star in the movie. As the male lead, no less. The first time, Sophie opens the door and trips, falling into my arms. “Oh, Mr. Hayes! I’m… I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” The second time, she’s walking up the stairs and tumbles right into my chest. “Oh my gosh, Mr. Hayes, I didn’t mean to…” The third time, she’s just trying to pick up a textbook and, you guessed it, lands in my arms again. “Sob, Mr. Hayes, I just don’t understand this problem…” The fourth time… Enough! I don’t know if I’m okay, but you’ve clearly got a problem! If you have balance issues, see a doctor! Why do you keep launching yourself at me? Even if I were interested, which I’m not, my body can’t take this abuse. I’m tired. Let the world burn. I’m pretty sure civilization will continue to turn without me teaching high school math. To make it worse, Sophie’s mom brings us a plate of sliced fruit, turns on a little desk lamp, and closes the bedroom door behind her with a knowing smile. “Thank you so much for all your hard work, Mr. Hayes.” I’m touched, but I’m too terrified to move. If you weren’t looking so sincere, I’d swear you were being sarcastic, you little devil. 5 Leaving Sophie’s house, I feel like my life force has been drained by a succubus. I can’t take it anymore. Hey, you, the pervert in the building across the street—instead of just watching, why don’t you come over and rescue me? I can’t go on like this. It’s not just that I have no idea how to tutor her; with the way she throws herself at me three times a minute, she’s not learning a damn thing anyway. After careful consideration, I take her mother’s hand in mine, my expression the epitome of sincerity. “Mrs. Gable, Sophie’s academic progress has been… astonishingly fast.” She clasps my hand back, her eyes shining with gratitude. “Really? That’s all thanks to you, Mr. Hayes.” “Yes, exactly! Which is why I believe her performance has stabilized. She no longer requires any additional tutoring.” “But…” she begins, hesitant. I press on. “No buts. You have to trust her. She’s going to be a pillar of our nation one day!” Probably not if I keep teaching her, but we’ll gloss over that. “So, starting tomorrow, I won’t be coming over anymore.” Standing behind her mother, Sophie looks at me, her expression so wounded she seems on the verge of tears. I, on the other hand, can barely contain my grin. I feel like a new man. “Well, I should be going. Goodbye.” “Oh, of course. Thank you again,” her mom says, still beaming. “Mr. Hayes, you’re a wonderful teacher.” Bye-bye now! 6 Good news puts a spring in your step, and my steps take me straight to a bar. One drink in, and the room is spinning. You have got to be kidding me. This body is a total lightweight! One-star review. Definitely leaving a one-star review. The bar’s dim lighting swims before my eyes, and I nearly pass out. “Are you okay?” A voice, and a hand steadying my waist. “Thanks, I’m f— mmph.” Before I can finish, a powerful wave of nausea hits me. I clamp a hand over my mouth, push the stranger away, and stumble toward the men’s room. “Blech…” … Phew. After emptying my stomach, I feel much clearer. Then, a rustling sound from the next stall. “Don’t… not like this…” Huh? That voice sounds familiar. I listen closer. “Like what? Like this?” A sharp slap, followed by a gasp from the girl. “Mmm, you little thing…” The air thickens with a raw, undeniable desire. I’m sorry, I just puked. I really can’t handle this right now. And who the hell are you, dude? “But… someone’s in here…” “Doesn’t that make it more exciting? Huh?” And once again, I’m an unwilling audience member to a live performance. Where am I? What am I doing with my life? Hey, author? Writing the same scene over and over again is not going to do you any favors. 7 I stumble out of the restroom, wondering what I did to deserve this curse. Why does every hookup in this universe require me to be listening from behind a wall? A figure approaches, silhouetted against the light. “Feeling any better?” The voice is like a cool breeze. The man is tall and well-built, with handsome features. His black button-down shirt hints at a gym-toned body, and his tailored slacks are… ahem. Realizing this is the good samaritan who saved me from face-planting earlier, I thank him, while an inappropriate thought crosses my mind. That’s a seriously hot outfit. I feel two warm trickles from my nose. His eyes widen. “You’re having a nosebleed! Are you okay?!” I hastily cover my nose, forcing a laugh. “Just… been a little stressed lately, haha. How embarrassing.” I take the napkin he offers and thank him again. He chuckles. “Don’t worry about it. Why don’t you come sit down for a bit? I didn’t think one of my drinks would knock you out that fast.” “Huh?” I ask, confused. He points to the bar. “I was the one who made your drink.” “Oh.” I nod, mortified. I waltzed in here like I owned the place, only to be taken down by a single cocktail and then get a nosebleed from checking out the hot bartender. Note to self: find a new planet to live on. As if sensing my humiliation, he smiles again. “Let me make you something to help with the hangover. Consider it my apology for not warning you.” “Haha, you don’t have to do that. It’s fine.” “Come on.” …Back at the bar, I finish the non-alcoholic drink, listen to a few jazz numbers, and decide it’s time to go. The last thing I need is to run into Sophie on her way out of the bathroom. I get up and turn to Liam—my savior’s name is Liam. “You’re busy, I should get going.” Liam looks up at me. “Wait, I’m about to close up. Want to walk out together?” “…Sure.” I mean, honestly, who could say no to a handsome guy with a smile in his eyes asking you so gently? Even if I am technically a guy right now. Doesn’t matter. If I can’t have him, I can at least look. 8 I wait for Liam by the back door of the bar while he finishes up. “Sorry for the wait,” his voice says from behind me. I turn around. “No problem at—!!!” My world screeches to a halt. Can someone please tell me why Sophie is also using the back exit? And is that Bathroom Bro dragging her along by the hand? My gaze drops. Wow. He’s certainly… hands-on. I spin around quickly, but I turn too fast. Some degenerate left a banana peel on the ground—a banana peel!—and just as I’m about to become intimately acquainted with the pavement, Liam’s reflexes kick in and he catches me. My hero! My absolute hero! I would propose on the spot. “You okay?” Liam asks, his voice laced with concern. One of his arms is wrapped around my waist, the other holding my hand, pulling me securely against his chest. I shake my head slowly, clutching my heart as it hammers against my ribs. “Ah!” A sharp gasp shatters the strange, charged moment between us. “Mr. Hayes?” I freeze. Sophie’s eyes dart between me and Liam, her expression a cocktail of shock, dawning realization, and finally, utter heartbreak. “Does… does this mean…” Mean what? Don’t you dare finish that sentence. We’re completely innocent here! Then, in a tone one might use to condemn a cheating lover, she adds, “No wonder…” No wonder what?! Look at the guy whose hand is still attached to you and think before you speak! I haven’t done a single thing with you! Sophie lets out a little whimper, covers her face, and runs off crying. Bathroom Bro—Vince, I guess—shoots me a death glare. “Hmph. You made Sophie cry. I’ll make you pay for that.” Then he chases after her.

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Three years after our breakup, my ex Sarah appeared at my door—pregnant and abandoned. Out of pity, I covered her hospital bills. During childbirth, complications arose. With her last breath, she begged me to raise the baby. I agreed. To support the child, I took a shady job, got arrested, and was expelled from university. I wrecked my body with manual labor, all to raise the boy. Years later, when he’d become a successful doctor, Sarah reappeared—alive—with my brother. “You were just raising our son,” they said, tossing me cash. My own parents admitted they’d always known. Even the son I’d sacrificed for looked at me with disgust. That night, I drank myself into the path of a car. When I opened my eyes, I was back at the hospital—the day Sarah went into labor. 1. “The patient has an amniotic fluid embolism. We’re losing her,” a nurse said, rushing out with a newborn in her arms. “We did everything we could.” She thrust the wailing infant into my arms. I stood there, frozen. “She seems to have something to say to you. Dad, you should go in now.” The word “Dad” sent a chill down my spine. In my past life, Sarah had found me in her third trimester, spinning a story about being used and abandoned. For the next few months, I was the one who paid for everything, who took her to every check-up, who got her admitted to the hospital. I thought my duty would end once the baby was born. I never imagined she would bribe the doctors and nurses to fake her own death, trapping me with guilt and moral obligation, turning me into the ultimate fall guy. I was a college student, barely scraping by, trying to study and raise a child at the same time. To make extra money, I fell for a trap set by my roommate and started working for a shady telemarketing company. Less than two weeks in, before I saw a single paycheck, the police raided the office for fraud. I was arrested and expelled. Without a degree, I couldn’t find a decent, well-paying job. But the baby was growing, and so were the expenses. I worked myself to the bone, taking any odd job I could find, from dawn till dusk. My back ached constantly. I skipped meals during the day and lost sleep at night, but I was young, and my body held up… for a while. When it was time for kindergarten, my parents, who had never shown any interest before, suddenly insisted I send him to an expensive private school. “Kids these days are different,” my father had said sternly. “The competition starts in preschool. If he falls behind at the starting line, his whole life will be a struggle.” At the time, I was so focused on doing what was best for the boy that I never questioned their sudden concern. I just listened as they suggested I sell one of my kidneys. “You have two, after all. You won’t die without one,” they’d urged. “But if this child misses this opportunity, it will affect him for the rest of his life.” I let them talk me into it. I sold a kidney, and my health immediately began to decline. Soon, I was living on painkillers. Somehow, I managed to get him through childhood, through his master’s and doctoral degrees, until he landed a coveted position as an attending physician at a top-tier hospital. And that’s when Sarah, my dead ex-girlfriend, reappeared, holding my brother Jackson’s hand. They thanked me for my sacrifice, and Sarah tried to dismiss decades of my life with a check for thirty grand. I refused it. “Alex is my son. I don’t need a thank-you fee.” Jackson just laughed at me. “I’m his biological father. My blood runs in his veins. You can’t change that.” My parents sided with him, patting my shoulder. “Evan, he really is your brother’s son. You should let them be a family.” The moment my parents admitted it, I felt the blood reverse in my veins. No wonder they had been so invested in his upbringing. But as his grandparents, they never contributed a dime. They just squeezed every last drop of life out of me for their precious grandson, waiting to swoop in and reap the rewards. I told them all to get lost. But then Alex appeared, standing protectively in front of his real parents. He pointed a finger at me, and his words were daggers. “You’re not my dad. Don’t think your kidney failure is my problem. I’m not paying for your treatment!” My heart shattered. Years of back-breaking labor and a missing kidney had finally caught up with me. My body was failing, and it was all for him. That night, I got drunk on a street corner, stumbled into traffic, and died in a pool of my own blood, my eyes wide open with regret… Thinking of this, I looked down at the infant in my arms, and my blood ran cold. “Dad?” the nurse prompted again, urging me toward the delivery room. I shoved the baby back into her arms. “What are you talking about? This isn’t my child.” In my past life, I was so consumed with grief for Sarah that I never noticed that from the moment he was born, my name was listed as the father on his birth certificate. It made it easy for everyone to believe he was mine after her “death.” “Sir, what kind of joke is that?” The nurse looked flustered and tried to push me toward the room. “The mother is fading fast. You need to see her.” I let out a cold laugh and went in anyway. Sure enough, there was Sarah, her face artfully pale, looking like she was on death’s door. A theatrical masterpiece. “Evan, I’m dying. The baby… can you…” “No,” I cut her off, my voice hard as steel. “But your name is on the birth certificate as his father. Please, just raise him for me. He’ll take care of you when you’re old, he’ll be a good son.” A good son? The man he became wouldn’t just refuse to care for me; he would actively wish for my death. Seeing I wouldn’t budge, Sarah went for the grand finale, her eyes rolling back as she pretended to lose consciousness. Instantly, the doctor and nurse she’d paid off rushed in, pushed me out of the room, and began their “emergency resuscitation.” A few minutes later, the doctor came out and informed me that Sarah had died. He told me to take the baby and handle the paperwork. I just shook my head and turned to leave. The nurse blocked my path, her voice loud and accusatory. “Sir, are you abandoning your child?” Her shout drew a crowd. People started whispering, and a few even pulled out their phones to record me, muttering that they should call the police. I took the baby from her, my voice calm. “I’m not married. How could I have a child?” “But the mother said you were the biological father!” the nurse insisted. An old man in the crowd couldn’t contain himself. “You bastard! You knock up a girl and then won’t even take responsibility for your own kid? You’re going to hell for this!” The nurse fanned the flames. “His name is right there on the birth certificate, in the father’s section. I just don’t understand why you won’t acknowledge him.” The chorus of condemnation grew louder. “Your hospital has a strange sense of humor,” I said, forcing myself to remain calm. “For a child born out of wedlock, don’t you think a DNA test would be the first step?” I looked directly at the nurse. “Or does this hospital operate on a ‘write-a-name, make-a-dad’ policy? If I put your name down as the mother, does that make him your son?” She was speechless. The crowd, however, loved the idea, and started clamoring for a DNA test to prove what a scumbag I was. The young nurse stood there, completely lost. Just then, the doctor reappeared. “DNA testing is handled by the lab. If you insist, follow me.” Something about his calm demeanor felt wrong. After they drew my blood in the lab, I noticed most of the crowd had dispersed, though a few busybodies were still hanging around, eager for the finale. “I’ve put a rush on it for you. The results should be back this afternoon.” I nodded. A few hours of waiting was a small price to pay to be free of this nightmare forever. But when the results came in that afternoon, I was the one who was stunned. The report showed a 99.99% probability of paternity. “The results are in. You are the father,” the doctor stated flatly. My mind was a chaotic mess. Then, a memory from my past life surfaced. Right before she “died,” Sarah had given me a small lock of hair, claiming it belonged to the baby’s real father, so I could register his birth. Lost in grief and pity, I had accepted it without a second thought. I never stopped to wonder how she could have predicted her own death with enough clarity to prepare a lock of hair. A cold smirk touched my lips. If Sarah could bribe a nurse, she could certainly bribe a lab technician. Swapping out my blood sample for a pre-prepared one from the real father would be child’s play. “If you still have doubts, we can run the test again,” the doctor offered. “But the fee…” I waved him off. It wouldn’t matter how many times they ran it. Just then, my phone rang. It was my parents. “Your brother told us you have a child now?” my mother’s voice was sharp. I remembered how, in my past life, I had been the one to call them. They had immediately screamed at me for being irresponsible, for having a child out of wedlock, saying I wasn’t half the man my brother was. Then they’d demanded I bring the baby home and take on my responsibilities. Looking back, their hypocrisy was breathtaking. I stayed silent. My father took the phone and started yelling. “You disgrace! Bring that child home right now!” The irony was thick enough to choke on. “He’s not my son. It’s none of my business.” I said flatly. “The biological father is probably dead or gone. Sarah never mentioned him. I’ll just leave him at the hospital. They can send him to an orphanage.” My father was so furious he was sputtering. My mother got back on the line, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “Evan, when you make a mistake, you have to take responsibility. We know you were just foolish for a moment. We’re willing to accept this child.” Of course you are, I thought. He’s your precious Jackson’s son. “There’s just one problem,” I said. “I’m broke. After you cut off my allowance, I had to borrow money for Sarah’s hospital bills. If the baby comes with me, he’s going to starve.” I could hear my father coughing with rage in the background. My mother immediately changed her tune. “I’ll send you some money right now. Go buy the baby some formula. That poor thing, losing his mother at birth, he’ll never even have breast milk…” She hung up. A moment later, a notification popped up on my phone. A transfer of fifty dollars. Just enough for a single can of formula. I laughed out loud. I had truly underestimated my mother’s shamelessness. She wouldn’t spare an extra dime for me my entire life, but she expected me to pour my soul out for my brother’s child. I often wondered, even if they favored my brother, how could their hearts be so biased? As I was pondering this, the doctor called. He said the baby’s condition had worsened, and he’d been moved to the NICU. “He has pneumonia. He likely inhaled too much amniotic fluid during birth, causing a lung infection.” I listened, my mind elsewhere. In my past life, the baby was perfectly healthy. I registered him at the local precinct just days after he was born. Why was he sick this time around? I looked through the glass at the tiny infant. The man he became had cruelly severed all ties with me. Logic told me to walk away. But right now… he was just a helpless baby. “The treatment will cost around twenty thousand dollars,” the doctor said. “You can pay at the billing office. We’ll do everything we can.” Twenty thousand dollars. A painful memory struck my heart. At this exact time, I had just received a major national scholarship for academic excellence. The prize money was exactly twenty thousand dollars. In my past life, shortly after I told my parents about it, my mother claimed she needed surgery for a stomach issue and took the money. A dark suspicion formed in my mind. I called my mother. “Mom, you had a check-up recently, right? Is everything okay?” She paused for a second, then laughed. “I’m perfectly healthy, honey. Don’t you worry about me. You just take care of that child.” After hanging up, I realized I had been a pawn in their games in both lifetimes. But if I fell for the same trick again, I would deserve whatever I got. … Days passed, and I didn’t tell my family about the baby’s condition. Finally, Jackson couldn’t wait any longer and called me, asking when I was bringing the baby home. “Jackson, the baby is very sick. He might not be coming home for a while.” “But pneumonia…” Jackson blurted out, then quickly corrected himself. “What kind of illness takes so long to treat? Even if it was pneumonia, it should be better by now!” I pretended not to notice his slip-up. “I wish it were just pneumonia,” I said, my voice heavy with fake sorrow. “The doctor says he has a congenital heart defect. He needs surgery.” “What? A heart defect? That’s impossible!” my brother shouted. “Are you sure the doctor isn’t mistaken?” My voice cracked as I insisted, “Would I lie to you about something like this? If you don’t believe me, ask the doctor yourself.” He hung up immediately. I knew he was calling the hospital. He had tried to trick me into giving up my scholarship money for a fake case of pneumonia. He had no idea that the cost of heart surgery was far more than twenty thousand dollars. A short while later, my brother and my parents stormed into the hospital, their faces etched with worry. “Doctor, how much will the heart surgery cost?” my mother asked, her voice trembling. “Around three hundred thousand,” the doctor said, glancing at me. “And that’s just for the surgery. It doesn’t include the cost of recovery and aftercare.” My parents collapsed to the floor. Even my brother stood frozen, utterly lost. “We don’t have that kind of money,” I said, helping them up. “Maybe… maybe we should just give up on the treatment…” My father slapped me across the face, calling me a monster. “We have to save him,” my mother sobbed. “We’ll find a way to get the money.” She pulled my father and brother aside, and they began to discuss selling their house. I smiled coldly to myself. Who but his biological father and grandparents would go to such lengths? “Evan,” my mother said, turning to me. “You mentioned you got a scholarship. It’s not much, but every little bit helps.” “The money doesn’t get deposited until next month,” I lied. “I’m worried the baby can’t wait that long.” My father cursed me again for being useless, then started calling a real estate agent. Less than a week later, they had the three hundred thousand. They had to sell the house in a rush, at a huge loss. They transferred all the money to my account. Since I was the baby’s legal father, it made sense for me to handle the payments. Seeing that much money in my account gave me a strange feeling. The baby didn’t have a heart defect. The doctor had lied to them. This corrupt hospital was willing to invent a case of pneumonia to scam me out of my scholarship; for a much larger sum, they were more than happy to switch sides and help me scam my family. In my past life, when I was dying of kidney failure, they wouldn’t even give me a carton of milk. But the moment this child was in trouble, they sold their house without a second thought. Was I not their biological son? “The house is gone. Once the baby is better, you’ll take him with you to school and raise him,” my father ordered. “In fact, once you get that scholarship money, you should just drop out and get a job to support him.” “Dropping out is not an option,” I said calmly. “The university has already offered me a full scholarship to study abroad. I’ll be leaving soon.” I saw my brother’s eyes narrow, staring at me with pure hatred. “Study abroad? With what money?” my mother demanded. “The university is covering all my expenses. You don’t need to worry about it.” “What about the child? You have to take responsibility!” my father yelled, raising his cane to strike me. “Are you even human?” How ridiculous. I was inhuman for refusing to raise my brother’s child? “If you dare to leave, I’ll kill myself!” my father threatened, actually moving toward a wall as if to ram his head into it. “Let’s see if the university still wants you when you’ve been branded for driving your own father to his grave!” I shook my head, my fists clenched. “I’ll take the child with me,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’ll raise him abroad. He’ll get a good education there.” Hearing this, my parents’ expressions softened. The chance for the boy to get an international education was a golden opportunity. Jackson looked conflicted. “If you don’t agree,” I added, “I can leave him with you. Or I can drop him off at an orphanage.” “No! You have to take him with you!” Jackson decided firmly. My mother looked like she wanted to object, but a sharp glance from Jackson silenced her. A month later, I officially registered the baby. Just like in my past life, I named him Alex. This time, as I held him in my arms, my heart was a storm of conflicting emotions. … Once I was abroad, free from the interference of my parents and brother, life was still hard. But with the three hundred thousand dollars and my own relentless hard work, I managed to build a successful career. Over the years, my family tried to call me countless times, but I never answered. I was determined to sever all ties. But it seemed fate was intent on binding me to them. More than a decade later, I returned to the country. I had two reasons: to handle the paperwork for my child’s enrollment at Stanford and to conduct a personnel review at our company’s domestic branch as a representative from headquarters. I had just stepped out of my Rolls-Royce when I ran into Jackson, who was working as a sales manager there, right at the entrance to the lobby.

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The day before our engagement, my fiancé Connor, heir to Summit Corp., was distant as we walked downtown. I bought some street food and offered him a bite. He slapped it away, furious. “Sophie,” he snapped, “my family needs a classy matriarch. This cheap stuff is embarrassing. How will my parents accept you?” Humiliated, I threw the food away and nodded. “Whatever you say.” But at our party the next day, Lillian stood by his side. He pulled me aside, pleading, “She tried to kill herself over us. I have to do this. I’ll come back for you once she’s stable.” Again, I nodded. “Fine by me,” and walked away. Four years later, he appeared at my door with a ring. “Sophie, Lillian agreed to the divorce! We can be together now!” I frowned, pushing him toward the door. “Move. You’ll make me late to pick up my son.” 1 Connor trailed after me. “I’ve had this place watched, Sophie. No man has set foot in here for four years. What son are you talking about?” He softened his tone, trying to sound reasonable. “I know you’re angry. It’s okay. I’ll take you home with me right now. I know your family is poor, just scraping by with that little chicken farm, but I’ve finally convinced my parents. They won’t look down on you anymore.” I turned, my brow furrowed in irritation. “I told you before, my family’s farm covers several hills.” Connor scoffed. “Hills or not, it’s still just chickens. Please, whatever you do, don’t mention it in front of my parents. It’s so… provincial.” I gave up. There was no getting through to this city slicker. He couldn’t possibly grasp the value of truly organic, free-range chickens raised over acres of rolling hills. That little “provincial” farm had made my family wealthy long ago. I picked up my pace. If I was any later, my little boy would be the last one left waiting. Connor kept up, his voice a persistent buzz in my ear. “We can go back to the manor right now. It’s huge. Lillian hasn’t moved out yet, but there’s more than enough room for you.” He paused, then added, “You’ll have to be nice to her, though. She’s… sensitive. Just let her have her way. We can’t risk upsetting her.” “What the hell?” I spun around, staring at him in disbelief. “You’re not even divorced, and you’re asking me to move in with you and your wife?” “What do you think I am? Your mistress? Are you insane?” I yanked my car door open and slid inside, desperate to put some distance between us. But he was too quick. He smoothly opened the passenger door and settled into the seat beside me. “I always told you,” he chided gently, “lock your doors the second you get in the car. For safety. Still so careless after all these years.” His tone was so familiar, so possessive, as if the last four years had never happened. A hot flash of fury shot through me. “Get. Out.” Instead, he clicked his seatbelt into place, a smug, triumphant look on his face. “You said you were picking up your son, right? Better get going. You don’t want to be late.” I glanced at the clock. He was right. I was running out of time. My son would be heartbroken if he was the last one there. I slammed my foot on the gas, peeling out of the driveway. “Don’t you dare say a word when you see my son,” I warned, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. Connor just shrugged, utterly unconcerned. “Sure, I’ll keep my mouth shut. You’ve really committed to this, haven’t you? I can’t wait to see where you pull this imaginary son from.” As I drove, I forced myself to take deep, calming breaths. We stopped at a red light, the traffic ahead a tangled mess. “Connor,” I said, my voice low and heavy, “why did you assume I’d still be waiting for you after four years?” My tone must have finally gotten through to him, because for a split second, a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual unshakable arrogance. “Once you’ve been with me, Sophie, who else could possibly measure up? What kind of men do you even meet? Who else would you find? Of course you’d wait for me.” A long, weary sigh escaped my lips. So that was it. In his mind, I wasn’t worthy of anyone better. That’s why he could leave me without a second thought and come back four years later, expecting me to fall right back into his arms. The light turned green. I pressed the accelerator. As we crossed the intersection, I said softly, “Connor, I’m not kidding. I’m married. I have a child.” “Pull over after this, and please, just go. I don’t want you disrupting the life I have now.” He frowned. “Sophie, do you really think a lie like that will work on me?” “I know you’re hurting. You can throw any tantrum you want. I’ll be right here with you, until you’ve gotten it all out of your system and you’re ready to come home.” 2 If he wouldn’t believe my words, he would have to believe his own eyes. “Mommy! You’re late today!” A little boy with bright eyes and a sweet smile ran toward me, his arms outstretched. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. Mommy had to pick something up from the old house. I’ll make it up to you with some fries later, okay?” “Okay!” My son, Leo, chirped happily, hugging me tight. Connor stood frozen, his face a mask of shock. He never expected to see a real child. His expression hardened. “Sophie, this joke has gone far enough. You can’t just grab some random kid off the street!” “This is serious! It’s kidnapping! You could go to jail for this. Take him back right now.” He strode forward, his hand reaching for Leo’s arm to drag him away. I slapped his hand away and pulled Leo into my arms protectively. “What do you think you’re doing?” Just then, one of the kindergarten teachers walked over, a friendly smile on her face. “Oh, you must be Leo’s dad! We’ve only ever met his mom. It’s so wonderful to finally meet you.” Connor’s jaw dropped. He stared at me, then at the teacher, utterly stunned. “He’s… he’s really your son?” “Of course.” I was about to turn and leave, but he grabbed my arm, stopping me. His eyes were locked on the teacher. “How old is the boy?” “Leo just turned three,” she said cheerfully. Three. The word hung in the air. Connor’s grip on my arm tightened painfully. “Sophie… he’s my son, isn’t he? You were pregnant, and you never told me?” I looked at him, my expression unreadable. “If I had been pregnant with your child back then, would you have chosen me over Lillian?” “I…” He faltered, then looked down, his brow creased. “Lillian would have died.” A cold, bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Then it’s a good thing he’s not your son.” “Sophie, I’m taking you and our son home. Right now.” “My parents have been hoping for a grandchild for years. If you come back with our son, they won’t care about our families’ status difference anymore.” I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. “Who wants to go with you? I told you, he’s not your son. Are you deaf?” “Stop this nonsense, Sophie. I will not allow Connor blood to be raised out here in the world, all alone.” He glared around him with disdain. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? How could you let our son attend a school like this? This place is a dump. He’ll never get a proper education here.” I glanced at the beautiful, sprawling campus of the kindergarten, then back at Connor. This was a top-tier prep school, a direct feeder into the Ivy Leagues. Did he have any idea what that meant? It was worlds better than the so-called elite academy he attended, where rich kids went to waste time. I had specifically asked Alex to get Leo in here so he wouldn’t pick up the arrogant, entitled attitude of kids like Connor. To hear him belittle it… I was suddenly so grateful I’d never married this short-sighted man. “Stay away from us,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “This has nothing to do with you.” “If he’s not my son, then whose is he?” Connor demanded, turning back to the teacher. “You! Check the records. Who is listed as the father?” To protect our privacy, we had left the father’s information blank on the school forms. The teacher, flustered, admitted she didn’t know. Hearing that the father’s name was missing only solidified Connor’s delusion. “Sophie, it must have been so hard for you, being a single mother all these years. You’ve been stubborn long enough. Come home with me.” Leo, sensing the tension, whispered in my ear, “Mommy, what about my fries?” Connor overheard and exploded. “Sophie! How can you feed my son that junk?” he roared. “You and your disgusting street food! First that cheap chicken, and now you’re feeding our son this greasy garbage? What if he gets sick? Can you take responsibility for that? He’s the only heir to the Connor family!” My son’s fries are homemade by our chef with organic potatoes. How is that garbage? I ignored him, turning to carry Leo to the car. But Connor blocked the door. “Don’t put him in this piece of junk. It’s not safe for my son.” My car was a modest but reliable sedan, chosen specifically to avoid drawing attention. The back seat, however, was custom-fitted with the latest and safest child-proofing technology. If Connor had bothered to look inside for even a second, he would have seen that I had a child and that I took damn good care of him. But he never cared about the details of my life. He only cared about himself. He gestured grandly toward his gleaming Mercedes. “Only I can give you the life you deserve.” As if on cue, Lillian appeared, dressed in a stunning evening gown that looked completely out of place on the busy afternoon street. She picked her way delicately across the pavement, a frown on her face. “Connor, darling, I thought you were picking up Sophie. What’s taking so long? We have to meet that mysterious new CEO of the Alexander Corporation, you know.” Connor’s expression instantly softened at the sight of her. “I remember, Lillian, don’t worry. I never forget what’s important to you.” He turned to me. “Sophie’s being a little difficult, but I’ll handle it. I’ll be right with you to meet Mr. Alexander. You look so beautiful today, he’ll be absolutely charmed. You’ll be the perfect Mrs. Alexander.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “The Alexanders are the most powerful family in Crestwood, far more influential than us. You deserve that happiness, Lillian. Just give me a minute to sort this out, okay?” I stared at them, my mind reeling. Did I hear that right? Lillian was supporting Connor’s reunion with his ex-girlfriend, while Connor was actively trying to set his wife up with another man? And this Mr. Alexander… they couldn’t possibly be talking about my husband, could they? 3 My gaze shifted to Lillian with a complicated mix of disbelief and annoyance. This woman was my polar opposite in every conceivable way. “I suppose I am just that captivating,” Lillian said with a smug little smile. Then her eyes fell on the child in my arms, and she let out a piercing shriek. “Sophie! That child… is he?” Connor rushed to explain. “He’s my son, Lillian. Let me explain.” Lillian clutched her chest, looking as if she’d been mortally wounded. “Connor… you had a child with her behind my back? You could have refused to marry me, but why… why did you have to betray me?” Her voice cracked. “Is that why you would never touch me? Because of them?” Connor immediately went to her side. “Lillian, it’s not what you think. This was before we were married.” He shot me a venomous glare. “She was desperate not to lose me, so she had this baby to trap me. I only just found out today. Don’t lower yourself to her level, please.” Lillian pointed a trembling finger at me, her face a mask of tragic betrayal. “Sophie, how could you be so shameless? To secretly have Connor’s son… do you have no decency?” Leo didn’t understand the words, but he knew she was attacking me. He pointed his little finger right back at her. “You’re a mean lady! Why are you yelling at my mommy? You’re bad!” Lillian’s face contorted with rage, and she raised her hand to strike him. I moved in a flash, spinning on my heel while still holding Leo with one arm, and caught her wrist in a vice-like grip. “You lay one finger on my son, and I swear you’ll regret it.” “Sophie, let her go!” Connor grabbed my arm. “She didn’t mean it! This is your fault! If you hadn’t hidden the child from me, none of this would have happened!” He could say what he wanted about me, but they were not touching my son. I released Lillian’s wrist and, using the momentum, swung my hand across Connor’s face. The crack of the slap echoed in the sudden silence. “Control your wife,” I snarled. “If she ever tries to hurt my son again, I will make her pay a thousand times over.” “You hit him!” Lillian shrieked. “Connor is the CEO of Summit Corp! He could crush you with a snap of his fingers! Don’t think having his son gives you any power. The Connors will never accept you!” She sneered. “Even if I leave, the next Mrs. Connor won’t be you.” I let out a short, cold laugh. Only Lillian cared about that title. “Please. The only one who would want to be Mrs. Connor is a bitch.” “You… you called me a bitch?” Lillian clung to Connor’s arm, her eyes, now cold and sharp, fixed on my son. “Connor, look at her. What kind of influence will she be on the boy? You need to bring him back to the Connor estate immediately, where he can be raised properly.” Connor’s brow furrowed. “Lillian’s right. Give me my son, Sophie. I can give him the best life imaginable.” “In your dreams!” Seeing them both preparing to lunge for Leo, I clutched him tighter and bolted back towards the school grounds. As I ran, I fumbled for my phone and dialed Alex. “Alex! Someone’s trying to take our son! I’m at the kindergarten entrance! Get here now! Right now!” Connor was right behind me. “Sophie, he’s my son too! He belongs with me, at home!”

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For four years, I threw myself at Grayson Vance with absolutely no shame. He was less than thrilled. With a single word of pressure from him, my family packed me up and shipped me overseas. “I don’t care what it takes,” he’d said. “Just make her stop.” “Or you’ll all regret it.” The drugs, the hypnosis, the electroshock treatments… It worked. It really worked. I forgot what it felt like to love him. My memory of his face even blurred around the edges, like a photograph left out in the sun. Finally, he gave the word, and I was allowed to come home. Now, I make a point to disappear whenever he’s around. My mother taught me that much: the man with the face of a fallen angel was not someone I could afford to cross. So when I saw him kissing my sister, my first instinct was to hide, to pull out my phone and secretly take a picture. His eyes, when they found me, were frigid and sharp with fury. I shrank into the corner, the words tumbling out of my mouth in a terrified mess. “I’m sorry, I just… you two look so perfect together. Like something out of a story…” I don’t know why it happened. But for a man who never showed a flicker of emotion, his gaze trembled violently. 1 Ever since I got back from Europe, I’ve felt like my brain is moving through sludge. Most days, I just sleep. I think there might be something wrong with me. Mom tells me not to worry. “You’ve always been my sleepy little girl, Nina,” she’d say, smoothing my hair. “Not driven like your sister. It’s fine. Everyone’s different. If you’re tired, go sleep.” I poured myself a large mug of black coffee, hoping to jolt my system awake, but it had no effect. I was tapping at my temples in frustration when the front doorbell chimed. Our housekeeper, Maria, announced, “Miss Olivia is home. Mr. Vance is with her.” A wave of pure joy washed over my parents’ faces. Dad practically ran to the door to greet them. Mom started to follow, then paused, remembering me. Her expression soured with conflict. “Nina, you should…” I nodded, already getting it. “I know. Grayson doesn’t like me.” I forced a small smile. “Olivia’s engagement is what’s important. I’ll just go upstairs. I could use a nap anyway.” She looked at me, her relief palpable as I faked a yawn. I was halfway up the grand staircase when I remembered I’d left my coffee mug behind. I wanted to give it one more try. As I turned, my eyes met a glacial stare from the doorway. It was pure instinct. I forgot the coffee. I forgot everything. I just ran. It felt like if I didn’t move, I would die. I didn’t stop until I was in my room with the door locked, a heavy desk shoved against it for good measure. Only then did the heart that had leaped into my throat finally drop back into my chest. I could never explain it, but the sight of Grayson Vance triggered a single, overwhelming emotion in me: terror. Mom said it was because Grayson was a natural-born leader, that anyone would feel crushed by his presence. “Especially a little mouse like you,” she’d added. She told me to stay out of his sight. “Grayson… he doesn’t have time for girls who look sweet but have nothing going on upstairs. His attention is for exceptional women, like your sister.” “Do you have any idea what the Vance family represents?” she’d continued, her voice urgent. “Marrying into that family would save us generations of struggle. Nina, you need to be smart about this.” And I was smart. I was dutiful. So every time Grayson came over, I made myself scarce. Mom was always pleased, sometimes rewarding me with a gentle pat on the head. I treasured those small moments of approval. That’s why I never told her the real reason I hid. I would have avoided him even without her warnings. His presence was suffocating. It felt like a physical weight on my chest, like a fist squeezing my heart. It left an aching hollowness behind, a strange sorrow I couldn’t name. Downstairs, the house filled with laughter. And wrapped in the sound of their joy, I drifted into a heavy, dreamless sleep. 2 When I woke again, the sky outside was a deep, bruised purple. It was already evening. The house was quiet. Grayson must have left. My stomach growled. I pushed open my door and, wearing a white cotton nightgown, padded barefoot down the stairs to find something to eat. The cool marble floor against my feet seemed to clear a tiny bit of the fog in my head. I was standing at the kitchen island, waiting for a slice of bread to toast, when the study door swung open. Grayson Vance emerged, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit. The warm, yellow light of the hallway carved his silhouette into something even more imposing, sharpening the breathtaking lines of his face. He looked like a god of judgment, descended to earth. But he was so cold. An arctic chill radiated from him, from his eyes, from the way he held himself. Even the gunmetal gray of his cufflinks seemed to gleam with frost. His gaze drifted across the long living room and landed on me. His thin lips pressed into a hard, straight line. The sheer force of his presence was a physical blow. In a split second, I snapped back to reality. Clapping my hands over my head, I dropped to the floor and scrambled under the dining room table, a pathetic attempt to hide. My sister, Olivia, came skipping down the stairs, her steps light and joyful. She ran straight into Grayson’s arms, grabbing his elbow and leaning against him. “Are you leaving already? You haven’t even seen my new headshots. Stay for dinner, please?” Olivia usually carried herself with a cool, untouchable grace. But now, her voice was sweet and pleading, the charming lilt of a pampered daughter. She was like a beautiful, exotic bird—bright plumage and a captivating song. Grayson didn’t speak. His cold eyes remained fixed on me, trembling beneath the table. Olivia’s smile faltered. She bit her lip. “If you’re busy, it’s okay. We can look another time. Come on, I’ll walk you out.” Grayson didn’t move. The oppressive weight of his attention was so focused on me, it was as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. Olivia opened her mouth to speak again but seemed to think better of it. After a long, tense silence, he finally spoke, his voice a low rumble. “Fine. I’ll stay for dinner.” I saw identical expressions of stunned disbelief flash across the faces of my father and sister. A faint, humorless smile touched Grayson’s lips. “What are you afraid of? Didn’t she forget everything?” He crossed the room in a few long strides and crouched down beside the table. The fabric of his trousers pulled taut against the powerful muscles in his legs. “Nina,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “Do you remember me?” I timidly lifted my eyes to his, then immediately looked away, unable to meet his gaze. I gave a slow, hesitant nod. But at that moment, a sharp, needle-like pain shot through my fingertips and toes. It was an automatic, agonizing response. A cry escaped my lips. I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head frantically. “I don’t know you! Don’t hit me! I don’t know you!” 3 The atmosphere at the dinner table was bizarre. My parents worked desperately to keep a conversation going, but Grayson ate in silence, his posture radiating an aristocratic coldness. He had no intention of participating, which made my parents’ forced enthusiasm painfully awkward. Olivia just stared at her plate, her face a dark mask of anger. I didn’t dare reach for any of the serving dishes, just picked at the small portion of rice in my bowl. When the meal finally ended, I could feel my parents exhale in relief. As Grayson stood to leave, something clicked in my mind. I shot up from my seat. “Mr. Vance, wait.” Everyone, including Grayson, turned to stare at me in shock. His brow furrowed in clear annoyance. “Just one second. Please?” I held my thumb and forefinger an inch apart. Without waiting for an answer, I bolted upstairs and returned a moment later, clutching a small tin box. All eyes were on me. I lifted the lid. “Mr. Vance, I think this is yours.” Resting on top was a collection of over a dozen wallet-sized photos. Some were one-by-one inch squares, others slightly larger. They clearly hadn’t been obtained through official channels. Some had the embossed stamp of an ID card, others had dried glue on the back. They’d been peeled off of various documents. The Grayson in the photos was younger, a hint of boyishness still softening the sharp edges of his features. But even then, his looks were extraordinary. Beneath the photos was a random assortment of junk: candy wrappers, an empty cigarette pack, used-up pen cartridges, a crumpled test paper. Grayson’s gaze burned into me. I had to swallow hard before I could continue. “I found it in the back of my closet. I don’t know who put it there. But I recognized you from the pictures, so I figured it must be yours.” His expression shifted, his eyes narrowing with a flicker of something analytical, probing. It made me feel small, and I felt my shoulders slump. He finally spoke. “It’s not mine. Throw it out.” “Oh. Okay.” I immediately dumped the contents of the box into a nearby trash can and started to head back upstairs. Suddenly, a dangerous glint appeared in Grayson’s eyes. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you, Nina?” he called after me. I turned, confused. “Doing what?” He let out a short, mocking laugh, his eyes filled with a cynical certainty, as if he could see right through me. “Never mind. It was a good performance. Don’t do it again. I’m not interested.” With that, he turned and walked out the door.

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Lately, something has been off with my wife. I’d come home to find her lying on the bed, face flushed, her body rising and falling in a gentle rhythm, the sound of soft, shallow breaths filling the quiet of the room. Every time I asked, she was evasive. She’d murmur something about just finishing her yoga routine before slipping into the bathroom to shower. The knot of suspicion in my gut tightened with each passing day. I started searching the house while she was in the shower, my heart pounding against my ribs. But I never found him. There was no trace of the phantom lover I was so sure existed. Did he leave just before I got home? That had to be it. Stella could track my car’s location on her phone. Of course. The bastard was clearing out just minutes before I pulled into the driveway. This Wednesday, I took a half-day off. I left my car at the office and took a cab, determined to finally catch them in the act. 1 The entire ride home, my heart hammered a frantic, sickening beat against my chest. My mind was a cinema of betrayal, playing and replaying scenes of Stella tangled in the arms of another man. I had the driver drop me at the corner. I crept to my own front door like a thief, pressing my ear against the wood. And there it was. The sound I’d been dreading. A woman’s breathless moans, the kind of sound that was pure, unadulterated ecstasy. A hot wave of rage washed over me, obliterating all reason. I punched in the security code, threw the door open, and charged inside—only to find Stella in the living room, alone, moving through a yoga pose on her mat. I didn’t stop. I stormed through the house, a man possessed, flinging open closet doors, checking under beds. I even scanned the narrow ledge outside the window where the AC unit sat. Nothing. No one. Stella, seeing the frantic look in my eyes, rushed over to me, her voice a sweet, confused melody. “Ethan? What’s wrong? What are you looking for?” “That sound! I heard you from the door! What the hell were you doing in here?” I yelled, my voice raw with the fury of a man who couldn’t find the evidence he was desperate to discover. Her expression shifted from confusion to a deep, wounded hurt. Her perfect, cherry-pink lips trembled, and fat tears began to spill from her eyes, tracing paths down her cheeks. She looked so utterly broken that it almost took my breath away. She unlocked her phone and handed it to me. “This,” she whispered. On the screen, a Japanese porn film was playing. The sounds were so explicit I felt a blush creep up my neck. “Why are you watching this in the middle of the day?” My anger began to recede, replaced by a dull throb of embarrassment. “The other night… you seemed so distant,” she said, her voice barely audible. “You weren’t… interested in me. I thought, maybe if I learned a few new things… I could make it more exciting for us.” It all clicked into place. The fire in my veins turned from rage to a different kind of heat. I looked at her—this beautiful, vulnerable woman, her body lean and toned from her workout, her eyes full of a desperate need to please me—and my anger dissolved completely. I pulled her down onto the yoga mat, my guilt and suspicion consumed by a sudden, overwhelming desire. Afterward, as she lay curled in my arms, looking like a dew-kissed flower, a wave of shame washed over me. I opened my banking app and transferred thirty thousand dollars into her account. She squealed with delight and covered my face in kisses. 2 I’m a vice president at a publicly-traded firm. As long as my wife is happy, that kind of money is nothing to me. Stella used to be the receptionist at my company. Young, gorgeous, with a body that could stop traffic. I was obsessed with her from the moment I saw her. After a year of relentless pursuit, she finally agreed to marry me and become a full-time wife. Lately, I’d been putting in long hours at work, and I’ll admit, our sex life had suffered. I’m also seven years older than her, a fact that feeds a constant, low-grade fear in the back of my mind that she’ll one day leave me for someone younger. But after this whole misunderstanding, that fear vanished. I was sure, deep in my bones, that Stella would never betray me. Until a month later. I was working late, bored, and scrolling through some online forums. A thread with a shocking title caught my eye: “Giving My Cuckold Husband Someone Else’s Baby.” I clicked on it. It was a cesspool of pixelated, obscene photos and posts that read like mission logs. “Today’s Task: Make Master come three times, let the hubbie have one. Let’s see whose lottery ticket hits next month.” “Today’s Task: Let Master have his fun twice, then make the hubbie do the dishes tonight.” “Today’s Task: Following Master’s orders. Taking the little devil out to dinner with the hubbie. Must not get caught.” The posts were accompanied by selfies from various housewives, the most explicit parts blurred out. The sheer depravity of it all made my stomach churn. I slammed my laptop shut. A familiar panic seized me. I quickly opened the security app on my phone. The truth is, after the last incident, I’d secretly installed hidden cameras in the house. For a month, they’d shown me nothing but a perfect wife: Stella binge-watching shows, doing chores, cooking my meals. She was the picture of domestic bliss, and my spying felt increasingly pathetic and sordid. But tonight, when I opened the live feed, the house was empty. No sign of her in the living room or the bedroom. Was she in the shower? Just as I was about to call her, a man’s voice echoed through my phone’s speaker. “Feel good? Was I good this time?” It was followed by a woman’s sharp, ecstatic gasp. Of course. The cameras had blind spots. The front door and the area right around the couch. Those two bastards. This time, I had them. 3 I grabbed a cab, my mind racing. My office was close to home; I was there in under twenty minutes. I burst through the door and found Stella lounging on the sofa, a face mask on, casually watching a TV show. Impossible. The sounds I heard on the feed… they were just getting started. There’s no way they could have finished that quickly. Stella looked up at me, her expression a mask of pure confusion. She blinked her wide, innocent eyes. “Ethan, you’re home! I thought you were pulling an all-nighter.” I scanned the living room. The sofa was pristine, not a single cushion out of place, no sign of a frantic struggle or a passionate encounter. Stella was fully dressed, her demeanor calm. There was no hint of deception. But I heard what I heard. The filthy sounds were burned into my memory. This constant back-and-forth was fraying my nerves, turning my mind into a battlefield of suspicion and doubt. My work was suffering. I was making stupid mistakes. But looking at Stella, so perfectly composed, the rage simmering inside me had nowhere to go. It was like punching at smoke. “Ethan? Why are you ignoring me?” She rose from the couch and coiled around me like a beautiful, slender snake. I didn’t answer. I pushed her away, the frustration too much to bear, and walked out, heading back to the office. I found Kevin, one of our IT guys, still at his desk. He was a wizard with anything network-related. “Kev, can I ask you something?” I said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Mr. Hayes, of course.” He stood up respectfully. “Why would a home security camera suddenly start picking up… strange noises?” “Oh, that? It happens sometimes. Signal interference, network cross-chatter. You can get audio bleed from a neighbor’s baby monitor, or even from another Wi-Fi network if the channels overlap. It’s a weird glitch, but it’s not uncommon.” He gave me a long, technical explanation that slowly untangled the knot of anxiety in my chest. I thanked him and went back to my office. My phone was lit up with missed calls and a string of texts from Stella. “Ethan, what’s wrong?” “You seemed really off.” “Are you okay? Is work stressing you out?” “I can give you a massage when you get home tomorrow?” “Honey, why aren’t you picking up?” Reading her words, I felt like a complete bastard. A wave of self-loathing washed over me. Here was this loving, devoted woman, and I was treating her like a criminal, my mind poisoned by paranoia. I texted her back, lying that I’d forgotten a file and was in too much of a rush to talk. I promised to make it up to her. 4 The next day, I took the day off and took Stella on a shopping spree to make amends. She wore a slip dress of emerald green silk that clung to every curve. Every person we passed, man or woman, turned to look. She was, without question, a work of art. We walked into the Louis Vuitton store, and she immediately collided with a woman holding a little girl’s hand. “Watch where you’re going,” Stella snapped. I noticed her shift her weight uncomfortably, her posture suddenly stiff. “Daddy!” a small, familiar voice cried out, and a little girl launched herself into my arms. It was my ex-wife, Amelia, with our daughter, Lily. Yes, I was married when I started chasing Stella. She wouldn’t agree to be with me until I was divorced. I was so bewitched by her that I did everything I could to force Amelia into a separation, even giving up primary custody of my own daughter. I adored Lily, so I still saw her secretly whenever I could. In her innocent world, her parents weren’t divorced; we were just living apart for a little while. I looked at Amelia and barely recognized her. Before the divorce, Amelia was a full-time mom who wrote novels in her spare time. After Lily was born, she’d struggled with her weight and never seemed to find the time for herself. She breastfed Lily until she was three because our daughter had a sensitive stomach, and she refused to diet for fear of affecting her milk. She’d become… frumpy. Overweight, tired-looking. I grew to resent her for it. The woman standing before me now was a different person entirely. She was dressed in a chic, tailored LV suit, holding a matching handbag. Her skin was flawless, her figure was slender and strong, and her hair fell in expensive-looking waves. She exuded an aura of quiet power. To get the divorce, I’d given Amelia two-thirds of my assets—a settlement of nearly twenty million dollars. It looked like she was putting it to good use. “Ethan, control your little girlfriend,” Amelia said, her voice dripping with ice as she lifted Lily from my arms. “Before she makes a scene.” “Who are you calling a dog!” Stella shrieked, lunging forward, though her movements seemed strangely restrained. “Ethan, she’s attacking me!” Stella turned to me, her eyes wide with fabricated victimhood. “Amelia, for God’s sake, can you just be civil?” I snapped at my ex-wife. “Oh, the bitch is hurt, so the stud comes running,” Amelia scoffed, her eyes filled with a disdain that cut me to the quick. That was it for Stella. She flew at Amelia, grabbing a fistful of her hair. The movement was so abrupt that something small and pink fell from under her dress and skittered across the polished floor. Before I could get a good look at it, Stella had snatched it up and stuffed it into her purse. In that split second of distraction, Amelia slapped Stella hard across the face. Stella tried to retaliate, but the store manager had already summoned security. They grabbed Stella and me, escorting us firmly toward the exit. Amelia, however, was treated with the utmost deference and invited into a private lounge. Stella’s humiliation turned to rage. “She started it! Why are you kicking us out? I was going to buy a ten-thousand-dollar bag today! What could she possibly afford? You’re all just a bunch of snobs!” The manager gave Stella a withering look. “Ma’am, that woman is one of our V.I.C.s. Her total spending at this boutique has exceeded two million dollars.” Stella froze. I froze. Two million? I’d only given her twenty. Had she gone insane and spent it all on handbags? Or had she found someone else? A billionaire? The drive home was a blur. Stella was sobbing hysterically, demanding to know how much money I’d really given Amelia, accusing me of hiding assets from her.

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My childhood best friend’s roommate was about to ask me out. My best friend, Liam, pulled him aside. “Dude, are you serious? You really want to ask her out?” His roommate, Noah, just nodded, confused. “I know she’s into you, but you’re about to get with Chloe, the campus queen. I figure if I try hard enough, I might have a shot.” Liam’s face went from red to white and back again. Finally, he burst out, “You’re such a dumbass! How could you like that tomboy? In high school, she took down three guys by herself. And you have no idea how much of a slob she was as a kid!” By the time I showed up, all that was left was a giant bouquet of roses stuffed in the trash can. Liam sauntered over, slinging an arm over my shoulder with a smug grin. “Don’t get too emotional. I know you’re still obsessed with me, so I did you a favor…” My face was a storm cloud. I lifted my hand and slapped him. Hard. 1 Liam clutched his cheek, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Ava, what the hell is wrong with you?” He stumbled back a few steps, his face flushing with anger. I guess it made sense. Liam had always been the golden boy. Spoiled by his family, praised by his teachers. Now in college, with his natural talent and a face that was just unfairly handsome, he was practically worshiped by every girl on campus. This was probably the first time in his life he’d ever been hit. I didn’t regret it. I stuck my chin out, glaring at him. “What’s wrong with *you*? Who do you think you are, making my decisions for me?” My chest heaved with fury. Liam stared at me for a second, then his eyes drifted down to my outfit. A slow, cruel smile spread across his face. “Well, well. Looks like you took Noah’s big confession pretty seriously.” He looked me up and down, making two sharp “tsk, tsk” sounds. “Was it really worth it? Changing your whole style just for some guy you barely know?” He leaned in, his face just inches from mine. A warm, woodsy scent washed over me, and his breath hitched against my cheek. My own face flushed, and I completely forgot how to breathe. “You… you…” I stammered, unable to finish the sentence. “Then again,” Liam said, his smile turning wicked. “You knew he was my roommate. You knew I’d be here. You wore this for me, didn’t you?” “But—” his tone shifted, dripping with disdain, “—you’re better off in cargo pants. Your calves are thicker than mine. A dress just puts all your flaws on display. It looks so… wrong. Like…” He snapped his fingers. “Like a dude in a dress!” I was used to his brutally honest critiques. But this time was different. My roommates had hyped me up, given me the courage to finally try something new. And in a single night, he had doused my flickering confidence with a bucket of ice water. I was done putting up with it. I drove my knee up, hard, right between his legs. In the middle of the crowded path in front of the dorms, Liam was too proud to scream. His face turned purple as he choked back the pain. “Ava,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “You break the family jewels, and your dream of marrying me is officially over!” A wave of bitterness washed over me. I stretched my lips into a smile that was all teeth. “Get lost,” I spat. “We’re done.” 2 Liam was used to being the center of attention. Tall, handsome, he always had eyes on him. Even now, people were slowing down to stare. He straightened up, trying to maintain his dignity. His voice was hoarse. “You think we’re still kids? Threatening to end our friendship? How childish can you be?” He scoffed and turned to leave. “I’m not gonna fight with a girl. I’ll let it slide. Just don’t come crying to me when you have to carry your own luggage home for break.” “I’m serious,” I said, each word a block of ice. I pulled out my phone. Right there, in front of him, I blocked his number and unfriended him on every platform. 3 I spun on my heel and marched into the dorm. “Ava!” Liam’s voice, tight with fury, followed me. “Fine! You’re really ending our friendship over some random guy? Don’t come crawling back to me!” My steps faltered. I looked down at the clean, white dress I was wearing. And then the stupid tears started to fall. He was right, of course. I had dressed up because I knew he’d be there. I wanted to surprise him. More than that, I wanted him to see that someone else could actually like me. That I, Ava, was desirable. But when I’d excitedly come downstairs, the first thing I heard was Liam trashing me to his friend. “Don’t let the long hair fool you. She only recently started looking like a girl. Her hair used to be shorter than mine. She was more of a dude than I was.” “Noah, man, come on. You’re a decent guy. How could you be so blind as to fall for *her*?” My smile froze. I ducked back around the corner, out of sight. I heard Noah’s anxious reply. “No, man, I think Ava’s really cute. And she’s so real, you know? Not fake at all. Just looking at her makes me feel happy.” Then, Noah’s voice got quieter, more serious. “Liam… you don’t want me to ask her out… It’s not because you like her, is it?” “No way!” Liam’s handsome face twisted in disgust. “I don’t have a weird thing for my bro!” As if to prove his point, he pulled out his phone and started scrolling through his photo album. “Look, this is her at ten. All the other girls are in princess dresses, and she’s got snot running down her face. This is our middle school graduation. All the girls are so delicate and pretty. And then there’s Ava. She got obsessed with shot put and shaved her head. In high school, these three jocks? She took them all down with her bare hands…” I bit my lip, my hands twisting the fabric of my dress. I didn’t have the courage to jump out and argue. Because everything he was saying was true. When I finally pulled myself together, all I found was a huge bouquet of red roses in the trash can. And a new text on my phone. [Something came up. Sorry, Ava.] 4 Back in my dorm room, my roommates all leaned out of their bunk beds, their heads popping into view. They swarmed me, all talking at once. “So? Did you blow everyone away?” “Ava, say something! Did you land Noah or Liam?” When they saw my blank expression, Maya immediately clammed up, then quickly changed the subject. “The campus confessions page is going crazy. Chloe is planning to ask Liam out. They’ve been flirting for so long, I bet they’ll be official by tomorrow.” She gently took my arm, trying to sound casual. “It’s okay, Ava. Noah is really sweet, and he’s tall. I think you should give him a chance…” The room suddenly went quiet. My sniffles had turned into full-blown sobs. I wiped my eyes. “I’m sorry, Maya,” I choked out. “I got tears on your white dress. I’ll… I’ll wash it and give it back to you tomorrow…” The three of them exchanged a look. Then they started ranting. “Ugh, those guys are so blind! We’re too good for them anyway!” “That Liam, what’s so great about him? So he’s a little handsome. He’s arrogant and loud and totally doesn’t deserve you!” “Yeah! And that Noah guy is so skinny. You could knock him over with one punch, Ava…” I looked up at them. And started crying even harder. 5 Once I calmed down, I told them everything. And I told them, with absolute conviction, that I was done with Liam for good. They were all behind me. “It’s about time you saw the light.” “You’re usually so chill, but when it comes to Liam, you just lose all common sense.” “Come on! Let’s go for a run. Get those endorphins pumping and forget those idiots!” So that’s what I did. I threw myself into my life. The second I felt a thought about Liam creeping in, I’d head to the gym. Basketball, running, even shot put. A week later, I was in the dining hall when I saw them. Liam and Chloe. Liam’s long, elegant fingers were carefully peeling a shrimp for her. The usually loud, cocky guy was being so gentle and attentive. 6 I was with my roommates, sitting far across the room. I turned my back to them, determined to ignore them. Halfway through the meal, Maya kicked me under the table. “Ava,” she whispered, “I think… I think Liam is walking over here…” “No way,” I said without even thinking. He was too proud. He would never come to me. “Ava.” That familiar voice came from right above me. My chopsticks paused in mid-air. I stiffly raised my head and saw Liam standing there, looking awkward. “Chloe wanted to meet you.” I swallowed my food and finally looked at the beautiful girl standing beside him. Long, straight black hair, pale skin, a delicate, graceful build. She had two dimples when she smiled. “Hi, I’m Chloe,” she said, giving a little bow and extending her hand. “Liam’s told me so much about you. How you two grew up together, like two peas in a pod. Best bros, right?” Maybe it was just me, but the way she emphasized “best bros” felt… pointed. Passive-aggressive. I frowned but shook her hand politely. “Hi.” I didn’t look at Liam. I quickly turned my gaze back to my food. “Nice to meet you,” I said, my voice flat. “I’m done eating. I’m gonna go.” Suddenly, Chloe let out a sharp hiss of pain and snatched her hand back. Before I could even react, Liam shoved me. My lower back slammed into the sharp corner of the table. A jolt of pain made me break out in a cold sweat. He stood in front of Chloe, his voice ringing with self-righteous anger. “What did you do?” He grabbed Chloe’s hand, his eyes full of concern. “Does it hurt?” 7 I stared at the scene in complete disbelief. Chloe, with tears welling in her eyes, just shook her head bravely. “You’re insane,” I muttered. I turned to leave with my roommates. Liam blocked my path. “Our fight is our business. Why are you taking it out on Chloe?” His eyes were cold, completely devoid of any warmth. “If you’re jealous, take it out on me! You’re strong enough to bench press a guy. What’s the point of picking on a girl who’s half your size?” My roommate was about to lunge at them, the word “bitch” already on her lips, but I stopped her. “Never argue with an idiot,” I said, picking up my tray. I forced a smile. “Let’s go.” 8 I should have understood it a long time ago. Liam didn’t like me. He just didn’t. It didn’t matter what I did or who I became, he would never like me. In his eyes, I was just… there. The little tagalong who was always trailing behind him. I don’t know if he had actually forgotten or was just pretending not to remember. The reason I fought those three guys with everything I had was to defend him. To make them stop bullying him. And when I was a kid, my mom was always away on business trips. There was no one to braid my hair, no one to teach me how to be a girl. It was Liam who brought me to his house every day. Who puffed out his chest and said, “My mom is your mom.” But I had forgotten. People change. 9 “Are you okay?” Maya watched me nervously. “If you’re not over him, you could… I mean, they’re not officially a couple yet…” “I’m really over him.” I rubbed my bruised back and gave her a bitter smile. “It’s weird. I’ve liked him for years, and then, in that one second… it just disappeared.” My roommates stared at me, unconvinced. I held up my hand to the sky. “I swear, I am so over Liam!” I was so focused on reassuring them that my voice got louder than I intended. I didn’t notice Liam, standing right behind me, his eyes turning red at my words. 10 After that disaster, I didn’t see Liam at all. I did, however, see a lot of posts from Chloe. Pictures of her and Liam walking side-by-side, her looking up at him adoringly. They looked perfect together. I didn’t care. Until that weekend, when an anonymous post appeared on the campus confessions page: [This is Ava. Noah, I like you! Meet me on the track at 8 PM tonight!] No pictures. No videos. Not even a screenshot of a text. But the page exploded anyway. [Isn’t that Liam’s childhood friend? What’s going on with her and Noah?] [Is this some kind of game? She knows Liam and Chloe are about to be official, so she’s going after his roommate to make him jealous?] [OMG! This girl is a master manipulator! I’m heading to the track now to grab a front-row seat. I am not missing this drama!] My hand was shaking as I scrolled through the comments. I knew instantly who was behind it. I unblocked Liam and called him. He answered, his voice laced with lazy amusement. “Well, if it isn’t Ava. Didn’t we break up? It’s only been a few days. Couldn’t stay away, huh?” I held back my rage, my voice low and tight. “You posted that, didn’t you?” 11 “I did,” he admitted without a hint of hesitation. “What’s up? Calling to thank me?” His voice was as smooth and sexy as ever. But now, all I felt for him was disgust. “Liam, what is your problem? I’m leaving you alone. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?” He paused, then chuckled. “I don’t have a problem. You were mad at me because I ruined Noah’s big confession, right? I get it, it’s not every day someone asks you out. I figured, for old time’s sake, I’d give you a little push in the right direction.” Before I could reply, he said, “Oh, right. I forgot. Noah is coming out with us for drinks tonight. So he probably won’t be at the track. Maybe you should come find us instead?” Just then, my phone buzzed with a text from Noah. In the two seconds I was distracted, Liam’s voice dripped with false sympathy. “Oh, wait. I forgot again. You scared Noah off. Even if he wasn’t busy, he wouldn’t show up to meet you. But hey, how about this? Call me your big, strong hero, and I’ll take the post down.” I didn’t say anything. I was staring at the new message on my screen. It was from Noah. [Hey, I’m really sorry about the other day. I thought Liam was finally realizing he liked you… I guess I figured, between the two of us, you’d obviously choose him, so… But I’ll see you at the track at 8 PM. I’m going to make sure everyone knows that *I’m* the one who likes *you*. That *I’m* the one chasing you.]

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I was kidnapped by Lana Hill—the ex-wife Damian Thorne claimed to despise. With Damian forced to watch, she took a steel pipe and beat the three-month-old child out of my womb. “This is the price you pay for choosing her, Damian!” she screamed, her face a mask of pure hatred. He had once told me, “If you want revenge, Lana, you’ll have to kill me in my own bed.” After I was rescued, Damian drove a blade through her womb and had her stripped bare, then cast her into the Warrens, the city’s most lawless slum. From that day on, everyone in the city of Crestfall knew: I, Ava Reed, was Damian Thorne’s reason for living. But one week before our wedding, in the hushed quiet of a bridal boutique’s fitting room, I saw him press her against the wall. He was kissing the scarred landscape of her back with a reverence that felt like a punch to my gut. Lana bit his Adam’s apple, her voice a low growl. “You owe me for every one of these scars. How are you going to pay me back?” “How do you want to be paid?” “The same slum you threw me in? I want Ava to experience it, too.” Damian was silent for a beat, then a slow, dark smile spread across his face. “Fine. As you wish.” 1 Noticing his slight hesitation, Lana pushed, her voice sharp and demanding. “What? Feeling sorry for her now? Weren’t you just saying you’d die for a chance to be inside me again?” Damian scoffed. “She’s my wife. If I don’t feel for her, am I supposed to feel for you?” He pulled on his shirt, ready to leave. A flicker of desperation crossed Lana’s eyes. She wrapped her arms around his neck and crushed her mouth to his. He recoiled slightly. “What are you, a rabid dog?” “For you? I’d be anything.” Damian took a deep, ragged breath, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. “Pregnant, and you still can’t keep your hands to yourself. Christ, I ought to put you down.” Lana’s laugh was triumphant. “You’d never.” “Shut up.” I couldn’t listen to another word. Pregnant? So, her womb was fine. Damian had lied to me. I raised a trembling hand to my own stomach. Three months ago, the child she had beaten out of me felt like it had dissolved into a pool of warm blood that now clung to my skin, sticky and damning. The memory of Damian’s face, contorted with rage, was seared into my mind. “You killed my son. You’ll never have a child of your own again.” Eight stabs. He’d left Lana with just a breath of life before having her stripped naked and thrown into the Warrens. I’d watched in the rearview mirror as countless grimy hands dragged her into a squalid hovel. It was all a show. A grand, grotesque performance just for me. I wiped away a tear, not of sorrow, but of pure, unadulterated rage, and a bitter smile touched my lips. He’d gotten so used to the good girl, so comfortable with my devotion. Damian had forgotten I was raised on wolf’s blood. Stepping out of the fitting room, a sales associate noticed my pale face. “Miss Reed, are you alright? Can I help you with anything?” My eyes lifted to the centerpiece of the grand hall: the wedding gown Damian had commissioned for me, a one-of-a-kind creation. An hour ago, seeing it had filled me with visions of a lifetime of happiness. Now, it looked like a blade, sharp and cold, plunged into my heart and churning through flesh and bone. The pain was so intense I bit my lip until I tasted blood. I pointed at the dress. “Burn it.” Without a glance at her stunned expression, I pushed open the heavy glass doors and walked out into the cold air. It was late when Damian came home. He wrapped his arms around me from behind just as I closed the files on my phone—five gigabytes of videos and photos sent from an anonymous source. “You didn’t like the dress? Why did you have them burn it?” he murmured into my hair. “It was dirty.” He stiffened, his senses instantly on alert. His grip tightened. “Alright. If you don’t like it, we’ll get rid of it. I’ll have an even better one made for you, my love.” He leaned in to kiss me. But as his face drew near, the images from the video—their bodies entwined, their passionate cries—flashed in my mind. I saw the faint lipstick smudge on his neck, caught the scent of lily of the valley clinging to his clothes—her scent. A wave of nausea crashed over me. I shoved him away and bolted for the bathroom, vomiting until my body convulsed. When I emerged, the entire household staff was lined up in the living room, trembling. Damian sat on the sofa, flicking a lighter open and closed. The dancing flame cast sinister shadows on his grim face. “I pay you a fortune to look after my wife, and this is the care she receives?” These people had been handpicked by Damian himself, their loyalty bought with a price that bound them to him, life and death. If something happened to me, they would pay for it. A young maid fell to her knees, terrified. “Mr. Thorne, we all know Miss Reed is your life. We would never be careless! We’ve been meticulous with everything, from her food to her safety.” A bodyguard entered, ignoring her pleas. He dragged her out, her screams echoing down the hall. A moment later, a sickening thud silenced them. The room was frozen in terror. No one dared to breathe. “Still no one can figure it out?” Damian’s voice was dangerously calm. “Then you’ll all have your hands broken.” My lips tightened. I stepped forward. “It has nothing to do with them. It was my own issue. Let them go.” Damian pulled me into his arms, using his expensive sleeve to gently wipe the moisture from my face. “Since my wife has spoken, we’ll let it go. For today.” But the next morning, every single member of the staff had been replaced. 2 Even with incense burning, the faint, coppery smell of blood lingered in the living room. Damian acted as if nothing had happened, patiently feeding me spoonfuls of nourishing porridge. I swallowed mechanically, a chilling coldness seeping into my bones. Before, I might have convinced myself this was a twisted display of his all-consuming love for me. Now, it was just a pathetic, third-rate farce. He was a masterful actor, and his performance made me sick. “You look beautiful today, baby,” he said, his eyes crinkling. “Any special plans?” I managed a smile. “There’s an auction. I have a surprise for you.” As we were about to leave, his phone rang. A unique ringtone—two long tones, one short. A signal. Before he could answer, I snatched the phone and ended the call. “I want your full attention today. Unless that was a call you couldn’t miss?” My gaze seemed to scorch him. He rubbed his nose, a nervous tic. “Just work. Of course, my wife is more important.” On the way, the phone rang several more times, the same coded ringtone growing more frantic with each call. I could see the irritation building on his face, his composure fraying at the edges. Just as he looked ready to snap, we arrived. I handed the phone back to him. “Go on. Answer it.” He snatched it eagerly, completely missing the icy glint in my eyes. But before he could dial, the doors to the auction hall swung open before us. On the massive wrap-around screen, the image of a man and a woman locked in a passionate embrace assaulted his senses. The man’s face was blurred, but the woman… her face was in perfect, high-definition focus. The familiar, decadent sounds filled the room, and the color drained from Damian’s face. I walked past him and took a seat in the front row. “Some kind soul sent this to me,” I said, my voice carrying in the suddenly quiet hall. Ignoring his ashen face, I added mockingly, “Damian, darling, did you know your ex-wife was so… adventurous? She doesn’t seem to be very picky.” A murmur went through the crowd. “That man’s build… looks a bit like Mr. Thorne, doesn’t it?” someone whispered. “Don’t be ridiculous,” another shot back. “Everyone knows Ava Reed is the love of his life. His ex-wife is the monster who killed their baby. He hates her guts. He’d never touch a woman like that.” Reassured, the crowd grew bolder. A man hoping to curry favor with us snickered loudly, “I gotta say, though, the woman’s got a hell of a body. Getting my blood pressure up just looking at her.” “I’d pay good money for a night with that,” another voice boomed. As the vulgar comments filled the air, Damian’s face grew darker with every passing second. His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white, yet his voice was deceptively soft when he spoke to me. “Ava, please. Lana was with me once. This is humiliating for me, too. Take the video down. Whatever you’re angry about, I’ll deal with her later for you.” Deal with her? Like he did in the fitting room? I smiled coldly. “Alright.” The screen went black. Damian had barely breathed a sigh of relief when his pupils dilated in horror. From the ceiling, a giant golden cage was slowly lowered onto the stage. Inside, bound hand and foot with tape across her mouth, was Lana Hill. She was huddled in a corner, trembling. Her revealing clothes showed off the scars on her body, which had been artfully covered by an intricate tattoo of a mountain landscape, the ink twisting over her skin. It was a sight that ignited a primal lust in every man in the room. The hall erupted. “A million! I’ll pay a million for her, Miss Reed!” “Five million! She’s mine tonight!” “Get in line! I’ll pay whatever it takes!” Amidst the roaring bids, I turned to Damian, my smile as sweet as poison. “Darling, the money from selling Lana can pay for my new wedding dress.” “Enough.” Damian’s facade finally shattered. His eyes were bloodshot as he stared at me, his voice a raw, desperate roar. “Ava, stop this! Let her down right now! The man in that video… it was me!” 3 His confession fell into a dead silent room. I slowly looked up at him. In that silent, charged space, he saw the dead, empty coldness in my eyes, and his heart gave a violent lurch. His voice softened, turning pleading. “Ava, it’s my fault. I can explain everything. Punish me however you want, but Lana is innocent in this. She’s… she’s pregnant with my child!” Lana. Not the monster he claimed to hate, but Lana. I stared into his eyes. “And what about our child? Did our baby die for nothing?” He answered as if he’d rehearsed the lines, his tone sickeningly reasonable. “Lana has already agreed. She’ll give you this child. We’ll raise it as our own. Boy or girl, all our assets will go to them. The three of us will be a happy family.” His shamelessness left me stunned for a solid two seconds before I burst out laughing, a harsh, grating sound. “You lied to me, you got the woman who murdered my child pregnant, and now you want me to raise your bastard? And you think that’s some kind of gift to me?” My voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “Damian, aren’t you afraid the ghost of my child will come for you in the middle of the night?” His face instantly turned cold. “What do you mean, ‘bastard’? This is our child too. When did you become so bitter and cruel, Ava? You can’t even tolerate a child? You disappoint me.” He sighed, as if burdened by my pettiness. “Just let her go, Ava. I’ll make sure Lana only sees the child a few times a week. Hasn’t she been punished enough?” I was so furious I could only laugh. Then, I slapped him. Hard. The words were squeezed from between my clenched teeth. “Let her go? In your dreams.” I pointed to the man who had offered the highest price. “Mr. Russo, she’s all yours. Enjoy.” Russo hesitated for a moment, glancing nervously at Damian. I added, “If you don’t take her, I’m not refunding the auction price.” That settled it. He clenched his jaw, stormed the stage, and started dragging Lana toward a back room. Damian moved to follow, but I spoke from behind him, my voice a blade of ice. “Damian Thorne, if you take one step into that room, we are finished.” His body went rigid, his eyes looking as though they were about to bleed. Suddenly, a woman’s piercing shriek tore through the room. “Damian, save me—Ah!” All rationality abandoned him. He charged into the room like a madman. A gunshot rang out, and his bodyguards swarmed in, dragging out a blood-soaked Mr. Russo. Damian completely lost control, kicking and stomping at the man’s groin like a wild animal. It was Lana’s sobbing that finally broke through his rage. He lifted her into his arms and strode past me, bumping my shoulder without a second glance. Just then, Lana, nestled safely in his embrace, lifted her head and shot me a look of pure, triumphant malice. “You pathetic bitch, did you really think you meant anything to him? Damian has always loved me! And here’s something you don’t know: after I beat that little bastard out of you, Damian himself ordered the doctors to have your uterus transplanted into me!” “Shut up!” Damian’s face went white. He shot a panicked look at me. But Lana just laughed, emboldened. “You’re useless now, Ava. A broken, barren hen that will never lay an egg.” The world went silent. I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. A roar filled my ears, and my mind went blank. No wonder my body had felt so alien after the D&C. The man I had loved for six years. He had personally destroyed my chance of ever being a mother. All for the woman who had murdered our child. A vicious, churning pain erupted in my chest, a pain so dense it felt like it was going to tear me apart from the inside out. I doubled over, each breath a fresh slice of agony, like death by a thousand cuts. A flicker of guilt and pity crossed Damian’s face. He started to step toward me, but Lana went limp in his arms. “Damian,” she whimpered, “my stomach hurts… the baby… is something wrong with the baby?” At the mention of the child, that fleeting trace of concern for me vanished. He looked at her, his priorities clear. Without another thought, he swept her up and rushed away. As I watched his retreating back, the last ember of warmth in my heart died, leaving behind nothing but cold, hard ash. I leaned against the wall, my gaze empty, staring at nothing. It took a long time before I could raise my phone and dial a number that had lain dormant for years. “I’ve made my decision. I’m coming back. The marriage alliance with the Hawthornes of the North… I’ll accept.” 4 Damian returned that night. He knelt in the center of the living room and, in front of me, had his bodyguards lash him ninety-nine times with a whip. Blood seeped into the grout between the marble tiles, the metallic stench making me sick. I turned away, picked up the divorce papers from the table, and held them out to him. “Sign them. We were legally married but never had the wedding. Not many people know. It will be a clean break.” He looked as if he’d been struck by lightning, the color draining from his face. He shook his head frantically, reaching for my hand. “No, Ava, I won’t divorce you. I love you, Ava, I love—” I stepped back, and he stumbled forward, falling to the floor. His eyes darted to the fruit knife on the side table. In a crazed motion, he snatched it and plunged it into his own abdomen. Damian had made his start in the city’s underworld; he was ruthless with others, and even more so with himself. He forbade the staff from calling a doctor and waved away his bodyguards. His eyes were locked on me as he gave a weak, pained smile. “Is that enough to make you feel better? If not, I can do it again.” I stared at the blood pouring from his wound, then finally lowered my gaze. “The divorce, or the baby in Lana Hill’s womb. Choose one.” The smile froze on his face. Damian disappeared for three days. When he returned, he looked like a hollowed-out shell of a man. He threw a medical report on the table in front of me. An abortion report. His face was a mask of agony. “Lana’s baby is gone. Are you satisfied now?” I didn’t even glance at it. He sighed, a sound heavy with exhaustion, and knelt before me, taking my hands in his. “Ava, I’ve sent Lana away. Can we please go back to how things were?” He orchestrated the murder of my child, ensured I could never be a mother again, and now he thought a simple, dismissive “sent her away” could erase the soul-crushing pain I endured. Damian was always so arrogantly certain that if he just bowed his head a little, I would forgive him for anything. He didn’t know. We could never go back. Seeing my silence, he tried a different tactic. “Some friends are throwing a ‘finally-off-the-market’ party for us tonight. Let’s go together.”

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