Category: English

I’m the gold digger in this story, the woman who uses men to get money, power, and status. My twin sister, Annie, is the story’s heroine: proud, stubborn, and fiercely independent. She despises my methods; I mock her naivete. But when I overheard her deadbeat boyfriend laughing about what a cheap “independent woman” she was, I called her. “Did you hear that, Annie?” I asked, my voice cold. “‘Independent woman’ is a trap. It’s a pedestal they put you on so they can enjoy the convenience of not having to provide a thing.” “If you can use a man to get ahead, that’s a skill. Why wouldn’t you use it?” She said nothing. But the next day, I heard she finally kicked her cheapskate boyfriend of five years to the curb. 1 I became aware of my role in this story when I was very young. I knew I was the infamous gold digger, destined to use my beauty to climb a ladder of men, all for the sake of wealth and status. My sister, Annie Ashton, was the righteous heroine. Taking help from a man was a mark of shame for her; she had to do everything herself. The moment I understood her character design, I understood my own purpose. The author meant for me to be the foil, the dark reflection meant to prove a point: a woman’s life can only be built by her own two hands, never by relying on a man. For a fleeting moment, I was disheartened, just a supporting character in someone else’s narrative. But the feeling passed. So I wasn’t the protagonist. It didn’t mean my life had to be worse. If the author wanted so badly to condemn my choices, then I would show her a different way to live. And so, armed with my own interpretation of what a “gold digger” could be, I began my life within the pages of this story. 2 The differences between Annie and me were obvious even in kindergarten. At five or six, kids are all about playing and making friends, and the currency of friendship was snacks. Because we were identical and pretty, boys were always trying to give us candy. Annie would meet their hopeful eyes with a blank stare and a firm rejection. I, on the other hand, would always accept with a sweet smile. Annie never understood. “Anya, you don’t even like sweets. Why do you take them?” I looked at her and answered seriously. “Annie, they’re giving us snacks because they want to be our friends. They want us to say yes. Besides, their parents gave them those snacks to share. If they don’t give them to us, they’ll just give them to someone else. So why should we be ashamed to accept?” She turned her head away, a flicker of uncertainty on her face. I knew she loved sweets. I knew she wanted to accept. But she was trapped by the role she’d been assigned, the “independent heroine” label she didn’t even know she wore. “Next time someone offers you something,” I urged her, “just take it. Think of it as a gift to start a friendship.” Annie hesitated, then gave a small nod. 3 The next day, after school, a little boy approached Annie, his arms overflowing with snacks. He seemed to have gathered all his courage. “Annie,” he whispered, “these are for you. Will you be my friend?” I watched from the sidelines, curious to see what she would do. Annie looked from the boy to the mountain of treats in his hands. Her mouth opened as if to say no, but the word wouldn’t come out. Finally, a decision seemed to form in her eyes. She reached out to take the snacks. But a sharp voice cut through the air, stopping her cold. “Annie, what are you doing? You can’t just take things from boys!” We both snapped our heads toward the kindergarten gate. Our parents were standing there, their faces masks of disbelief. They hurried over, pulled Annie away from the boy, and began their interrogation. “Annie, how could you take snacks from a boy? At best, that’s just being greedy. At worst, it shows a complete lack of self-respect! A girl does not get things to eat by cozying up to boys!” The little boy, his face burning red, scurried away. Annie stood there, head bowed, as our parents lectured her. Several times, she glanced at me, her lips moving as if to speak, but she said nothing. She was probably wondering how we could have the same parents, yet I didn’t see this as a shameful act of a girl without self-respect. 4 After that incident, Annie became even more guarded. She refused all help and kindness from boys, determined to prove she could do everything on her own. In middle school, we were in the same class. Annie’s grades were good, but her chemistry scores were mediocre, keeping her stuck in the middle of the pack. Her deskmate, Peter Vance, was a chemistry whiz and consistently ranked first in our year. Peter, probably feeling sorry for his deskmate, tried several times to explain the problems she’d gotten wrong. Each time, Annie shut him down. “Thanks, but I can figure it out myself.” After a few attempts, Peter gave up. In a way, Annie was right. In the story, Peter was a total player. Our plotlines were even supposed to intersect. After his crush on my sister went nowhere, he was meant to turn his attention to me, the girl who looked just like her. And I, seeing his good grades and wealthy family, was supposed to fall for him, convinced I’d found a guy with potential. I was supposed to get so wrapped up in the romance that my grades would tank, and I’d end up in a mediocre high school. But a truly smart gold digger would never let that happen. I would take only what was useful from him and never let him distract me from my goals. 5 When Peter started showing interest in me, I didn’t push him away. Instead, I used his crush to my advantage, bringing him lists of problems I didn’t understand every day. After each tutoring session, I’d thank him with a small snack or a soda. One afternoon, after I’d packed up my books, he took a sip of his Coke and finally asked the question that had been on his mind. “Anya, why are you and your sister so different?” I turned his question back on him. “How are we different?” He tapped a long finger against his chin, thinking seriously. “She seems to hate relying on anyone. But you… you’re good at using people.” I smiled as I zipped my backpack. “Peter, ‘using’ is such a harsh word. I prefer ‘leveraging.’ Only the most capable men offer a woman leverage. So, I’m not using you. I’m acknowledging your value.” Peter had a big ego, and my words stroked it perfectly. He was completely won over. “You know, Anya,” he said, a grin spreading across his face, “I don’t mind being used by you. But…” His tone shifted. “When are you going to be my girlfriend?” I dangled a carrot. “When you help me get into Northwood Prep.” He smirked, full of confidence. “Is that all?” 6 As it turned out, for Peter, it was that simple. With his help, six months later I passed the entrance exam for the most prestigious prep school in the state with the second-highest score in the city. The first thing I did was block his number and all his social media accounts. Annie, who had gotten into the same school through her own hard work, was appalled. “You promised him you’d be his girlfriend if you got in. What do you call this?” I just shrugged. “How many girls has Peter played with? Is it only okay for a guy to mess with a girl’s feelings, but not for a girl to use a guy to get ahead?” Annie’s brow furrowed. “Anya, if you keep relying on men to succeed, you’ll regret it one day.” “I don’t mind,” I said coolly. “The grades I got with his help were real.” Annie looked at me like I was a lost cause. Our relationship, while never incredibly close, had been decent enough. But after that, she started to distance herself from me. I understood. She was the story’s independent heroine; of course she’d look down on my methods. We grew more and more estranged. It reached the point where people were shocked to learn we were sisters. “Wait, Anya and Annie Ashton are sisters?” “But they never even talk to each other at school!” It was true. We didn’t speak at school, and we barely spoke at home. 7 At home, Annie was the sun around which our family revolved, thanks to her innate protagonist halo. I was usually just part of the background scenery. Like tonight. Our parents had prepared a feast to celebrate Annie getting first place in her class. That was the only time they’d bring me up. “Anya, look at your sister. You scored higher than her on the entrance exam, but two years later, she’s at the top of the class. And you? Your grades are slipping. You’re not even in the top fifty anymore.” Their words didn’t bother me anymore. I knew that even if I were number one, they wouldn’t spare me a single glance that wasn’t meant for Annie. I was just her foil, after all. Annie, of course, didn’t see it that way. She thought it was all my own doing. Later that evening, as I was heading to my room, she stopped me. Her expression was calm, tinged with the quiet pride of a winner. “Do you see now?” I looked at her, confused. “See what?” “You can’t rely on other people forever. True security only comes from yourself. You used Peter to help you study and get good grades back then, but what about now? Are you going to rely on him for the rest of your life? If you start studying on your own now, it’s not too late.” Her self-righteous sermon gave me a headache. Annie, did you really think I could have gotten those scores if I hadn’t been studying my ass off on my own? How dare you dismiss my hard work just because he helped me? “And you probably don’t know this,” I said, changing the subject, “but I have a boyfriend now. We’re applying to universities abroad together. His family is covering all my expenses.” Annie froze, her face shifting into a look of profound disappointment. “Anya, there’s no such thing as a free lunch. Everything has a price tag attached.” I shrugged. “I don’t care.” 8 After that, Annie and I became complete strangers. Honestly, I never wanted our relationship to get this bad. We weren’t in direct competition, and I could understand her protagonist’s pride. Some of her warnings were even born from a genuine concern for me. But we were two extremes in this story, polar opposites, destined to drift apart over our irreconcilable views. It was a shame, but I knew we could never convince each other. Perhaps being strangers was the best we could do. As college entrance exams approached, I was a bundle of nerves, juggling exam prep and my study abroad applications. Everyone was in the final sprint. And that’s when Annie got caught in a relationship. The boy was Ryan Miller, a broke kid from her class with nothing to his name but a pretty face. The news sent shockwaves through the school administration. Annie was the top student in her year, the school’s only real hope for an Ivy League acceptance. They were terrified the relationship would tank her grades but were equally afraid that handling it badly would affect her performance. So, they came to me, asking me to talk to her as her sister. I refused at first. I knew she wouldn’t listen to me. But Annie’s homeroom teacher told me that Annie often asked about my grades and my class rank. She insisted Annie cared about me, that I was the perfect person for the job. So, one day after school, I waited for her outside her classroom. 9 When she saw me, a flash of surprise crossed her face before being replaced by her usual calm mask. “What are you doing here?” she asked. I didn’t beat around the bush. “I heard you have a boyfriend.” She nodded, unfazed. “So?” “I just wanted to see what kind of guy would make you risk everything right before the biggest exams of your life. Annie, is he handsome? Is his family rich? What are his grades like?” My words wiped the calm from her face, replacing it with a look of derision. “His family isn’t rich, and his grades are average. He’s not the type you’d be interested in. But so what? I’m not you. I don’t want anything from him. I believe I can get everything I want on my own, without needing a man.” Her answer was exactly what I expected. The conversation was a dead end. But as I turned to leave, I couldn’t stop myself from looking back. “Annie, the biggest mistake you can make with a man is to want nothing from him. It’s okay for you to have everything, but it’s not okay for him to have nothing.” Her reply was ice-cold. “Thanks for the advice. I don’t need it.”

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The day my mother took my twin sister, Stella, and me for IQ tests was the day our lives split into two completely different paths. Stella was a genius with an IQ of 160. I was just an ordinary person with an IQ of 105. From that day on, the way my mother looked at me changed. When Stella practiced the piano, I had to be there to serve her tea. When Stella’s paintings won awards, I had to kneel on the floor and clean her paint-stained brushes. When Stella, who was always frail, got sick, my mother would grab my arm and have the doctors draw my blood. “You’re twins,” she’d say. “Your blood is the purest. It’s worthy of her.” I became my sister’s shadow, her personal blood bank, her servant. Then, when I was seven, my mother took Stella abroad for an international competition and never came back. I was left all alone in that huge, empty house. It seemed she had forgotten that while she was chasing the stars for her genius daughter, her mediocre one was only seven years old. A child who could only hug her knees in the dead of night, crying out for her mother in a house that never answered. 1 I was finalizing a storage solution for a client when my mother called. She said she was sick and needed me. The woman’s voice on the other end was hoarse and unfamiliar, laced with an urgent sense of entitlement. But I just calmly glanced at the watch on my wrist. “I’m sorry, I’m very busy right now. My schedule is booked through next month.” “How about this,” I continued, my voice even. “You just hang in there. I might have some time in about six months. We can talk then.” After I hung up, my assistant, Chloe, whispered, “Ms. Vance, was that… your mother?” I shook my head without a second’s hesitation, rolling up the design plans. “No. Just a wrong number. A telemarketer.” Chloe hesitated. “But she sounded really desperate. What if…” I just smiled and said nothing. Over the years, every person my mother sent to plead her case said the same things. “She’s your mother. At the very least, she gave birth to you.” “You’re twin sisters. Blood is thicker than water. There’s no grudge you can’t let go of.” Blood is thicker than water. That was a ridiculous idea I used to believe in, too. I thought that as twins, Stella and I would be each other’s closest allies, that we’d hold hands and grow up together. Until that day when we were five, and my mother took us for those IQ tests. Stella was a genius. I was painfully average. When we got home that day, for the first time, my mother didn’t make us practice the piano together. She called me into her study alone, her expression more serious than I had ever seen it. “Your father had high hopes for you both when he passed. I won’t let him down.” “Nora,” she said, her voice firm, “your sister is a genius. A future great artist. She is the only light of this family.” I nodded, still too young to understand, but filled with pride for my sister. “Yeah! Stella’s the best!” But my mother’s expression didn’t soften. Her tone shifted. “So, from this day forward, your sole purpose in life is to be your sister’s strongest shield, her most loyal shadow.” “Whatever she needs, you will provide. Everything for her must come before you. Your existence is to make her shine brighter. She will carry on your father’s legacy.” I stared up at her, dumbfounded. I didn’t understand the full meaning of her words, but I saw the light in her eyes. It was a brilliant, blazing light, but it shone only on Stella. I was standing in the shadows, just outside its reach. I instinctively reached for her hand. “Mommy,” I whispered, “what about me?” She pulled her hand away. The coldness of her fingertips sent a shiver through me. “You?” she said. “You just need to remember not to hold your sister back.” After that day, everything changed. My new clothes were always Stella’s hand-me-downs. My toys were the ones she had grown tired of. The best art tutors were hired for Stella, while I was confined to my room, forbidden from making a sound that might disturb the genius at work. Stella had delicate health—mild anemia and allergic asthma. My diet was strictly controlled. I was only allowed to eat foods that were supposed to enrich the blood, no matter how much I hated the medicinal taste. I didn’t dare ask why. I didn’t dare ask why the look in my mother’s eyes when she looked at me was increasingly like she was looking at an object. I just quietly played my part as the shadow. One day, Stella was working day and night to finish a painting for an international competition. She collapsed with a high fever that wouldn’t break. The doctor said her anemia was severe; she needed a blood transfusion. Without a moment’s hesitation, my mother pushed me forward. The cold needle pierced my thin arm, and tears of pain streamed down my face. I clutched my arm and ran to find my mother, wanting her to hold me. She was just coming out of Stella’s room, and when she saw me, a smile of pure relief spread across her face. “Nora, the doctor said your blood is perfect. Your sister is already doing so much better after the transfusion.” Her voice was light and cheerful. She didn’t seem to notice my red-rimmed eyes or my pale face. 2 From that day on, I became Stella’s personal blood bag. Periodically, I was taken to the hospital to have my blood drawn, kept on reserve for her. My mother always said, “It’s an honor for you that your blood can save your sister’s life.” I instinctively resisted, but I never dared to say it out loud. I was terrified of hospitals, of the smell of antiseptic, of the needles. But in my mother’s eyes, my fear was just selfishness and immaturity. One time, Stella had an asthma attack from a pollen allergy and was having nightmares. My mother dragged me out of bed and pushed me into Stella’s dark room. “Your sister is scared. Go sleep with her. Hold her hand and help her feel safe.” Stella’s room was filled with the scents of aromatherapy oils and paint thinner, smells that made me dizzy and nauseous. I held my nose and whispered, “Mom, the smell is making me sick…” The door slammed shut. Her voice came from the other side, sharp and cold. “Endure it! Your sister is more important than anything!” I sat there all night, holding her sweaty hand. She twitched and whimpered in her sleep, and my head throbbed with a splitting headache from the pungent air. The next morning, I was so unwell that I threw up at the breakfast table. My mother didn’t even look at me. She just frowned and pushed my bowl away. “Why are you so dramatic? Clean this up immediately. Don’t ruin your sister’s appetite!” She then turned to Stella, her voice soft and sweet as she peeled an egg for her, as if Stella were a priceless treasure and I were just a disgusting mess. I swallowed back my tears and nausea, forcing it all down. It was the only way to stop my mother from looking at me with that expression of pure annoyance. Later, from the constant blood draws, I fainted on the school stairs. A teacher brought me home. My mother stood over me, her voice filled with irritation at this disruption to her plans. “What’s wrong with you? Sick again?” A hand touched my forehead. My nose tingled, and I was about to give in to my weakness when I heard her mutter, “Such a nuisance. This is going to mess everything up.” “Why is your constitution so poor? Don’t you ever think about your sister?” I opened my eyes and saw the disgust in hers, clear as day. The doctor said I was severely malnourished and anemic and needed to rest. In the hospital, my mother was constantly on the phone, discussing Stella’s upcoming art exhibition. When she hung up, she looked at me not with concern, but with cold calculation. She took a deep breath. “Nora, this is a terrible time for you to get sick.” “Your sister is going to Paris next month. This is her chance to break onto the world stage. Because of you, I have to reschedule everything.” I opened my mouth, my voice a small whisper. “I’m sorry, Mom…” But her expression remained frigid. “Nora.” “I’ve had a few days to think. I can’t allow anything to happen to your sister.” She paused, her gaze finally settling on me, sharp and determined. “Stella is my masterpiece. She cannot have any flaws. For her, any sacrifice is worth it.” I stared at her, the physical weakness in my body strangely vanishing, replaced by a hollow numbness and a creeping dread. She didn’t see my fear. She continued, as if talking to herself. “Nora, you’re a big girl now. You’ll grow up, and you’ll understand, won’t you?” She didn’t wait for my answer. Perhaps she didn’t need one. She tucked the blanket around me, then picked up her bag and stood up. “I can’t leave your sister home alone. I’m going back. You can handle the discharge paperwork yourself.” Her footsteps faded down the hall until they disappeared. The room was silent, except for the sound of my own voice, hoarsely repeating the word “Mom.” I didn’t understand what she meant by a masterpiece. I didn’t know what sacrifice she was talking about. I just had the vague, chilling feeling that my mother had never truly seen me as her daughter. 3 I handled my own discharge and walked home, clutching the hospital bill. I hadn’t slept all night. That fear, which had kept me awake, turned into a sliver of secret joy as I pushed open the front door. I could still come home. But the next second, I saw two enormous suitcases in the living room. My mother was packing Stella’s art supplies and medication, her movements almost frantic with a joyful urgency. Her eyes, when she looked up, were filled with a hopeful vision of the future that I had never seen before. “Mom?” I asked, walking over cautiously. “You’re back?” she said without looking up. “Stella’s project in Paris was moved up. We’re flying out immediately.” I stood there, stunned. “Mom, what about me?” She finally stopped and looked at me. Her gaze swept over my pale, sweaty face without lingering. “There’s enough food in the fridge to last you a few days. There’s some cash on the table. You’re a big girl. You can take care of yourself.” A few days? Panic washed over me. I grabbed her sleeve, tears streaming down my face. “Mom, don’t go! I’m scared to be alone!” My pleas were sharp and piercing. She frowned and violently shook my hand off. I stumbled and fell to the cold floor. “What are you crying for! There’s nothing to cry about!” she snapped. “I told you, this is for Stella’s future! Can’t you be more understanding? Stop being such a dead weight, always clinging to me! I’m tired enough as it is!” “No one has ever helped me. I just want Stella’s life to be perfect. Why can’t you just be considerate for once?” The zipper on the suitcase was pulled shut with a harsh screech. Stella emerged from her room in a brand-new dress, her face glowing with excitement about her trip to the city of art. She saw me on the floor and froze, a flicker of superiority in her eyes that was quickly replaced by concern. “Nora, what’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?” For a moment, I couldn’t tell if her concern was real or just an act. My mother grabbed the suitcases. “Stella, let’s go. We’re going to be late for our flight.” They turned to leave, laughing and talking. My mother glanced back at me one last time, not with worry, but with a warning. “Stay home and get better. And don’t make me have to call back from overseas to deal with your messes.” The heavy security door slammed shut in my face. A few seconds of dead silence. Click. The sound of the key turning in the lock from the outside. She was afraid I’d die out on the street and cause her trouble. That night was the most terrifying of my life. I turned on every light in the house, but the brightly lit rooms were even scarier than the darkness. Every piece of furniture, every one of Stella’s paintings, felt like a wide, unblinking eye, staring at me with cold indifference. I finally broke down and sobbed, but there was no one to answer. The years my mother and Stella were abroad were the longest, darkest years of my life. I survived on expired food from the fridge and tap water. The fear was so deep it became a part of me, waking me from nightmares just to check if the door was still locked from the outside. It was during those years that my small mind finally understood what my mother meant by “any sacrifice is worth it.” The house became my prison. And they became distant voices on the other end of a phone line. Their calls were always for one reason: Stella needed money for an exhibition, Stella needed inspiration. At first, I would cry, begging her to come back. But her response was always the same cool, detached tone. “Mom’s busy.” “You need to be more mature.” “Don’t cause me any trouble.” “I had the neighbor give you the key to unlock the door.” Gradually, I stopped crying. Tears that no one responds to are the cheapest things in the world. When she called, I learned to ask calmly, “What do you need me to do this time? How much allowance are you sending?” Sometimes she would impatiently wire a few hundred dollars. Other times she’d yell at me for only caring about money. But with that money, I learned how to budget, how to survive. How to calculate how many days the money had to last, how much I could spend each day, how to buy the cheapest food that would fill my stomach. It was just enough to keep me alive. But this bizarre arrangement came to an abrupt end one ordinary evening during my junior year of high school. I was holding a college admissions brochure, my fingers trembling with excitement as I dialed my mother’s number. I wanted to tell her that I had gotten into a good college, that I wanted to study interior design. I wanted to ask her if, like Stella, I could finally chase my own dream. The phone connected, and my heart pounded in my chest. But the other end was dead silent. 4 After the call disconnected, I thought it was just a bad signal and dialed again. But all I heard was the same cold, polite automated voice: “The number you have dialed has been switched off.” A terrible feeling washed over me. I opened my messaging app, found her familiar profile picture, and sent a message with trembling fingers. A glaring red exclamation mark appeared next to it. She had blocked me. She had cut off every possible way I could contact her, as decisively as if she were discarding a useless pawn. Panic seized me, and I could barely breathe. I frantically tore through the drawers in the house, searching for any money. All I found was a forgotten envelope on top of the kitchen cabinet. Inside was a thin stack of red bills. I counted them mechanically. Three thousand yuan. Three thousand. That was all. Three thousand yuan, tucked away in a cold envelope along with her other daughter’s brilliant future. It felt as light as air, but heavy enough to crush me. I collapsed onto the floor, all the strength draining from my body. I refused to accept it. I searched online for “Stella Vance, rising star.” A news report with photos popped up, searing my eyes. In the photos, Stella stood under the spotlight like a princess, confident and beautiful. My mother stood behind her in an expensive suit, her makeup perfect, her smile beaming with pride. At the end of the article was an interview with my mother. “Mrs. Vance,” the reporter asked, “you must have sacrificed a lot to cultivate a genius painter like Stella.” My mother smiled for the camera, a perfect blend of gentleness and determination. “Yes,” she said. “For my daughter’s artistic dream, I would give anything. Just a few days ago, to help her find more inspiration for her work, I bought her a replica of Van Gogh’s sketchbook.” My eyes were glued to a line of small print at the bottom of the article. “The sketchbook was reportedly sold at a Sotheby’s auction in Paris for three hundred thousand euros, equivalent to nearly three million yuan.” Three million. Three thousand. In that moment, a hysterical laugh escaped my lips. She left one daughter three thousand yuan to live on, while spending three million on an “inspirational” sketchbook for the other. My survival, it turned out, was worth exactly one-thousandth of their dream. All the bitterness, the anger, the despair, finally broke through the last of my defenses. But I didn’t cry out. I bit my lip until I tasted blood. The tears were ice-cold, dripping onto the phone screen, blurring my mother’s triumphant smile. That was the moment I started to hate her. 5 After that, the hardest period of my life began. Three thousand yuan was a drop in the ocean in a city with a soaring cost of living. My budgeting became even more ruthless. I skipped breakfast, ate two plain steamed buns for lunch, and had a pack of instant noodles for dinner, occasionally splurging on a sausage. Even so, the money dwindled with alarming speed. To save for tuition and living expenses, I started working odd jobs. As an underage worker, I was often bullied, my wages docked, and my labor exploited. I washed dishes in restaurants until the grease and detergent made my hands white and wrinkled. I handed out flyers, standing for hours in the scorching sun and freezing wind until my legs went numb. Once, I was working as a promoter at a supermarket while running a high fever. I collapsed next to a shelf. When I woke up, I was on a makeshift bed in the supermarket’s storage room. The manager, a kind-looking woman in her forties, brought me a bowl of hot congee. She looked at me, her expression a mix of pity and concern, and sighed. “Child, your health is your most important asset. What are you working yourself to death for?” I didn’t say anything. I just took the bowl and ate, gulping it down. Salty tears mixed with the warm rice porridge. I ate quickly, forcefully, swallowing down all my hatred and bitterness along with this stranger’s kindness. I made a silent vow to myself, and to the distant figure of my mother: “One day, I will make you regret this.” That manager, Mrs. Wong, became my employer. She ran a small cleaning and organizing company. She saw that I was a quick and diligent worker and took me under her wing. “Nora, I can tell you’re a girl with a good head on your shoulders,” she said as she taught me how to sort and organize. “A girl with a skill will never go hungry.” She was the first and only person in my life to show me motherly warmth. She would save meals for me, make me brown sugar ginger tea when I had my period, and watch with pride, as if I were her own child, as I transformed cluttered rooms into orderly spaces. In those newly organized spaces, for the first time, I found my own sense of worth and joy. Not as someone’s shadow, someone’s blood bag, or someone’s emotional punching bag. But as me, Nora Vance, an individual. I enrolled in a continuing education program at a local university, majoring in interior design. I took classes during the day and worked with Mrs. Wong on nights and weekends. Life was still a struggle, but for the first time, there was a light in my heart. After graduation, I left my hometown for a major city. The words “mother” and “sister” had lost all meaning to me. In my mind, they had died a long time ago. The wounds they inflicted were too deep, and the warmth I received from Mrs. Wong and other strangers was too comforting. The resentment and bitterness had been pushed into a corner by my busy life and hopes for the future. If she hadn’t suddenly called me, I probably would have never revisited that dark, damp corner of my past. My phone, sitting on the table, wouldn’t stop vibrating. It was the same unknown number, calling again and again. My assistant, Chloe, glanced at my phone and immediately understood. She didn’t ask why I wasn’t answering, or why my face had suddenly gone pale. She just squeezed my hand and, with practiced ease, switched my phone to silent. “Ms. Vance, these telemarketers are so annoying. Come on, let’s ignore them. My treat. There’s a new pour-over coffee place downstairs that’s supposed to be amazing!” She steered me out of the office. In the coffee shop, I listened to her chatter about gossip and TV shows. The cheerful music and the rich aroma of coffee filled the air, and the anger that had started to rise in me slowly subsided. The calls stopped for a few days. Everything was calm. Until a week later, when I took on a project organizing a high-end villa. As I led my team through the gate, I happened to look up. My eyes swept over the gardeners trimming the lawns. And then, my breath and my gaze both froze.

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My stepbrother kicked me out because of my skin hunger. By a twist of fate, I ended up with an elite hacker for a roommate. He was a man of few words, but a master in the kitchen. Life was deceptively calm, until one night, as I was savoring a dessert he’d made, a few lines of text flickered into existence before my eyes. [RUN! He’s a total psycho, the possessive kind. He’s got a pair of shiny handcuffs hidden under his pillow!] [He’s obsessed, constantly thinking about how to chain you to his bed forever!] [You silly girl, still eating? Once he’s done feeding you, it’ll be your turn to feed him!] And just as they warned, deep in the night, a pair of ice-cold lips pressed against mine. But instead of fear, a shiver of pure, exhilarating excitement coursed through me. 1 Before Mom and my stepfather left for their round-the-world trip, they told Andrew to take care of me. My skin hunger was acting up again, making every night an agony. To cope, I’d take scalding hot showers, one after another, until my skin was flushed raw. Hearing the water running in the bathroom yet again, Andrew knocked on the door. His voice was laced with impatience. “Elara, how many showers are you going to take? Are you that filthy?” I shut off the faucet, my voice laced with guilt. “I… I just don’t feel well.” My skin was screaming, a desperate ache for contact, for closeness. The hot water was a temporary balm, but it was never enough. Andrew’s voice deepened. “What’s wrong with you?” Wrapping a towel around myself, I opened the door. He stared at my crimson skin, his brow furrowed in a deep frown. “Are you trying to boil yourself alive?” My cheeks flushed, my eyes glistening. “The hot water on my skin… it feels good.” “This isn’t right,” he said, tearing his gaze away. “Don’t do this again.” I caught a fleeting glimpse of red creeping up the tips of his ears. As Andrew turned to leave, I grabbed his arm. “Andrew, don’t go. Can you…” I bit my lip, the words catching in my throat, too shameful to speak aloud. He stopped, his eyes fixed on my hand clutching his arm. “Can I what?” “Can you… just hold me?” The last three words were barely a whisper. I thought he hadn’t heard me. He stood silent for a full thirty seconds before finally speaking, his voice cool and distant. “Elara, I’m your brother now. You need to respect that boundary.” Summoning a scrap of courage, I argued, “But we’re not related by blood.” My voice grew bolder. “Besides, we used to hug all the time when we were dating, remember?” “Mom and Dad aren’t even home. Just… please, just hold me.” My plea became desperate. “My skin hunger is flaring up, and it really, really hurts…” Andrew cut me off. “Skin hunger? Elara, I think you’re delusional.” His tone was stern, self-righteous. “There is no chance of us getting back together. Stop using such a pathetic excuse to try and trick me.” I froze. My hand dropped from his arm. “Okay,” I said, the single word heavy with defeat. “I get it.” 2 Andrew and I dated in college. After we broke up, my mom married his dad. Just like that, we became step-siblings on paper. But it wasn’t a legal tie; we were family in name only. We’d made a silent pact to never speak of our short-lived, youthful romance. A year ago, Andrew had actually asked if I wanted to get back together. I turned him down. I had a thing for the possessive, obsessive types. He wasn’t one of them. Back then, I’d used his own logic against him. “Andrew, I’m your sister. There’s no chance of us getting back together.” I never thought he’d throw those exact words back in my face. After graduation, Andrew started working at his family’s company, Hayes Corporation. I’d heard from my mom that he was getting very close to his secretary, a woman named Isabella. Maybe that was it. He had someone new, so he didn’t want my touch. Or maybe our past relationship had left a scar on him. I closed the bathroom door and turned the shower back on, cranking the heat to its maximum. But before the water could even hit my skin, it sputtered and died. Andrew had shut off the main valve. His voice came from outside, cold as ice. “From now on, one shower a day. If you try for more, I’ll turn off the water.” The craving was unbearable. That night, I tossed and turned in bed, unable to find a moment’s peace. Andrew’s room was right next to mine. A text from him lit up my phone: [Can you stop making so much noise? If you keep this up, you can just move out.] I stared at the message for a moment, then typed back: [Fine. I’ll be gone by tomorrow.] 3 I found a two-bedroom apartment online, a ground-floor unit with a small garden. My roommate was a twenty-five-year-old man named Caleb. We lived together peacefully for two weeks, gradually falling into a comfortable routine. He was handsome in a quiet, brooding way, but he often cooked and would invite me to eat with him. Then came tonight. I was eating a slice of tiramisu he’d made when the text appeared out of thin air. [RUN! He’s a possessive freak. He’s got a pair of shiny handcuffs under his pillow.] [He fantasizes about chaining you to his bed every single night.] [Still eating? Once you’re full, it’s your turn to feed him.] I shot a covert glance at Caleb, unable to believe what I was seeing. Had I actually stumbled upon a real-life obsessive? A devastatingly handsome one with a perfect body, at that? A thrill, sharp and intoxicating, shot through me. The real reason Andrew and I broke up was because he thought I was a pervert. I’d told him countless times, “I want you to lock me up. Can’t you just buy a pair of handcuffs?” He would just stare at me in horror. “Elara, are you sick?” Yes, I was. Once, we got stuck in an elevator together. While he was calmly trying to time the rescue, a dark thought bloomed in my mind: I want to be stuck in here with him for a little longer. If the rescuers never came, we could die together. That thought terrified him. He broke up with me soon after. I didn’t fight it; his possessive streak was far too weak for my taste. Snapping back to the present, I pushed the last bite of tiramisu into my mouth. I smiled at Caleb. “I tend to take long showers. If you’re in a hurry, you can go first.” “No need,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “I’m not in a rush. You go ahead.” “Oh, okay. Thanks.” I stood up and went to my room to grab my towel. The moment the door clicked shut, another comment flashed before my eyes. [You should peek through the crack in the door. You won’t believe what Caleb is doing right now.] My hand froze on the doorknob. Through the narrow gap I’d left, I peered back into the living room. Caleb was sitting where I’d left him. He dipped a finger into the swirl of leftover cream on the plate, brought it to his lips, and slowly licked it clean. As he looked up, his eyes—dark and intense—met mine. In their depths, I saw a flicker of raw, hidden excitement. He was like a panther, sleek and predatory. I quickly shut the door, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I couldn’t calm down. Every time Caleb made tiramisu, he’d watch me eat it without ever taking a bite himself. I never imagined he would lick the cream I’d left behind. It was so twisted. I loved it. 4 Towel and nightgown in hand, I walked out of my room. As I passed the living room, I saw Caleb in the kitchen, washing the dessert plate. His back was to me, his frame tall and lean. The handsome face, which had held such a dark intensity moments before, was now back to its usual cool indifference. It was like the man who’d licked my leftover cream was a different person entirely. I slipped into the bathroom, and as the door closed, more comments appeared. [Do you know why he always waits for you to finish showering before he goes in?] [Because he takes the clothes you leave behind and…] [You have skin hunger. He has an addiction.] [You two are a match made in heaven. Or hell.] My face burned. No way. That was too depraved. Could it get even more depraved? Another comment popped up: [His phone is filled with hundreds of your selfies, by the way.] I stopped dead. What? Where would he get my selfies? [He’s an elite hacker. Every move you make, he knows.] [He can break into your phone in seconds. He’s backed up your entire photo album.] [He knows your search history, too.] [Okay, this is getting terrifying. I think you should seriously run.] The more I read, the more excited I became. What others found terrifying, I found absolutely thrilling. I was a pervert, after all. My most frequent searches were things like: [What’s it like to date an obsessive man?] [How to relieve skin hunger?] [I keep dreaming about being tied up, what does it mean?] [How to get an obsessive man’s attention?] If Caleb could get into my phone, did that mean he knew I was into men like him? Did he know about my skin hunger? [Of course he does. Even the rental ad you found was a carefully laid trap he set just for you.] [He’s been obsessed with you for a very long time.] [Do you have any idea what he’s been through these last few years?] [He whispers your name in his sleep every single night.] Wow. I liked him even more now. In the shower, I turned the water temperature as high as I could stand it. The skin hunger was back with a vengeance, and the heat alone wasn’t cutting it. I wanted… I wanted to be close to Caleb. The thought of the handcuffs under his pillow sent another jolt of excitement through me. I wondered what it would be like, for someone with skin hunger and someone with an addiction to get together. [You two probably wouldn’t leave the house for a week.] [You’re a fish gasping for water, and he’s your ocean.] [He’ll never let you go thirsty. Whatever you want, he’ll give you more than enough.] As the steam filled the air, a soft moan escaped my lips. “Mmm…” From just outside the door, Caleb’s deep, husky voice rumbled, “Miss Collins? Do you need any help?” 5 My skin finally adjusted to the searing heat, and a sense of calm washed over me. “Could you grab a face mask for me? It’s on the vanity in my room.” “Of course,” Caleb replied, and I heard his footsteps heading toward my bedroom. The comments flared up again: [Elara deliberately left her bra hanging on the vanity chair. Caleb will see it the second he walks in.] [She’s totally teasing him.] [Caleb’s about to have a nosebleed.] Two minutes later, Caleb knocked on the bathroom door, mask in hand. I opened the door just a crack, hiding behind it as I reached out for the mask. I deliberately let my fingers brush against his. I heard the distinct sound of Caleb swallowing hard. The comments were relentless: [Tsk, what a flirt.] [He just managed to calm himself down, and you’ve gone and lit his fuse all over again.] After my shower, I went back to my room and tossed my clothes into the laundry basket, except for one thing. I purposefully left a small camisole I’d worn hanging in the bathroom. As soon as Caleb went in to take his shower, the comments started. [You’re so calculating. He loves the camisole you left for him.] [Are you going to go eavesdrop?] It was like the comments could read my mind. I was dying to listen in. But I had to resist. I managed to hold out for half an hour before I finally caved. Tiptoeing to the bathroom, I pressed my ear against the door. Through the sound of running water, I could hear a faint, strained gasp. I listened, captivated, for another ten minutes. Just as I was getting completely lost in the moment, the door suddenly swung open. I stumbled forward, right into a cold, hard chest. Contact. The sensation was incredible. Caleb had been taking a cold shower. He had a towel wrapped low on his hips, his torso still slick with water droplets that traced paths down the sharp lines of his abs. I looked up, and his handsome face was so close I could feel his breath on my skin. It was intoxicating. I had no desire to pull away. I stayed pressed against him, stammering an excuse. “I… I wasn’t trying to… I just came to get my camisole.” The camisole in question was clutched tightly in his hand. He quickly tried to hide it behind his back, a flush of red coloring his ears. “It got… dirty. I’ll wash it and give it back to you.” “Oh, okay.” I still wanted to be closer. My mind raced for a reason. “Caleb, I think I’m running a fever. I feel a little dizzy.” Caleb set the camisole aside and gently placed the back of his hand on my forehead. “You’re burning up. Can you walk?” My legs felt like jelly. “I don’t think so…” The next thing I knew, he had swept me up into his arms and was carrying me toward my room. It was only a few steps, but I couldn’t stop myself from snuggling deeper into his embrace. My scorching skin against his cool flesh was pure bliss. I wanted to stay like this forever. He gently laid me down on my bed and placed a thermometer in my mouth. “I’m going to get dressed. I’ll be back in five minutes to check your temperature.” “Okay,” I murmured, knowing full well I wasn’t sick. This was my skin hunger, and only one thing could cure it. 6 That night, long after I’d fallen asleep, I felt someone kissing me. I recognized Caleb’s unique scent. I’d seen the cologne bottle in his bathroom—Shadowfall, it was called. I’d even secretly dabbed some on myself once. The top note was like icy pine from a remote glacier, cool and distant, but the base note was a primal, intoxicating blend of wilderness and sharp edges, whispering of intense possession and fatal attraction. He kissed me so carefully, so reverently. I trembled with excitement, fighting the urge to respond. Being kissed in secret like this… it was its own kind of thrill. I stayed perfectly still, letting him do as he pleased. When he paused, I deliberately mumbled in my sleep, “More…” Caleb froze for a second, then lowered his head and left a dark, possessive mark on my collarbone. The next morning, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring. My fingertips traced the love bite on my collarbone just as Caleb emerged from his room. His gaze instantly locked onto the mark, and his cool, calm eyes seemed to ignite with a hidden fire. I picked up his bottle of Shadowfall, turned, and leaned languidly against the edge of the sink. “Can I borrow your cologne?” I asked. His throat worked. “Sure.” Right in front of him, I spritzed the cologne onto my wrist, then slowly rubbed it over the mark on my collarbone. His ears turned a shade of crimson. I wondered if he was remembering last night. “I had the weirdest dream last night,” I said nonchalantly. “Felt like a ghost was pinning me down.” A comment flickered into view: [He’s waiting for you to call him out, and you’re playing dumb?] Calling him out would spoil the fun. The most skilled hunters often disguise themselves as prey. Caleb’s voice was laced with a deeper meaning. “And were you scared?” A slow smile spread across my lips. “Not at all. The ghost was actually quite handsome. I hope he comes back tonight.” 7 That night, after I was asleep, Caleb came again. He kissed every inch of my skin, soothing the relentless craving. My skin hunger was finally sated. A new comment appeared: [Well, you’re satisfied, but he’s holding back so much it’s killing him.] [An obsessive man can’t handle being teased. Every night after leaving your room, he has to take another cold shower.] For several nights in a row, he came to my room, his secret touches the only cure for my affliction. I never let on that I knew, and with each passing day, I found myself anticipating the night’s arrival more and more. But one night, he didn’t come. I was tormented by my skin hunger, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. The comments began to egg me on: [If he won’t come to you, why don’t you go to him?] [He’s fast asleep right now. You can do whatever you want.] [It’s only fair, right? A little give and take.] I couldn’t resist the temptation. I slipped out of my room and crept to Caleb’s door. It was slightly ajar. Peeking through the crack, I saw him lying in bed, fast asleep. I slowly pushed the door open and tiptoed to his bedside, studying his handsome, sleeping face. He looked so refined, so self-contained. It was hard to reconcile this image with the man who secretly kissed me in the dark. I leaned down and pressed my lips to his. He was like an exquisite dessert, and with every taste, I became more addicted. But it wasn’t enough to satisfy my craving. I wanted more. My hand slipped under the covers, my fingertips brushing against the hard planes of his abs. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. I swallowed hard, the need for contact becoming an urgent, desperate ache. I was on the verge of tears from the sheer intensity of it. Suddenly, a large hand clamped down on my wrist. Caleb’s eyes snapped open. “I… I…” I tried to pull my hand back, scrambling for an explanation. But he simply pulled me down into his arms, his other hand stroking my back. His voice was a low, rough murmur in my ear. “You’re wearing my cologne again, aren’t you?” A shiver ran down my spine. “Yes,” I whispered. “It smells so good…” A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “You’re hurting, aren’t you? Do you want me to help?” I couldn’t hold back any longer. My eyes glistening, I looked up at him. “I do.”

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During freshman orientation, my boyfriend, Leo, gave the hot chocolate I’d bought for myself to his “girl best friend,” Fiona. This time, I didn’t get mad. I didn’t get jealous. I didn’t throw a fit. I just looked at him calmly and said, “Leo, this isn’t working. Let’s break up.” I was completely serious. He just laughed, that cocky, careless laugh of his. “You mean it this time, Chloe?” I nodded. He pulled out his phone and, right in front of me, blocked my number. “Alright, Chloe. Let’s make this breakup last a little longer than usual. Give me some peace and quiet. Let me see what other girls are out there in college.” Then he slung his arm around Fiona’s shoulders, turned, and walked away. One of his friends asked him, “Leo, man, Chloe’s gorgeous. Are you sure you want to break up with her?” He scoffed. “Nah. But we’re in college now. I gotta teach her a lesson, knock that attitude out of her. Let her sweat a little.” “You don’t believe me? I bet you, in less than three days, she’ll be crying and begging me to take her back.” That night, I called my mom. “Mom, I’ve decided to study abroad. Can you start the application process for me?” 1 It was the last day of orientation, and my period was due any minute. It was always a nightmare—cramps, bloating, the works. At home, I’d make a big pot of hot chocolate, which always helped. But here, in the middle of a college campus, that wasn’t an option. So I ordered one from a local cafe. The moment the delivery notification came through, my stomach cramped, hard. I had to go, now. I asked my boyfriend, Leo, to grab the delivery for me from the front gate, then ran for the nearest restroom. When I came back, my hot chocolate was in the hands of Fiona, Leo’s “girl best friend.” She had already drunk half of it. I frowned. “Leo, why did you give my drink to someone else?” My stomach was twisting in knots, and I’m sure I looked as terrible as I felt. “Oh, this was yours?” Fiona said, hopping over to me like an annoying grasshopper and holding out the cup. “Sorry, Fluffy… I thought Leo bought it for me. I mean, out of all his friends, I’m the only one who drinks this stuff. My bad.” “Fluffy, you’re not mad, are you? Please don’t cry again, I can’t handle it…” I took a deep breath, trying to push down my irritation. “My name is Chloe, Fiona. Can you please stop with the ridiculous nicknames?” The way she drew out the “Flu” in “Fluffy” was dripping with a strange, mocking tone. “Chloe, Fluffy, what’s the difference?” she said with a shrug and a smirk, bouncing her leg. “You’re not even fluffy. Why do they call you that?” Leo’s friends all burst out laughing. “So, Leo’s little girlfriend is a cat?” “No wonder she’s so high-maintenance!” “Making our boy Leo get her deliveries for her!” The hot chocolate was forgotten. I was now the butt of their jokes, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for Fiona to just take my stuff. I looked at Leo. “What is this?” He was getting impatient. “It’s just a cup of hot chocolate, Chloe. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?” “You know…” I started, but I didn’t know how to finish. I couldn’t exactly announce to a group of guys that I was on my period. The cramps were getting worse, and I felt my face pale. “Know what?” Leo snapped. Fiona pointed at me and laughed. “Fluffy, you must have really bad cramps. You know what they say, if your cramps are that bad, you probably can’t have kids. Leo, you’re going to be heirless!” She paused, then added, “Okay, okay, don’t cry. Here, you can have it back.” She held the cup out to me, but I just grabbed Leo’s arm. “Apologize.” “What?” He looked at me like I was insane. “Chloe, you want me to apologize to you?” “Yes,” I said. “You gave my drink to someone else. You should apologize.” I was dead serious. Leo stared at me as if I’d grown a second head. “What, you want me to write a ten-thousand-word apology and post it on the campus bulletin board? Who do you think you are? And who gave you the right to order me around like your personal delivery boy in the first place?” I took another deep breath. “If you don’t apologize, we’re breaking up.” Before Leo could even respond, Fiona jumped in. “No, no, no, Fluffy, don’t do that! Leo and I are just friends! Don’t break up with him because of me!” That was it. I had reached my limit. “Fiona,” I yelled, “I’ve told you a million times, stop calling me Fluffy! Don’t you understand English? And what does our relationship have to do with you?” Leo snatched the half-empty cup from Fiona’s hand and threw it at my face. We were so close, I had no time to react. The hot chocolate splattered all over me, and the straw, by some cruel twist of fate, poked me right in the eye. In an instant, tears and hot chocolate were streaming down my face. 2 Through the blur, I heard Leo’s voice. “Always crying. Did your dad die or something? You wanted to break up? Fine. Just don’t come crawling back to me in three days. I want to see what other girls are out there in college. I mean, I can’t exactly marry someone whose major is swine reproduction, can I?” With that, he grabbed Fiona and walked away. I just stood there, stunned. He was right. My major was swine reproduction and herd management. But I had applied for English literature. I had gotten my acceptance letter for the English program. I had no idea how I had been switched to this… When Fiona found out, she had laughed hysterically. “Flu-uffy,” she’d drawn out, “hahaha, your name and your major are a perfect match! You’re both animals!” I had gotten into a huge fight with her over that. The next day, Leo had texted me: *“Chloe, Fiona and I are going to Yellowstone. Come if you want, don’t if you don’t.”* I was at the airport, at the gate, waiting. Leo and I had been planning a trip to Yellowstone since we were freshmen in high school. We’d heard it was beautiful, like a paradise on earth. I had been looking forward to it for so long. After we graduated, I had tried to make plans with him, but he had to go with Fiona to her hometown first. He was gone for days. When I confronted him, he’d said, “Chloe, can’t you have a little compassion? You know Fiona’s situation.” “She’s just going back to get her birth certificate and stuff for college. I’m just helping her out.” I did know Fiona’s situation. Her parents had died in a car crash when she was thirteen. She lived with her grandmother and her uncle. Her uncle and his wife were good to her. She had everything their own kids had, and more. Her uncle, probably trying to overcompensate, gave her a huge allowance. But she had gone off the rails. Smoking, drinking, hanging out at internet cafes, getting into fights. She had even spread a rumor that her uncle was stealing her inheritance. Once, she had even hit her aunt, putting her in the hospital. After that, no one dared to discipline her. She and her grandmother moved back into her parents’ old house. She had access to all the money her parents had left her. I honestly didn’t see what was so pitiable about her situation. Then, after graduation, it was time to choose a college. Leo and I had known each other since kindergarten. We were next-door neighbors. He had asked me out in middle school, but I’d told him to wait until college. He had asked me out again in high school, and at my birthday party, in front of all our family and friends, he had promised to “protect Chloe for the rest of his life.” I was touched. We encouraged each other, studied together, and planned to go to the same college. After we graduated high school, we officially started dating. Our test scores were similar, so we applied to the same university. But when my acceptance letter came, my major, which was supposed to be English, had been changed to swine reproduction. I had checked the “willing to be reassigned” box on my application, but still… It’s not that there’s anything wrong with animal husbandry, it’s a vital industry. But I’d only ever eaten bacon, I’d never even seen a pig in real life. My mom was worried. “Chloe, this has to be a sign. Let’s just send you to study abroad.” I knew she was right. But I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Leo, of being on the other side of the world from him. And I knew that if I went to the kind of prestigious school my mom had in mind, Leo and I would be finished. So I had smiled at my mom and said, “Swine reproduction isn’t so bad. I can get all my certifications in college, and when I graduate, I can go to Wyoming, buy some land, and raise cows and sheep and pigs… maybe even some exotic animals.” I had even added, “Farming is a noble profession, you know.” My mom had just laughed. 3 And so the matter was settled. At the same time, Leo had asked me to go to Yellowstone. It was the trip we had been planning since we were freshmen. We booked our tickets and packed our bags. But when I got to the airport, he told me he had changed his flight and had gone a day early with Fiona. I just stood there, stunned, as the final boarding call echoed through the terminal. I sat on a bench, not moving. I’m not a dramatic person, but I had to fight to keep the tears from falling. I never went to Yellowstone. Leo kept texting me. *“Chloe, are you here yet?”* *“Chloe, where are you?”* *“I’ll come get you.”* *“Just text me back.”* I just stared at my phone. Finally, he called, his voice full of frustration. My hand slipped, and I answered. When he found out I wasn’t coming, he started yelling at me, calling me high-maintenance, petty, and difficult. “Chloe, do you have to ruin everything? So I changed my flight and came a day early. Is that such a big deal? You’re not coming? You’re going to make my whole life a regret?” “Fine. Be that way.” Later, Leo and Fiona’s social media was flooded with pictures from their trip. Yellowstone was as beautiful as I had imagined. I just watched in silence. A few of my friends asked if Leo and I had broken up. I didn’t answer. Right before school started, my mom asked me again. “Chloe, are you sure you want to go learn about pigs? And then move to Wyoming and be a farmer?” “Pigs are kind of cute,” I’d said. After a week of orientation, before classes had even started, I regretted it. I wiped the sticky mixture of hot chocolate and tears from my face. I had a classmate tell the orientation leader I was sick, then I went back to my dorm, took a shower, and changed my clothes. I called my mom. “Mom, I’ve thought about it. Animal husbandry is not for me. I want to study abroad. Is it too late?” My mom’s voice was full of concern. “Chloe, are you okay?” “I’m fine,” I said, my voice calm. “I just realized that while the drama of high school is great, it eventually has to end.” My mom knew about me and Leo, so she was worried. “It’s never too late to study abroad, honey. If you’re sure, I’ll start the process now. You’ll be leaving after October. You should take some time to hang out with your friends, say your goodbyes.” I smiled and agreed. After I hung up, the cramps were so bad I had to take two painkillers. Just then, my phone buzzed. A message from Fiona. I opened it. It was a voice recording. One of Leo’s friends was asking, “Leo, man, Chloe’s gorgeous. Are you sure you want to break up with her?” Then Leo’s cocky voice. “Nah. But we’re in college now. I gotta teach her a lesson, knock that attitude out of her. Let her sweat a little.” Someone else laughed. “Dude, go easy on her. You don’t want to actually lose her.” Leo scoffed. “No way. She’s obsessed with me. I can do whatever I want, she’s not going anywhere. You don’t believe me? I bet you, in less than three days, she’ll be crying and begging me to take her back.” Then Fiona’s voice. “Leo, if you’re going to do it, do it right. Make her get on her knees and beg before you take her back.” Leo laughed. “Deal!” The recording ended. Then a text from Fiona: *“Flu-uffy, you’d better not give in so easily. Don’t come crawling back and begging for forgiveness in three days.”* I blocked her number. 4 The next day, my mom confirmed that the study abroad application was in progress. I just had to handle the withdrawal process at my current university. “Okay,” I said with a smile. “Chloe, I have someone taking care of all the paperwork. You don’t have to do a thing,” my mom said. “But you can’t change your mind.” “I won’t, Mom. I promise.” “Good,” she said. The week passed peacefully. Without Leo and his psycho sidekick, college was actually pretty fun. Most people were normal. On Friday, I got a simple dinner from the dining hall and was about to go back to my dorm to binge-watch some shows. I had worked so hard in high school, I hadn’t had any time for TV or books. Now that I was free, I was determined to catch up. My good mood was ruined when Fiona showed up. The dining hall was half-empty, but of course, she had to sit right across from me. “Fluffy,” she said in that exaggerated, mocking tone of hers, “you’ve been holding out for a whole week? How many times have you cried to Leo behind my back? What, is he ignoring you? Did you know I was meeting him here for dinner, so you came to intercept him? Tsk, tsk. Just apologize to him already. I really thought you were going to hold out this time. But here you are, pretending it’s a coincidence. Oh, right, Leo said he wants you to get on your knees and beg. Why not do it now? There’s hardly anyone here.” I just looked at the contorted expression on her face and felt a wave of nausea. “Fiona,” I said calmly, “I’ve told you many times, don’t call me Fluffy. It makes me angry.” “I know you’re angry,” she said with a dramatic flair. “I love seeing you angry and helpless.” I was still calm. I picked up the free soup that came with my meal and threw it in her face. Before she could react, I grabbed my stainless steel tray and slammed it into her head. It all happened so fast. *Wham, wham, wham.* She shrieked and fell backward, her chair tipping over. The sound of her short skirt ripping was audible. A flash of white thigh, a thong, and a few stray pubic hairs were visible. I grabbed a chicken leg from my tray and, while she was screaming, shoved it in her mouth. I straddled her, made a fist, and started punching her in the head. It took a moment for everyone in the dining hall to react. Fights usually start with an argument. I had gone from zero to a hundred in a split second. A crowd of students and staff rushed over and pulled me off of her. “Fluffy, I’m going to kill you!” Fiona screamed, trying to cover herself as she lunged at me. I grabbed a plastic chair. “Fiona, you can hit on my boyfriend all you want. I don’t care. I can always find a new one. But who the hell do you think you are, giving me nicknames?” As I spoke, I threw the chair at her. Just then, Leo came running in. He grabbed me by the hair, and with his other hand, slapped me hard across the face. I tasted blood. “Fluffy,” he snarled, “apologize to Fiona.”

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Six years into my crush on Alistair, we ended up in an arranged marriage. Post-wedding, our life was a polite, passionless affair. Two ultra-thin condoms a week, like clockwork. All because of something Alistair once said: “A marriage devoid of emotion is the most stable kind.” So, I carefully concealed the tidal wave of my love for him. Until Alistair’s old flame returned to the country. He started staying out late, choosing cold showers over touching me. I drafted the divorce papers myself and went to find him. That’s when I heard his thoughts. 【I love my wife I love my wife I love my wife I love my wife…】 1 On my wedding night with Alistair, I chugged half a bottle of wine for courage. The alcohol went straight to my head, painting my cheeks a feverish red. Alistair’s elegant hand cupped the back of my neck as his lips descended, soft and gentle. “You’ve been drinking. May I proceed?” he asked. A low “Mmm…” escaped my throat. But a thought, inopportune and sharp, cut through the haze. Even now, doing this, he’s so cool and composed. Well, of course he was. Our marriage was a business arrangement, after all. Soon, I lost the capacity for coherent thought. The traditional wedding dress slipped half-off my shoulders. The cool air on my skin sent a shiver through me. Alistair, in contrast, had only undone two buttons of his shirt. His tie hung loosely, revealing a glimpse of tanned skin and the firm lines of his chest rising and falling with each breath. My mouth went dry. “Alistair…” He let out a low chuckle, his voice a soothing balm. “Tansy, don’t be nervous.” He pinned me to the edge of the bed with one hand. He knelt before me, looking up, and then, without warning, his lips found the small mole on my inner thigh. His voice, husky and deep, mingled with hot breath against my ear. “If it’s uncomfortable, tell me to stop at any time.” My fingers tightened in his dark, tousled hair. How to describe the feeling of being married to Alistair? It was like looking up and suddenly seeing the aurora borealis. A stunning, unbelievable surprise. I wanted to hold on to him, to make it real. What happened after that is a blur, thanks to the wine. I only know that when I woke up the next morning, my legs were so weak I nearly collapsed. And. Alistair was gravely, seriously, discussing the optimal frequency of condom usage with me. “…Five times a week?” My soul, which had been floating somewhere in the stratosphere, snapped back to reality at his last few words. My eyes widened. “Five?” Alistair glanced at me and, without missing a beat, amended his proposal. “Then twice a week it is.” 2 I was the one who suggested postponing the honeymoon. Alistair’s company was in a busy period, and I was about to start a new project as a staff writer for a TV show. But the real reason was, I wanted to wait until there was some semblance of feeling between us. Even a little. Even if it was manufactured. Married life with Alistair was surprisingly harmonious, both in our daily routines and… physically. He had an uncanny knack for attentiveness in that department. The only change was that the “two condoms a week” had become “twice a week, one box per session.” The next morning, as I stood on trembling legs, fumbling to tie Alistair’s tie, my brain was still foggy. “Alistair, on work nights, maybe we should…” I paused, trying to phrase it delicately. “Maybe we shouldn’t stay up so late.” As much as I lusted after his body, I believed in sustainable resources. “I’m not saying no to marital activities,” I clarified, my cheeks flushing. “It’s just… for our health, maybe we could go back to twice a week?” I snuck a glance at his expression as I spoke. My hands didn’t stop their work on his tie, finishing the knot with practiced ease. Whenever Alistair was home, I was the one who tied his tie. Just as he was the one who always dried and styled my hair after I washed it. I was always embarrassed by it, but he would just say, “Do you think my hands are clumsy, Tansy? We’re husband and wife. There’s no need for such formalities.” I cherished those moments. They created the illusion that Alistair loved me. But I knew. I knew he had a past love he couldn’t let go of. Still, it was okay. His life, from now on, would be filled with me. Alistair listened to my suggestion, one eyebrow raised slightly. The sharp, chiseled line of his jaw tensed. “I apologize. I lost control last night. But Tansy, I have needs too.” I froze. His thumb, through the fabric of my silk pajamas, pressed against my aching lower back, rubbing gentle circles as he continued. “I had an unexpected meeting last night, which is why we started so late. I’ll be more mindful of the time from now on. We can start earlier.” “Tansy,” he asked, his tone deceptively casual, “were you uncomfortable yesterday? Do you need me to apply some ointment?” My face turned crimson. I squeezed out a single word. “…No.” Alistair’s dark eyes narrowed. His long fingers tilted my chin up as he leaned in, his body pressing against mine. His lips descended, a searing kiss that quickly became a demanding, breathless plunder. He guided my hand down past his eight-pack abs, and my breath hitched. After a long moment, Alistair’s voice was a rough whisper. “But… you’re right about everything, Tansy.” “For the sake of our health, how about you join me for a workout three mornings a week?” I… My world came crashing down. 3 The tie was a wasted effort. Afterward, Alistair carried me to the bathroom to clean up. He looked down at me, his breath warm against my hair. “Leo wants to get together next week. Are you free?” “He’s invested in a new bar that’s just opening. He invited a bunch of our old high school friends. You know everyone,” he explained. A high school reunion. Did that mean… was Leo going to invite her? I thought for a moment, then shook my head. “I can’t. The studio just added a major supporting character to the script I’m working on. My part needs a lot of rewrites. I’m starting on set soon, so I probably won’t have time. I’m sorry.” Leo, Alistair, and my older brother were all childhood friends. We went to the same high school. When I was a freshman, Alistair was a senior. I used to tag along with my brother and his friends, but my crush on Alistair and my naturally quiet, introverted personality meant I was usually just a silent observer, my eyes secretly following his every move. To get closer to him, I would intentionally get a few problems wrong on my physics tests, just to have an excuse to ask him for help. Then, in the second semester, Sarah transferred into Alistair’s class. She was brilliant and outgoing. Not only did she know Alistair from before, but she also fit seamlessly into his circle of friends. I never expected her to seek me out. “Tansy, you like Alistair, don’t you?” My eyelashes fluttered. I didn’t know how to respond. Not even my own brother knew about my crush. Sarah tilted her head, a half-smile playing on her lips. “But Alistair told me he only sees you as a little sister.” “I’m going to ask him out. If he says yes… Tansy, maybe you should stop using ‘studying’ as an excuse to get close to him, okay?” After Sarah asked Alistair out, she made a point of coming to me for a “heart-to-heart.” “Alistair and I have known each other since we were kids. I transferred here because of him. And thanks to him, I was able to get into this school as a senior. I was going to wait until after graduation to be with him, but I just got an early acceptance to college, so I don’t want to wait anymore. Little sister… maybe you should focus more on your studies from now on.” Later, Sarah and Alistair broke up for some reason. Around the time that song “The One That Got Away” was popular, the topic of old flames came up at a party. Leo had laughed, his tone suggestive. “Alistair’s got one. He’s been single all this time, waiting for someone.” 4 One word from the money-grubbing execs, and my life became a blur of all-nighters, rewriting scripts. On the fifth night of sleeping in my study, Alistair knocked on the door. “Tansy.” He rarely used my full name. I looked up, confused. He walked in, bringing a wave of cool, damp air with him. His tone was unreadable. “Have you forgotten you have a husband? Or are you planning on sleeping in here from now on? A separation?” It wasn’t until he had me pressed against the desk, his lips curved into a smirk, our breaths mingling, that I understood what he meant. I blushed and responded to his kiss, trying to appease him. “Tansy, don’t ever ignore me like this again, okay?” he said suddenly. I blinked, stammering, “I just forgot… about… you know.” “I haven’t been ignoring you…” Before I could finish, Alistair’s eyes darkened. He bit my lip gently, silencing me with another kiss. He didn’t press the issue. The lamp overhead seemed to sway. I bit my lip, my eyes on our intertwined hands. I was starting to feel that our polite, respectful marriage wasn’t enough. Maybe… maybe we could actually fall in love. A thought I’d never dared to entertain before began to bloom in the secret corners of my heart. Could it be that Alistair is starting to like me, even just a little? 5 The night of the party, it was 11:30 PM, and Alistair still wasn’t home. I was debating whether to text him when a message from him came in. 【Drank too much, can’t drive. Staying at Leo’s place tonight. Don’t wait up.】 On a whim, I asked Leo for the address. I wanted to surprise Alistair by picking him up. It was a shame my brother was in Paris on business, or I could have gotten the information more discreetly. I timed my arrival for when their parties usually ended and drove to Leo’s new bar. I was scanning the room, about to call Leo for their location, when my eyes locked onto a figure at the bar. In the dim light, Alistair sat with his back straight, casually swirling the amber liquid in his glass. He exuded an air of cool, refined elegance that was all his own. A smile touched my lips, and I watched him for a long moment before starting to walk over. Then I heard his voice, cool and detached. “…A marriage devoid of emotion is the most stable kind.” My smile froze. The words were like daggers to my heart. A burning sensation welled up in my eyes. I couldn’t bear to hear another word. I turned and fled. I missed Leo’s next sentence. “Cut the crap, Alistair. You can’t even follow your own advice. And you’re trying to convince me to get into an arranged marriage?” I stumbled into the bathroom. The salty tears mixed with the cold water from the sink. The human heart is a greedy thing. Alistair had been so good to me after we got married. He always told me his schedule, remembered my preferences, left a light on for me because he knew I was afraid of the dark… I had mistaken his sense of marital duty for love. After a moment, I looked up at my reflection and forced a hideous smile. “Tansy, you have to be content,” I whispered. I prayed he would never find out about my secret love for him. I composed myself and walked out, only to come face-to-face with Leo and the others. Alistair was at the back of the group, looking down at his phone. Leo spotted me first and waved. “Tansy…” he started, then kicked the guy next to him, who was still rambling on. But the guy didn’t get the hint. He kept talking. “Tansy? Weren’t we just talking about Sarah being back and looking for a job? If she’d come back sooner, maybe Alistair…” 6 Leo jabbed his elbow into the guy’s stomach, finally shutting him up. The familiar name echoed in my ears. I zoned out for a second. Sarah… she was back? Were she and Alistair in touch? “See? I told you. Tansy got the address to pick up her husband.” “Alistair!” Leo grabbed Alistair and pushed his arm into mine. “Go home, you two. Tansy, he’s drunk. Wasted! You can do whatever you want with him.” I blinked, then looked up to see Leo winking at Alistair. I studied Alistair. He smelled faintly of alcohol, but his eyes were clear, his posture relaxed. He didn’t look drunk at all. Just as I was thinking this, Alistair’s gaze clouded over. His tall frame swayed, and he buried his head in the crook of my neck. “So dizzy,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “They made me drink… Did you come all this way just to take me home, Tansy?” His warm breath on my neck sent a shiver down my spine. Amidst the teasing from our friends, I felt flustered and could only manage a soft “Mmm.” Alistair’s lips curved into a smile, and his hand found mine, our fingers lacing together. I looked down, flustered, and led him carefully out of the bar. 【This is the first time my wife has ever come to pick me up.】 Alistair’s deep voice suddenly sounded in my ear. I froze and looked at him. A triumphant smile played on his lips. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He hadn’t spoken, but I heard his voice again: 【Leo’s suggestion wasn’t totally useless after all.】 【My wife is so cute when she’s shy.】 【Hmm, does this mean I can use the third condom tonight?】 7 Waiting at a red light, I couldn’t help but steal glances at Alistair in the passenger seat. He was leaning his head on his hand, his eyes closed, his breathing even. He seemed to be asleep. Did I… did I just hear Alistair’s thoughts? My mood, which had plummeted, was now soaring like a roller coaster. I hesitated, then decided to test the waters. “Alistair, are you really drunk? If you’re not feeling well, I can stop at a pharmacy and get you some sobering medicine.” He slowly opened his eyes, a thin haze clouding their dark depths. “No need.” He rubbed his temples. “Just a headache…” I nodded, my eyes fixed on his impassive face. The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them back. It was all too fantastical. I couldn’t bring myself to ask. The light turned green. Before I drove off, I glanced at Alistair again. He had shifted positions, his cool, handsome face now in full view. The corner of his mouth was turned up in a barely perceptible smile. I didn’t hear any other voices in the car. The confusion and doubt lingered all the way home. I had just parked the car when Alistair’s phone rang. I caught a glimpse of the caller ID. Sarah. “Alistair, can you come pick me up…?” My hand hovered over the door handle. A sour taste filled my mouth. I slammed the car door shut and walked into the building alone, leaving the “drunk” Alistair behind. Alistair paused, still holding the phone. Sarah’s voice continued on the other end. “Grandpa Alistair knows my new place is still being renovated, so he invited me to stay at the main house to keep him company. But it’s been so long, I don’t know how to get there. I heard from Leo that you guys had a get-together tonight. Why didn’t you invite me? I could have made time.” Alistair watched my retreating figure, a confused look on his face. After a moment, he clicked his tongue before finally answering her. 8 Once inside, I stood in the entryway for a long time, my mind a chaotic mess. After a moment of deliberation, I picked up my phone and texted my best friend. Chloe was my high school classmate and my confidante, the only person who knew about my six-year crush on Alistair. 【Chloe, Sarah’s back.】 【She just called Alistair and asked him to pick her up…】 Chloe replied instantly. 【?】 【At one in the morning, she’s calling a married man to pick her up?】 【Is she insane?】 【Tansy, get a grip. I know it’s an arranged marriage, but you and Alistair are legally married now.】 【Even if Sarah was his first love, they broke up! What she’s doing now is trying to be a homewrecker!】 【And we don’t even know for sure if she was his first love.】 【Remember when he was studying abroad? He was always checking in on you. He even told you he was single.】 I stared at the screen, my mind drifting. When I was a sophomore in high school, Alistair was already studying overseas. But he would message me from time to time, asking about my studies, checking in. After a few times, I got annoyed. “My brother said you’re so busy you only get six hours of sleep a night. You should spend your free time with your girlfriend,” I had replied. “My grades are fine. You don’t need to worry about me.” Alistair: 【?】 The “typing…” bubble appeared and disappeared for a long time before his next message came through. 【Tansy, I’m single.】 【I appreciate the concern, but I still have time to help you with your studies.】 I was stunned. He and Sarah had broken up? A mix of surprise, confusion, and elation exploded in my chest. I made a bold decision: after graduation, I would try to win him over. But then… Leo had personally confirmed that Alistair was single because he was waiting for his old flame. Chloe’s messages were still flooding in when the front door opened. It was Alistair. Our eyes met. My mouth opened, but no words came out. I quickly looked away. It was always like this. The moment I saw him, all the things I wanted to say evaporated. I clutched my phone and hurried into the bedroom. 【Alistair’s back. He didn’t go.】 【But something happened tonight.】 【I’m not sure what he’s thinking now.】 Chloe sent back a facepalm emoji. 【Just ask him.】 【Stop retreating into your shell every time something happens! You’re driving me crazy!】 【Are you just going to let Sarah be a thorn in your side forever?】 【Listen to me. Go put on that battle armor I got you. Ask him while you’re doing it. You won’t have the energy to overthink things. I guarantee you’ll get an answer.】 【The last time I was at your place for dinner, the way Alistair looked at you was anything but innocent. Based on your condom consumption rate, I’d say he’s at least attracted to you. The rest isn’t impossible.】 【Go, Tansy.】

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I spent five years in Wyatt Hayes’s orbit. Five years of wildness and wonder, five years of being tangled up in him. In all that time, whatever patience and warmth he possessed, he gave to me. Every year, on New Year’s Eve, as the clock ticked toward midnight, he would ask me the same question. “Lena, will you stay with me next year?” Sometimes, it was over the phone, his voice a low rumble across an ocean. Other times, he’d fly back on his jet, arriving at my apartment door, exhausted and smelling of the cold night air, just to hear me say yes in person. His friends all had a saying: “Before Lena, Wyatt didn’t know how to love. After Lena, he didn’t need to.” I heard the words, but I never let them sink in. It was safer that way. On the last night of the fifth year, he came back just as he always did. He was travel-worn and carried the chill of the December air on his coat. He pulled me into his arms, the embrace familiar and firm, and pressed a tired kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Everything okay?” I nodded, then gently eased myself out of his hold. “Wyatt, this is it.” “For year six,” I said, my voice even, “I wish you a happy marriage.” I had known for a while. That flight he took wasn’t for business. It was to get engaged, just as his family always intended. 1 In the final weeks of the year, Wyatt was overseas on company business. I was working from home, tying up loose ends on a few entertainment news pieces before the holidays. At ten p.m., my phone lit up with his face. “Happy birthday, Lena,” he said, his voice warm despite the distance. “Did the gifts arrive?” I adjusted my glasses, my gaze falling on the small mountain of designer boxes and bags on my sofa. They had been arriving all morning, delivered by a rotating cast of his friends. Five or six of them, each showing up separately with a package, a “Happy Birthday, Lena!” and a bit of charming small talk. They were all masters of conversation, those friends of his, ensuring the apartment was filled with cheerful noise all day. It was Wyatt’s way of doing things. He knew I hated big parties but worried I’d be lonely. So he orchestrated a parade of brief, bright visits, giving me company without the overwhelm. Through the screen, he looked tired. The top two buttons of his black shirt were undone, and he was slouched against a leather sofa somewhere the sun was shining. The light caught the sharp line of his jaw, highlighting that wild, untamable energy he always carried. “There’s one more thing,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “On the desk in the study. I think you’ll like it.” I walked into the study, his workspace, and saw it immediately. A deed, lying on the polished wood of his desk. Next to it, held down by his heavy fountain pen, was a simple card. It just said: “For Lena.” “It’s the condo you liked,” he explained. “The one we saw that Sunday. I bought it for you. A birthday present.” He must have seen the look on my face, because he added quickly, “It’s nothing, really. Not a big place, didn’t cost much. So don’t even think about saying no.” I stared at the papers, a strange ache blooming in my chest. My eyes started to burn. Wyatt always knew how to do this, how to find the cracks in my armor. He remembered every little thing I loved, every casual comment, and he would quietly arrange the world until he could present it to me, gift-wrapped. On the screen, he chuckled, a low, teasing sound. “Hey, don’t you start crying on me, superstar. I’m too busy to fly back and fix it right now.” He took a sip of water. “I’ll make it up to you when I’m back. I promise.” I just nodded. “Get some sleep,” he said softly. “I’ll stay on the line until you do.” That night, a cold rain fell over New York City. I drew back the curtains, a single warm lamp glowing in the room. Wyatt stayed on the video call for over two hours, a silent, watchful presence on my nightstand. Just as I drifted off, I heard his voice, a whisper from the speaker, “Sweet dreams, Lena.” 2 The next morning, my editor, Sarah, dropped a new assignment in my inbox. “Your flight to London is already booked. Lena, I need you to knock this one out of the park.” The subject line read: “EXCLUSIVE ACCESS: The Hayes-Vancourt Engagement.” “I want the inside story,” she said. I scrolled through the attached documents, and there it was, in black and white. Wyatt’s name. The headline from the press brief was like a punch to the gut: “Wyatt Hayes, eldest son of the Hayes Corporation, celebrates his engagement after purchasing a four-million-dollar pink diamond. A source says a wedding is imminent.” My brain stalled for a second. By the time it caught up, a thousand tiny needles were already prickling my heart. Sarah was still talking, oblivious. “It’s weird, though. For a guy who lives his life in the public eye, he’s holding this party in the middle of nowhere, some country estate outside the city. Guess he’s trying to protect the fiancée. You know how it is, two powerful families merging. Paige Vancourt. He’s probably treating her like a porcelain doll.” Clack. My phone hit the floor, bouncing off my toes. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “You okay?” Sarah asked, impatient. “This is a huge get, Lena. The tip came from an inside source. You need to get moving.” After we hung up, I sank to the floor. Mechanically, I started packing a bag. On the plane, I scrolled obsessively through six months of news about him. It was all there, hiding in plain sight. Six months ago: the first paparazzi shot of him with Paige Vancourt, leaving a restaurant in Mayfair. One month ago: a society column mentioning he’d had dinner with her parents. One week ago: the splashy headlines about the auction. A four-million-dollar pink diamond, sold to an anonymous bidder, later confirmed to be him. Two days ago: he’d told me he had to fly out for business, and as he was getting into the car, I’d heard a woman’s clear voice in the background say, “Wyatt, it’s starting to snow in New York…” Every piece clicked into place, perfectly filling the gaps of his recent absences. I found a video of him from an interview after the auction. A reporter asked, “Mr. Hayes, that’s an extraordinary price for a ring. Does it have some special significance to you?” Wyatt shook his head, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he glanced down at the velvet box in his hand. “No special meaning. I just thought… she would like it.” He dropped the box into his overcoat pocket. “Her birthday is coming up. It’s a gift for that.” The story was everywhere for a day, then it vanished. Scrubbed from the internet. When I’d asked him about it, he’d simply kissed the corner of my mouth and changed the subject. That was our rule. He set the boundaries. And I never crossed them. So I said nothing, swallowing the sharp, metallic taste of pain. It brought back a memory from a long time ago, a night much like this one. He had come home late, tired and vulnerable, and was kissing my cheek when I suddenly grabbed his sleeve. “Wyatt,” I asked, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “If you have to get married someday… what happens to me? What will you do with me? Will your parents just let me be?” The warmth in him vanished instantly. His eyes, which had been soft with desire, became clear and cold. “Lena,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “There are some questions you shouldn’t ask.” He had his obligations. His duties. That night, he got drunk on the living room sofa. I stayed in the bedroom, wrapped tightly in the duvet. We each nursed our own dark moods, separated by a wall. The deal was to never talk about the future, to only live in the now. That time, I was the one who broke the rules. 3 The plane landed in London just after midnight. I checked into the hotel Sarah had booked for me. It was a five-star place, a historic manor house converted into a luxury hotel—apparently, very close to the estate where Wyatt’s engagement party was being held. I sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, my boots still wet with melted snow, my fingertips numb with cold. The ice crystals on my coat slowly dissolved into dark spots on the fabric before I finally moved my stiff limbs. The party was in six hours. I hadn’t told Wyatt I was coming. I hadn’t even told him I knew. For five years, there had been a clear, invisible line between us. A chasm that no amount of hard work or love on my part could ever bridge. We both knew this day was coming. We knew dragging it out wouldn’t change the ending, but still, we stubbornly delayed it, year after year. We were both terrified to speak of it, terrified of what the final answer would be. Which is why he hid it from me, flying to another continent to get engaged. I sat there all night, thinking. Weighing the costs, the benefits, the impossible choices. I imagined Wyatt had spent countless nights doing the same. But he and I were different. I didn’t have a family empire or a legacy to consider. All I had was this five-year-long feeling in my chest. And I was tired. Just before dawn, I took a shower. I put on a little makeup to hide the dark circles under my eyes and changed into the cleanest, most respectable outfit I had packed. Then I went downstairs. The engagement party was being set up in the hotel’s grand ballroom. The doors were propped open, and staff were bustling in and out, arranging flowers and setting tables. Since the event hadn’t started, I could only wait outside, in the main lobby. I waited for a long time, the hot Americano in my hands turning cold. I looked toward the ballroom again. And then I saw him. Wyatt, descending the grand staircase. Beside him was a young woman who moved with an effortless grace. She was wearing a simple, brutally elegant white sheath dress, her long hair falling down her back. She was stunning. Wyatt stood next to her, tall and imposing, his black suit tailored to perfection, yet somehow still looking untamed. They looked perfect together. My eyes stung. The coffee cup trembled in my hand, and hot liquid sloshed over the side, staining the front of my coat. I fumbled for a napkin, trying to wipe it away, only making the dark splotch worse. The smell of coffee and bitter regret filled the air. Suddenly, a crisp, white napkin appeared in front of me. I looked up and froze. “Miss Scott, I presume?” The woman from the stairs was standing before me. Paige Vancourt. “I’m Paige. Wyatt’s fiancée. I’m so glad you could make it to our engagement party.” Her eyes swept over my face, a cool, appraising glance. She was smiling, but it didn’t reach her eyes. It was the smile of a victor. And in that moment, I understood. It was all her. There was no exclusive interview. There was no inside source. A scoop like this would never have just fallen into my lap. As much as Wyatt wanted to hide this from me, she wanted to rub my face in it. “I’m aware of your… relationship with Wyatt,” she said, her voice dropping to a confidential murmur. “But I imagine a woman like you wouldn’t want to continue so indecently attached to a married man, would she?” She gestured vaguely at the bustling ballroom. “As you can see, this is a large, private event. To avoid any unpleasantness, I think it would be best if you left.” Her smile tightened. “My fiancé and I will be declining all interviews. We have no desire to see our celebration written about in the papers.” My hands were clenched into fists in my pockets, my nails digging into my palms so hard I couldn’t feel the sting. “Does Wyatt know you invited me here?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. She laughed, a light, airy sound that was sharper than a shard of glass. “Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it? Whether you want him to know or not.” My gaze dropped to her hand, where the pink diamond sat, flashing under the chandelier light. It was magnificent, a perfect, impossible star. Just like their lives. “You seem interested in my ring,” she purred. “Wyatt gave it to me for my birthday. An early present.” She tilted her head. “He’s so very thoughtful, isn’t he? So good at knowing what a girl wants. I suppose I have you to thank for that, Miss Scott.”

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The class fund was missing. The teacher took me to check the security footage. On the screen, we saw a couple locked in a passionate kiss in the empty classroom. The guy was my childhood best friend, Liam, who had just confessed his feelings for me the day before. The girl was Maya, the one he always claimed he couldn’t stand. * 1 The second the class fund was declared missing, our class president, Jessica, pointed a finger straight at me. She wanted to search my bag. I saw her shoot a triumphant look over at Maya. I knew exactly what this was about. It was about Liam. Everyone knew Maya was obsessed with Liam, but he’d always treated her like she was invisible. Yesterday, when Liam made a big, dramatic production of asking me out in front of half the school, I saw Maya in the crowd. Her face was pale, her eyes filled with a tragic, tearful desperation as she stared at him. It was so intense that Liam actually fumbled his big confession speech. In the end, though, I’d accepted the bouquet of roses. And as he was joyfully spinning me around, Maya had covered her face and run off, sobbing. She and Jessica were best friends. This whole missing-money thing was just their petty little revenge plot. “I didn’t take it,” I said, standing up, my voice calm. “There’s a security camera right there. Just check it. There’s nothing to argue about.” Liam, who had been lazily spinning a pen, froze. A flicker of anxiety crossed his face. “I don’t think it was Chloe,” he said slowly. “She’s not that kind of person.” At his words, Maya’s eyes immediately reddened. She bit her lip, looking at him with the most pathetic, wounded expression I’d ever seen. Liam awkwardly looked away, refusing to meet her gaze. Jessica’s eyes darted between them. “Chloe’s right,” she announced loudly. “Even though she was the only one who came back to the classroom during gym class, we shouldn’t falsely accuse a fellow student. We should check the security footage to clear her name.” Something felt wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Suddenly, Liam shot to his feet, kicking his desk over with a loud crash. “Are you guys done?!” he roared. “It’s just the class fund! Why are you making such a big deal over a few bucks? I’ll cover it. Double.” I frowned at him. “Liam, what are you doing? I said I didn’t take it, and you said you believe me. So why should you pay for it? Shouldn’t we be trying to find out where the money actually is?” He turned to me, his expression almost pleading. “Chloe, I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” “I’m not hurt,” I said, meeting his gaze evenly. “But I *will* be if we don’t get to the bottom of this.” Liam’s expression shifted through a series of emotions. Finally, with a sharp glare in Maya’s direction, he gritted his teeth. “Fine. Do whatever you want.” He turned and stormed out of the classroom. * 2 The moment I saw the footage, I understood Maya’s real game. There, in the empty classroom, was Liam, pinning Maya against the wall. They were kissing, a desperate, tangled mess of limbs. The sunlight streamed in behind them, creating a halo effect around the two beautiful teenagers. It looked like a scene from a cheesy high school romance movie. “He told me he’s just playing with you, Chloe.” Maya’s voice, sharp and venomous, came from right behind me. “Did you know? We made a bet. How long it would take for him to sleep with you. Why else do you think he’d ask you out?” Her eyes raked over me, lingering disdainfully on my chest. “What’s he gonna do with that flat-as-a-board chest of yours?” I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and counted to ten. It didn’t work. I spun around and slapped her across the face. She clutched her cheek, her eyes wide with disbelief, her whole body trembling with rage. “You hit me?” I ignored her and went back to the monitor. I hadn’t forgotten the real reason we were here. I still had to find the money, even if that was the last thing on Maya’s mind. “He said he’s been sick of you for years,” she hissed, her voice dripping with poison. “He’s known you his whole life. He said holding your hand gives him zero physical reaction. It’s like holding his own hand.” The timeline on the monitor showed it was almost time for the bell. “He said your bedroom has no taste. It’s like a guy’s room. You just leave your underwear lying around. And it’s all cutesy, childish stuff. He said it’s a total turn-off.” The footage showed the students leaving for gym class. The first to go was… “He even told me about the teddy bear. The one you’ve had since you were seven. He forgot to get you a birthday present, so he pulled it out of a random trash can on the street. He told you he dropped it and got it dirty, and you bought it. You treated it like a priceless treasure, washed it, and you still sleep with it every night.” The last two to leave were Maya and Jessica. They took the envelope with the class fund from the teacher’s desk, and then… “He said the way you look at him creeps him out. Your crush is like a spotlight, always following him. He thinks you’re a stalker, a total freak.” There it was. They’d shoved the envelope behind the trash can. I’d found it. I forced myself to stop the video. I turned to Maya, my face a blank mask. “Are you done?” She flinched, taking a step back. I smiled, a cold, empty thing. “I’m not going to hit you again. I don’t want to get my hands dirty. I found the money. I’m going back now.” As I walked away, I heard her hiss, “You’ll regret this, Chloe!” * 3 I found the money, gave it to the teacher, and then checked myself out of school for the day. I couldn’t face Liam. Maya’s words were a chaotic storm in my head, spinning and crashing into each other. At first, I hadn’t wanted to believe any of it. But when she mentioned the teddy bear, I knew. It was true. Just a couple of days ago, my parents had invited him over for dinner. He’d walked into my bedroom without knocking, just like he always did. I’d just changed into a dress and, blushing, asked him to please knock next time. He just shrugged. “What is there to see?” It stung, but I brushed it off as a joke between old friends. I never imagined he actually meant it. Then he’d seen the bear on my bed. Its fur was mostly worn off, leaving it a sad, bald thing. Liam had wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You still have that?” “It was the first birthday present you ever gave me,” I’d said softly. I didn’t say the rest: *and that’s why I’ll cherish it forever.* He’d seemed moved by that. He put an arm around me. “I’ll get you a new one this year. You can throw this old thing out.” His familiar scent filled my senses, and I could feel my own heart hammering against my ribs. Maya was right. I had been in love with him for as long as I could remember. That’s why I’d said yes without a second’s hesitation when he asked me out. I guess the whole world could see it. So why couldn’t he? My phone rang. It was the special ringtone I had set just for him. I answered. His voice was sharp, accusatory. “Why did you push Maya down the stairs?” * 4 When I got to the hospital, Maya was in bed, her mother fussing over her. The second she saw me, her mother charged, her finger jabbing at my face. “You vicious little girl! Just because you’re jealous, you think you can push my daughter down a flight of stairs? This isn’t over!” Maya, looking pale and fragile with her right ankle in a cast, shot me a look of pure triumph. “Mom, stop,” she said, her voice a pathetic whimper. “She didn’t mean to.” Liam was standing off to the side, his face a mask of disappointment. “Chloe, I never thought you were this kind of person.” “Oh, really?” I said, my voice calm as I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. “Hello, I’d like to report an assault.” Maya panicked. “Chloe, what are you doing?!” “Calling the police,” I said, holding up my phone. “You said I pushed you. Don’t you want justice?” “I… I forgive you,” she stammered, biting her lip, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. “I know you’ve always been upset about me and Liam… and then you saw the security footage yesterday… you just lost control…” Liam looked panicked now too. He took a step toward me, reaching for my hand. “Chloe, I can explain.” I stepped back. I quickly gave the dispatcher the details, then turned my cold gaze back to Maya. “I don’t need your forgiveness, because I didn’t do anything. And even if you want to drop it, I don’t want to be falsely accused.” “And you,” I said, looking Liam up and down, at a loss for what to even call him. “Chloe, don’t look at me like that,” he pleaded. “I can really explain.” “And I,” I said, my voice dripping with ice, “don’t want to hear it.” I raised an eyebrow at Maya. “I will accept the results of the police investigation. I believe the truth will come out.” * 5 Unfortunately, I had spoken too soon. Maya had an ace up her sleeve. The security camera in the hallway was broken. The classroom footage only proved that I had left first, and that she had followed me. And the slap I’d given her proved that we had a conflict. It all made me look incredibly guilty. Even though I insisted I was innocent, no one believed me. My parents were called to the principal’s office. After hearing the story, my mother, without even asking for my side, slapped me across the face. “When are you going to grow up? When are you going to get rid of these terrible habits?” She turned to Maya and apologized profusely. “I am so sorry. We raised her in the countryside when she was young, and she picked up some… bad traits. We’ve been trying to correct them, but… how much do we owe you for the medical bills?” My ears were ringing. My mother just kept going on and on about how difficult I was. Liam was standing nearby. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. When our eyes met, he quickly looked away. Maya hobbled over to me on her crutches. “This is what you get for messing with me, Chloe,” she whispered. Through the haze of noise and humiliation, I heard my own voice, small but defiant. “I didn’t push her.” I stared at my mother, willing her, for once in my life, to be on my side. But she wasn’t. “The evidence is clear, and you’re still lying,” she said, her eyes full of a weary disappointment. “How many more lies are you going to tell?” “Is it because you’re so afraid I’ll outshine my little brother?” I shot back. “You believe anything anyone says about me, as long as it’s negative.” “What are you talking about?” My mother’s face flushed with the shame of being caught. She covered her face and started to cry. “After everything I’ve done for you…” The office was surrounded by students, all of them watching the show. I felt like a clown in a circus, performing for their amusement. “Alright, alright,” the dean said, trying to restore order. “Let’s just let this go.” Maya smiled a sweet, innocent smile. “Mom, it’s okay. I didn’t know Chloe had it so hard. Let’s just drop it.” My mother looked up, her face full of gratitude. “Oh, thank you. You’re such a kind, beautiful girl.” As we were leaving, I saw Liam in the crowd. “Do you believe them?” I asked quietly. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I don’t know. People change.” I just nodded. He was right. People do change. * 6 That night, I was studying when I got a text from Liam. “Come down.” I looked out my window. He was leaning against the big oak tree in our front yard, his head bowed, holding something in his hand. I thought about it for a second, then closed the window and blocked his number. I could hear my parents arguing downstairs. My little brother, Leo, came into my room, holding his phone. “Chloe, it’s Liam. For you.” I took the phone and immediately hung up. “From now on, if he calls, just hang up.” Leo took the phone back. “Chloe,” he said softly, “is it because of me that you’re so unhappy here?” I ruffled his hair. He hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, he was a good kid. When I first came back from living with my grandparents in the country, he had been hostile. He saw me as an intruder, and my mother’s negative opinion of me was formed in those early days. She thought I was trying to hurt him, to steal her affection. But as he got older, he changed. He started saving his favorite snacks for me. If my parents were going out and I wasn’t, he’d refuse to go too. He probably remembered how he used to treat me, and knew I didn’t like him, so he just watched me from a distance. I remember one time, when my parents were out, I took him to get a burger. He held my hand the whole way, and as we were eating, he looked down at his food and whispered, “I’m sorry.” In that moment, I knew he remembered. And I forgave him. “It’s not your fault,” I said, messing up his hair again. “Don’t worry about it.” “Did Liam hurt you?” he asked, his little fists clenched. “I’ll go beat him up for you.” I couldn’t help but smile. “He has terrible taste,” I said. “Just ignore him. We’re not friends anymore.” “Don’t be sad, Chloe. You’re amazing. You’ll find someone so much better.” I just smiled. So everyone in the world knew I was in love with him. And he still waited until now to ask me out. Maybe Maya was right. Maybe it was all just a game. The next day, as I walked into the classroom, Liam blocked my way. He did not look happy. “Why didn’t you come down last night? Why did you block me?” “Did you need something?” My cold tone seemed to sting him. He grabbed my arm, his grip tight. “You still haven’t apologized to Maya!” I yanked my arm away. “Liam, are you insane? I told you, I didn’t push her.” “The police basically confirmed it, and she’s still denying it,” Jessica sneered from the sidelines. “She’ll never change. Even her own mother knows what she’s like.” * 7 The other students started to gather around, their voices a chorus of condemnation. “Chloe, I never realized you were so vicious.” “What’s not to realize? She probably found out that Liam only asked her out as a joke. Her little fantasy was shattered, so of course she’d lash out.” “Did you really think hurting Maya would make Liam like you?” “You’re disgusting, Chloe. You’re like one of those evil, obsessed female villains in a movie.” A thousand voices, a million insults, all directed at me, burrowing into my soul. The small, defiant voice inside me that kept insisting, *I didn’t do it*, grew fainter and fainter. What was the point? I thought. My whole life was a joke, a poorly timed entrance. My silence only seemed to fuel their anger. It wasn’t until the bell rang and the teacher walked in that they finally dispersed. “We are all on the verge of graduation,” the teacher announced, her eyes fixed on me. “I hope you will all focus on your studies. Some of us should learn not to drag others down with our bad behavior.” I looked up, my lips parting, but as our eyes met, I just lowered my head and let out a small, bitter laugh. From that day on, I became the school pariah. My textbooks would disappear. My desk would be covered in graffiti. Trash would be piled under my chair. Sometimes, there would be something sticky and foul smeared on my seat that I couldn’t completely clean off. One day, as I was scrubbing at a particularly nasty stain, Liam walked by. “Actions have consequences, Chloe. As soon as you apologize to Maya, this will all stop.” I didn’t even look at him. It got worse when Maya returned to school. Her ankle was fine, but she’d pretend it was still hurting, ordering me around, making me her personal servant. She called it my “chance to atone.” When I refused, she’d start to cry, tugging on Liam’s sleeve. “Liam, it hurts…” He’d look at me, a cruel smirk on his face, and kick my leg out from under me, sending me to my knees. “If you won’t work, you can kneel and repent,” he’d say. I’d get up, and he’d kick me again. And again. And again. Eventually, his own leg was trembling from the effort, but I just kept getting back up, staring him down. “Liam,” I said, my voice shaking but firm, “you can either kill me today, or I will never bow to her.” He looked at me with a mixture of disbelief and something else I couldn’t quite read. A few of the other students looked scared. One of them tugged on his shirt. “Dude, just stop.” He took the out. “Someone’s begging for you. I’ll let you off this time.” I let out a low laugh. “I don’t need your pity. And by the way, Liam, you seem to have forgotten something.” I looked him straight in the eye. “We’re breaking up. From now on, you and I have nothing to do with each other.”

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My boyfriend’s childhood best friend is a foodie with a terrible memory. She can never remember where the best spots are. The amazing boba place on the East Side, the legendary lobster roll truck on the North Side—she gets them mixed up every single time. This has been a running theme, right up until my one-hundredth date with my boyfriend, Leo. Her call came, right on schedule. First, she wished us a happy date night on the East Side. Then, she mentioned she was dying for one of those lobster rolls. “You’re basically passing right by it anyway,” she chirped. “Grab one for me on your way back? You’re a lifesaver!” Leo laughed, the same way he always did. “Silly goose,” he said into the phone. “You got it mixed up again!” But after he hung up, he smoothly executed a U-turn. “We can have a date night anytime,” he said, patting my knee. “But that truck sells out early. We’ve got to be a little patient with our forgetful little foodie, right?” I’d heard some version of that line ninety-nine times before. So this time, instead of being patient, I decided to go home and call my mother about that guy she wanted to set me up with. After all, who doesn’t have a childhood best friend? 1 Hearing that, Leo slammed on the brakes. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. He turned to look at me, his brow furrowed in disbelief. “Stella, what did you just say?” He paused, and as if a thought suddenly occurred to him, his expression softened. A small smile played on his lips. “Aw, is someone getting a little jealous?” he teased. “Daisy’s just… you know how she is. If she gets a craving for something and can’t have it, she’ll literally cry herself to sleep.” He reached over, trying to take my hand. “And you can’t just joke about breaking up. That really hurts, you know?” He was talking to me like I was a pouting child. He wasn’t taking me seriously at all. So I looked him straight in the eye, my own expression unyielding. “Leo, I’m breaking up with you.” The smile froze on his face. After a long moment, he looked past me, toward the highway sign pointing north. His voice was faint. “Just because I’m going to the North Side to get her a lobster roll?” I nodded. And then I shook my head. Yes and no. 2 I don’t think it’s a big deal to grab food for a friend. I’m not the kind of girlfriend who forbids her boyfriend from having female friends. What I care about is that every single time it’s inconvenient, every single time it’s out of the way, Leo chooses to derail our plans and drive across half the city, just to deliver a snack to his forgetful foodie of a best friend. Leo sighed, launching into the familiar explanation. “Stella, we’re going to be together forever. We can go on a date any night. But Daisy hardly ever asks me for anything. How can I say no when she just wants us to grab something for her on the way?” “Hardly ever?” I repeated the words, a bitter laugh threatening to escape. When Leo and I first got together, he introduced me to all his friends. He made a special point of introducing me to Daisy, his “super sweet but totally scatterbrained childhood best friend.” At first, I didn’t think anything of it. So what if they grew up together? So what if everyone thought they were destined to be together? On our very first date, she called asking us to pick up some spicy wings. I didn’t mind. Even when it turned out the place she wanted was an hour in the opposite direction of our restaurant. The next day, Leo and I made a special trip, bought the wings, and I went with him to drop them off. But when her dad opened the door, Daisy was nowhere in sight. Her father had a complicated look on his face. “That girl of mine,” he sighed. “She gets these cravings. Realized she sent you to the wrong place and didn’t want to bother you again. But she was so upset about it, she cried all night. Cried so hard she could barely breathe. Her mom had to take her to the ER this morning.” Even then, I just thought she was a quirky, overly sensitive foodie who got a little dramatic when she was hungry. Leo, however, was consumed with guilt. “I’ve known her since we were kids, Stella,” he told me. “She’s like a sister to me. I promised her a long time ago that if she ever wanted anything to eat, I’d move heaven and earth to get it for her. I broke my promise.” We went to the hospital to visit her. The doctor said she’d had an episode of respiratory alkalosis from hyperventilating. He warned us not to let her get that worked up again. Leo nodded frantically. He sat by her bed and soothed her like a child. “Don’t you worry, Daisy. Next time you want something, your big bro will get it for you, no matter what.” I didn’t realize how serious he was. Until every single date after that. Daisy’s phone calls became a ritual, more reliable than an alarm clock. The boba from the East Side, the lobster rolls from the North Side. She never once remembered the right location. And every time, she’d sound devastated. “Oh, no,” she’d whine. “Forget it. It’s okay, I don’t need it. I don’t want to ruin your date.” But just before hanging up, you could always hear the sound of a choked-back sob. Terrified of another hospital visit, Leo would turn to me with that pleading look. “Stella, we can reschedule. But if she doesn’t get what she’s craving, you know she’ll cry all night. What if she ends up in the hospital again?” And then would come the U-turn, the drive to the opposite end of the city. Once, twice, three times, I told myself it was nothing. She was just a girl who really, really loved food. By the tenth, eleventh, twelfth time, I started to wonder. Even if you’re that forgetful, can’t you write it down? Use Google Maps? By the twentieth, thirtieth, fortieth time, it started to feel absurd. If you’re that desperate for a lobster roll, call an Uber. Get it delivered. But according to Leo, “By the time a delivery driver gets it to her, it’ll be cold. And Daisy’s super picky about her food. It’s just easier if I do it.” He never sounded annoyed. In fact, he sounded proud, like it was a privilege. As for Daisy, every time he delivered, she’d grab my hands and apologize profusely. “Stella, I’m so, so sorry. Did I mess up your date with Leo again? I’m just so stupid, I can never get the locations right. I promise, next time I’ll control myself. I won’t call him, no matter how much I want something.” Of course, that just made Leo feel even sorrier for her. “Don’t be silly,” he’d scold her gently. “It’s not a big deal. Your sister Stella is the most understanding person in the world. She doesn’t mind, do you, Stella?” He put me on a pedestal of “understanding girlfriend,” leaving me no room to complain. And so, the cycle continued. But even I’m not that dense. After nearly a hundred interrupted dates, a hundred conveniently timed phone calls, and a hundred “forgotten” locations, the message was crystal clear. This wasn’t about food. This was Daisy’s way of showing me—and him—who really came first. Childhood sweetheart versus the new girlfriend. It was a test. After the ninety-ninth time, I had a huge fight with Leo. He swore up and down it would never happen again. I decided to believe him one last time. But on our one-hundredth date, the phone rang right on cue. The same conversation. The same U-turn. The same expectation that I would be the “understanding” one. And I was just so tired. “Leo,” I said. “Let’s just break up.” 3 He didn’t agree. He apologized over and over, even turning the car back around toward our original destination. We hadn’t gone two miles before his phone rang again. It was Daisy, her voice thick with barely suppressed sobs. “Leo,” she cried, “I tried to get a delivery service, but they said it would take three hours! I just checked the truck’s social media, and they only have three lobster rolls left! I guess I’m not going to get one after all, boo hoo…” Her crying grew louder, and the look of distress on Leo’s face deepened. He softened his voice to a gentle coo. “Hey, hey, it’s just a lobster roll. Don’t cry. Your big bro is on his way right now. I’ll definitely get one for you.” I sat in the passenger seat, silent, listening. The moment he hung up, he started another U-turn. This time, I didn’t just sit there. I unbuckled my seatbelt. While the car was still moving, I reached for the door handle. That got his attention. He slammed on the brakes. I yanked the door open and got out. Leo was out of the car in a flash, jogging to catch up with me. He grabbed my arm, his voice soft and placating. “Stella, I swear, this is the last time. Please don’t be mad, okay?” He gestured around at the dark, empty road. “It’s late, there are no cabs out here. Are you really going to walk home?” “Stella, please, just trust me this one last…” His phone buzzed. A text from Daisy, no doubt. A second later, her panicked voice message played from his phone’s speaker. “Leo! They only have one left! There’s only one left! What do I do?” “Don’t worry, I’m almost there,” Leo texted back. Then he let go of my arm. I looked at him. There was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, a moment of conflict. But it passed. He got back in the car and rolled down the window. “Stella, I have to go. Are you sure you won’t come with me?” I didn’t answer. He had to choose. It was me or Daisy. It had always been me or Daisy. And he had made his choice. The car started to roll forward. “Okay, well… I’ll go get this for her, and then I’ll come right back and pick you up. Don’t go anywhere.” Then he hit the gas. The car sped off, disappearing around a bend in the road in seconds. No hesitation at all. I put a hand over my heart. The heart that once beat so fast for him now just ached. But this time, I knew I had to make a clean break. I looked around. It was nine p.m. Our date was supposed to be at Starlight Point, a scenic overlook deep in the hills east of the city. We were going to stay the night at a little cabin up there. The road was remote. From the woods on either side, I could hear the occasional cry of some animal. Other than that, the highway was utterly, terrifyingly silent. 4 That night, Leo never came back for me. Not that I expected him to. For our special date, I’d dressed up. I was wearing a short dress and five-inch heels, completely impractical for the crisp autumn air. It wasn’t that far back to the city, but on foot, it would take hours. I tried calling an Uber. The app just spun and spun. “No cars available.” It was a weeknight. My closest friends all had jobs; they’d be asleep, phones on silent. I didn’t want to bother them. I had to walk. The heels were beautiful, but they were torture. In less than an hour, my ankles were rubbed raw and bleeding. I took them off and walked barefoot. The asphalt was rough and littered with sharp bits of gravel. In the dark, I couldn’t see them, and every few steps, a searing pain shot up my leg. I don’t know how long I walked. My phone battery was draining fast. The silence was unnerving, so I started scrolling through social media, just for the noise and light, to feel less alone. I saw that Daisy had just posted to Instagram. A nine-photo carousel. There was a picture of a steaming, delicious-looking lobster roll. A cute selfie of her with a happy, full-mouthed smile. And a picture of her standing next to Leo, who had an expression of fond exasperation on his face. The caption read: *The best feeling in the world is knowing there’s someone who will magically appear with whatever you’re craving, just like a genie in a bottle. ✨* The comments were from their mutual friends. *You two are so cute together! ❤️* *Couple goals!* How ironic. Maybe it was a rule that breakups required rain to set the mood. The sky opened up without warning. A few drops at first, then a full-blown, freezing downpour. The big, heavy drops stung my face. There was nowhere to take shelter. The wind picked up, and soon I was soaked to the bone, shivering uncontrollably. The cuts on my feet burned. By the time I finally limped into the city limits, it was three in the morning. The rain had let up a little, but I was in pain, freezing, and still a half-hour walk from my apartment. I found the nearest hotel and checked in. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I examined my feet in the bright light. They were a mess, crisscrossed with cuts. When I’d walked into the lobby, the night clerk had gasped at the trail of bloody footprints I’d left behind and asked if he should call the police. I ordered some antiseptic from a 24-hour delivery service. It stung like hell as I cleaned the wounds, but I was too exhausted to be thorough. I didn’t even have the energy to shower. I just bandaged my feet clumsily and collapsed onto the bed. When I woke up the next morning, my left foot was throbbing. One of the cuts must have had a piece of gravel still in it. The wound was inflamed and oozing, and putting any weight on it felt like stepping on a knife. I had no choice but to call a cab and go to the hospital. The doctor confirmed the infection, cleaned and bandaged my foot properly, and warned me to be careful for the next few days. Then he looked at my face. “You look terrible,” he said frankly. “Let’s get your temperature. After being out in the rain like that, you probably have a fever.” He was right. I took the prescription he wrote and went to the hospital pharmacy. On my way, in the hallway, I saw him. Leo. And next to him, bouncing on the balls of her feet, was a perfectly healthy-looking Daisy. Leo’s face went pale when he saw me. He rushed over, his voice a frantic whisper. “Stella, I was going to come back for you, I swear. But Daisy was crying so hard she started having trouble breathing again. She was dizzy and nauseous, it was way worse than before. I had to bring her to the ER. I figured you could probably get a cab…” His words trailed off as his eyes fell on my bandaged foot. “Stella… you’re hurt?” If this had been yesterday, I would have been furious. My boyfriend had abandoned me, again, for another woman. But last night, I had ended it. We were nothing to each other now. I could be on my deathbed, and he wouldn’t have the right to shed a tear. I pulled my arm away from his touch. “I told you last night, Leo,” I said, my voice cold and flat. “We’re broken up.” From across the hall, Daisy’s eyes lit up for a split second before she arranged her features into a mask of concern. She hurried over. “Oh, Stella, I know this is all my fault,” she said, her voice trembling. “If I wasn’t so greedy, Leo wouldn’t have had to postpone your date. I’m so sorry he left you stranded out there. Blame me, please. Don’t be mad at Leo, I…” “Fine,” I cut her off. “I’m not mad at him. And we’re not breaking up.” The mask on Daisy’s face shattered. Her expression turned ugly for a brief moment before she clutched her chest dramatically. “Leo,” she gasped, “I feel… dizzy. My chest hurts. But it’s okay. If Stella wants to take her anger out on me, she can. It’s all my fault anyway.” As she spoke, Leo was already moving to support her. She sagged against him, a perfect picture of fragile distress. Leo looked at her with pure, unadulterated concern. Then he looked up at me, and his eyes were filled with reproach. “Stella, stop it. Don’t bully her. She’s just a little clueless, that’s all. If you’re angry, take it out on me, but leave her alone. She was sick all night. She’s a patient. Can’t you have a little compassion?” A patient? I looked at Daisy, nestled in Leo’s arms. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes bright. Then I thought of my own reflection in the mirror that morning: pale lips, tangled hair, a thick bandage on my foot. Who was the patient here? Love really is blind. It was true. I didn’t say another word, but my silence seemed to unnerve Daisy. She suddenly lunged toward me. “Stella, if you want to blame someone, blame me! Don’t blame—ah!” She had been moving toward me, but just as she got close, she threw herself backward with a theatrical shriek. Leo, standing right behind her, reacted instantly. He didn’t even think. He shoved me out of the way. One powerful arm wrapped around Daisy, catching her just before she hit the floor. She was safe. I, however, was not. My left foot was injured, my balance already precarious. The unexpected push sent me stumbling backward. My head cracked against the wall, sending stars bursting behind my eyes. I crumpled to the ground, a fresh wave of agony shooting up from my injured foot. “Stella! I didn’t mean to! I was just trying to catch Daisy before she hit her head…” Leo looked down at me on the floor, his face a mess of panic. He let go of Daisy and rushed to help me up. I flinched away from his touch. “Can you please,” I said, my voice shaking with disgust, “stop being so disgusting?” One minute, he’s telling me he loves me. The next, his every instinct is to protect her. A relationship can’t have three people in it. Trying to have both was just… gross. His hand froze in midair. His eyes widened. “You think I’m… disgusting?” I didn’t have to answer. Daisy did it for me, clutching her chest and starting to cry again. “Leo, I feel so sick.” Her words snapped him back to attention. He scooped her up in a princess carry and turned to me, his voice a jumble of explanations. “Stella, I am not breaking up with you. We’ll talk about this, I promise. But Daisy isn’t feeling well, I have to get her to a doctor. I’ll come find you as soon as she’s okay…” The same empty promises. The same disgusting words. He disappeared with her around the corner. I used the wall to pull myself up, my heart a block of ice in my chest. This was the man I had given my heart to. What a joke. Just then, my phone rang. It was my mom. A traditional, wonderfully stubborn woman. “Stella, honey,” she started without preamble, “you’re not getting any younger. Either you bring that boyfriend of yours home so we can talk about getting married, or you listen to me and meet up with Cole. You remember Cole, old Mr. Henderson’s grandson? He just moved back from overseas. You two grew up together, you know each other…” “Okay,” I interrupted her. “I’ll do it. I’ll meet Cole.” There was a pause on the other end. “Are you sure?” I looked down at my foot. Fresh blood was seeping through the white gauze. “Yes,” I said. “I’m sure. And I won’t regret it.” After all, who doesn’t have a childhood best friend?

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I’m a killer. But my sweet, gentle husband doesn’t know a thing about it. After all, this is a man who can’t bring himself to kill a spider, a man who needs my help to open a stubborn pickle jar. Then came the mission at the biggest casino in Las Vegas, where I ran into the legendary top-tier assassin, “Orbit.” The eyes behind his mask were ice, and the Glock in his hand was pointed straight at my forehead. But why… why was Orbit wearing the wedding ring I gave my husband on a chain around his neck? 1 The bullet tore through the target’s temple at the exact moment a text from my husband, Nathan, lit up my phone. I dragged the body out of sight with practiced ease, then clipped onto the rope I’d anchored to the window frame earlier and rappelled down the side of the brownstone. A black Aston Martin was idling at the curb, just as planned. I slid into the passenger seat. Lilith, my handler and getaway driver, tossed a pack of wet wipes into my lap without taking her eyes off the road. I cleaned my hands, the scent of antiseptic cutting through the city air. Finally, I opened my phone. Nathan had sent me a selfie, a playful shot of him in the kitchen wearing nothing but the apron I got him for Christmas. A wave of warmth spread through my chest, as broad and comforting as his pecs. I softened my voice, holding the phone to my ear. “Hey, baby. Wait up for me, okay? Got held up at work, but I’m on my way home now.” From the driver’s seat, Lilith made an exaggerated gagging noise. “God, Anya, you’re disgusting. Aren’t you people supposed to be all reserved and stoic?” A small smile played on my lips. “If you had a husband as sweet as mine waiting at home with a hot meal, you’d be just like me.” Lilith flipped me off in the rearview mirror. “That’s only because he thinks you’re a goddamn programmer tapping away at a keyboard all day!” I shrugged, unbothered. She was just jealous of my sweet husband at home. 2 My name is Anya. My codename is Nyx. I’m an operative for “X,” an international assassination syndicate. I got married a year ago. It was a whirlwind romance with Nathan, a guy I met through a mutual friend. Finding the right person in this country, in my line of work, is next to impossible. But Nathan… he was everything I never knew I wanted. He’s half-American, half-British, with this ridiculously handsome face and a heart of gold. He has soft black hair, a gentle nature, and a chest I could get lost in… A lot of women might not be able to accept a partner who’s a stay-at-home husband, but for me, it was perfect. Seriously, what could be better than coming home after a day of high-stakes violence to a gourmet meal, and then collapsing into the arms of the man you love? Exactly. Like now. 3 The moment I walked through the door, Nathan was there, taking my coat and pulling me into a hug that smelled like garlic and rosemary. “Honey, you’re finally home,” he murmured into my hair. “The light in the living room went out. I was getting scared, and I don’t know how to fix it.” I melted into his embrace for a second before pulling away. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” I hopped onto a chair and swapped out the dead bulb for a new one. For a woman whose personal best for blind-assembling a Desert Eagle is twenty-two seconds, it was child’s play. But my helpless husband looked at me with pure, unadulterated awe. “You’re amazing, Anya.” I leaned down and kissed him. In my eyes, a man who could conjure up the feast laid out on our dining table was just as amazing. We sat down to eat, and I asked casually, “So, what did you get up to today, baby?” Nathan paused for a beat, a fork halfway to his mouth, then smiled. “Oh, you know. Watered the plants, did a deep clean of the bathroom. Then I started prepping for dinner.” See? My perfect, gentle husband. I couldn’t resist. I snuggled closer, wrapping my arms around his waist and whispering in his ear. “Dinner’s over. Ready for dessert?” He scooped me up without a word and carried me to the bedroom. But just as his fingers started working on the buttons of my shirt, he froze. “You said you were working late,” he said, his voice suddenly tight. “Does ‘working late’ now involve getting a man’s tie stuffed in your pocket?” My eyes widened as he pulled a wrinkled silk tie from my coat pocket—the murder weapon I’d used to strangle my target two hours ago. 4 Nathan held me, tears streaming down his face. “What did I do wrong?” he choked out. “Why would you need someone else?” “Is his cooking better than mine? Is he better in bed?” “Is it because I don’t have a job? I have savings, Anya, a lot. It’s all yours.” “Honey… please don’t leave me…” His words were punctuated by desperate, ragged breaths, and my attempts to deny everything were lost in shattered moans as he moved against me. All I could do was hold him tighter. The next morning, I tried again, insisting that I loved him, only him, and that I would never, ever cheat. But I couldn’t explain the tie. I couldn’t exactly tell him his quiet programmer wife had more blood on her hands than a butcher. A man as gentle as Nathan would never be able to handle it. He’d be terrified. He’d leave me. 5 To prove my loyalty, I took the entire week off, clearing my schedule to stay home with Nathan. I bought him flowers, designer clothes, anything I thought he might want. I let him have his way with me in bed, whenever and however he wanted. But a shadow still lingered in his eyes. He asked for the tie back, and I told him I’d thrown it away. Honey, it was evidence. My life is a tightrope walk over a pit of danger, but I would never, ever allow my sweet, gentle husband to be exposed to any of it. His sadness deepened. Still, he cooked me lavish meals and told me with a determined look in his eye, “It’s not your fault. I believe you, Anya. You didn’t cheat. It must have been some creep from the outside, trying to seduce you. That’s why he would do something so sleazy, putting his tie in your pocket.” I latched onto the excuse. “You’re right, baby. It was definitely my creepy coworker. But he has no chance. I can’t stand those cold, robotic tech guys. I only love you. You’re so gentle, you make me want to protect you.” Nathan’s hand, which had been struggling with a can of tomatoes, suddenly stilled. “Honey…” He handed the can and the opener to me. “I can’t get it. Can you help me?” I popped the lid open with a simple twist of my wrist. He gazed at me with that familiar look of adoration and love, his long lashes casting soft shadows on his cheeks. I came up behind him and wrapped my arms around his torso. My head only reached his shoulder, but in these moments, I could feel his complete reliance on me. I kissed his shoulder blade, filled with a fierce, protective love. “If I ever did cheat,” I whispered, “you could beat the hell out of me and then divorce me.” I felt him smile against my cheek. His voice was as gentle as always when he replied. “No. I’d kill him. We’d never get divorced.” Such a childish, silly thing to say. This was a man who couldn’t even bring himself to kill a chicken for dinner. A wave of tenderness washed over me, immediately followed by a pang of guilt for the secret I was keeping. My sweet, helpless husband couldn’t possibly imagine that his wife had, in fact, killed many, many men. 6 When Lilith finally lost her patience and started screaming at me through the secure comms unit, I told Nathan I had to end my “vacation” and get back to the office. “We’re already shorthanded, and you dare to go off-grid for a week? Can you stop hovering over that house husband of yours for five minutes?” she shrieked. “I always thought you’d end up with someone from the life. I never figured you for the type to get lost in domestic bliss!” I couldn’t be bothered to argue. She would never understand this kind of happiness. “Anything big on the horizon?” I asked, a smile creeping into my voice. “Our first wedding anniversary is next month. I want to buy him something really, really expensive.” “Bitch,” Lilith muttered, before her tone turned sly. “Actually, there is something. A million-dollar bounty. But it’s already been claimed.” I wasn’t concerned. “There aren’t many people who can outbid me for a contract. You don’t trust me?” What she said next, however, sent a genuine jolt through me. “The person who claimed it,” she said, her voice dropping, “is Orbit.” 7 Orbit. A name every killer knew. A legend. An insurmountable force. He wasn’t loyal to any organization; his only allegiance was to the perfect execution of a mission. It didn’t matter who the target was or where they were hiding—a president, a warlord, another top-tier assassin—Orbit would complete the job within the given timeframe. His own name carried the highest bounty on the dark web, a figure so astronomical no one even dared to accept the contract. His codename meant “path,” and there was a saying among assassins: The world runs on Orbit’s… well, orbit. When I was younger, I was arrogant. I once took a contract that Orbit had already claimed. I ended up watching from a distance as my target’s head exploded from a perfect shot, fired from 600 meters away. I never even saw a shadow of Orbit. But things were different now. I was a married woman. I had a sweet, helpless husband to support! I decided to take it. I would at least try. The thought of competing with a killer of Orbit’s caliber made my adrenaline surge. Besides, for some reason, Orbit had been taking very few jobs over the past year. Any mission that caught his interest had to be something special. Rumor had it he’d turned down a five-million-dollar contract to take out a mercenary leader, claiming he needed to “focus on his family and cut back on the rough stuff.” No one believed it. The consensus was that he’d made so much money he was planning a gradual retirement. Lilith started gossiping again. “I heard he’s got British blood. Are all you Brits so—” I snapped the comms unit shut. I wasn’t alone. Someone was following me. 8 Without changing my pace, I altered my route, heading slowly toward Elwood Drive. Today’s target was a gallery curator named Grant. He ran several “art fund” projects as a front for smuggling artifacts and laundering money. My client, an Indian-American art collector, had been one of his victims. Grant had convinced him to loan a collection of medieval paintings for a special exhibition. When the paintings were returned, nearly a third of them were forgeries. The client was paying me a hundred thousand dollars. It should have been a simple job; I’d planned to end Grant’s life in his villa this morning. But I hadn’t counted on being followed. My tail was good. Very good. And strange. I deliberately created an opening, a moment of vulnerability to draw him out, but he made no move. Was I not the target? Was it the organization? Or was this just an intel agent on a fishing expedition? The gallery opening was about to start. I decided I couldn’t waste any more time. I’d kill Grant first and deal with my mysterious shadow later. 9 At 11:00 AM sharp, the security feeds at the Sanctuary Gallery went dark, courtesy of Keyboard, our tech guy. I had already ditched my tail and changed from the plaid shirt I’d worn that morning into an elegant cocktail dress. Grant appeared in the main hall. I mingled, even exchanged a few pleasantries with him like any other guest. “Alright, Nyx,” Lilith’s voice crackled in my hidden earpiece. “Keyboard’s about to create a minor power surge. Use the confusion to slip into Grant’s private lounge.” Everything was set. I hid in the shadows of the lounge, a silent predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike. But Grant never came. Instead, it was Lilith’s frantic voice that broke the silence. “Abort, Nyx, abort! It’s done. Grant is dead.” “It was… Orbit.” I erased my presence from the room and calmly walked back into the main gallery while Lilith filled me in. The security feed had dropped for exactly one minute. When it came back online, Grant was dead in the special exhibition hall—a room that wasn’t scheduled to open for another two hours. His body was kneeling before a painting titled The Betrayed Saint. A single bullet had passed through the center of his forehead and struck the heart of the saint in the painting. Tucked into the frame of the canvas was a black, gold-embossed card. On it was a single word. Orbit. 10 Lilith was spiraling. I could hear the frantic sound of her chewing on her fingernails over the comm. “A hundred grand! There’s no way Orbit would take a job this small, let alone leave his calling card!” she hissed. “Did someone in our organization piss him off? Is this a threat? Or is there something else going on with this gallery?” I didn’t feel like talking. All I could think about was the hundred thousand dollars I had just lost. I pulled out my phone and texted Nathan. [Honey, work is exhausting. Miss you so much.] Nathan usually replied instantly, but this time, it took a few moments. [Miss you too.] [Can’t wait to see you.] My heart ached with a sweet longing. I wanted nothing more than to be home in his arms. Before leaving, and with Grant’s body still undiscovered, I quickly purchased a small oil painting of a field of wildflowers from the gallery’s main collection. Honestly, I knew nothing about art. But I knew my gentle husband would love it. 11 Nathan was, as I predicted, thrilled. He pulled me into a tight hug, his casual loungewear soft against my skin. “So that’s where you were today, buying me a gift. You’re too good to me, Anya.” I ran my fingers through his hair. The frustration Orbit had caused me earlier simply melted away. “What did you do today? Did you miss me?” Nathan smiled. “I tried my hand at painting, actually. Discovered I have absolutely no talent for it.” I was about to ask where he’d gotten the paints—I didn’t remember us having any—when he pulled out an exquisite box. He opened it to reveal a magnificent gown. It was a backless, crimson dress, covered in delicate gold beading that shimmered under the light. It looked impossibly expensive. “Would you ever wear something like this, honey?” he asked, his lips brushing against my ear. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dressed up like this.” Of course he hadn’t. A programmer wouldn’t own a dress like this. The only time I wore gowns was for undercover assignments, borrowing them from Lilith’s extensive collection. Later that night, the beautiful red dress ended up in a wrinkled heap on the floor. Nathan was particularly insatiable, his kisses leaving me breathless. But as always, I was indulgent with my sweet, gentle husband. Even as my legs felt like jelly, I managed to whisper, “Baby… you shouldn’t have… spent so much.” “I rarely wear… dresses… This must have cost a fortune…” My words were swallowed by his kisses. Maybe it was his pride as a house husband, I thought. My helpless, adorable man. It only strengthened my resolve to work harder for our life together. I never would have guessed my next opportunity to wear a dress would come so soon. 12 At the Styx Club, the largest underground casino in Las Vegas, I stood behind a blackjack table, my face hidden by a stark white mask. Dressed in a tight black gown, I dealt cards with practiced, fluid motions. Everyone here, from the patrons to the staff, was masked. The “big job” Lilith had assigned me—the million-dollar contract—was here. And so was he. The legendary assassin everyone feared. Orbit. Looking out at the sea of gilded corruption and desperate glamour, my thoughts drifted back to Nathan, waiting for me at home. I’d told him I was on a business trip to the East Coast. If only he knew… I pictured his gentle smile, the way his muscles relaxed when I held him, the familiar scent of his favorite sweater. Beneath my mask, my expression softened. I took a deep breath. The thought of collapsing into my husband’s arms after this was all over filled me with a surge of determination. Even if it’s Orbit, I’m going to take him on. 13 The target’s name was Kavi. Thirty-eight years old, Persian-British. He cultivated the image of a refined gentleman, but in reality, he was a monster. Under the guise of philanthropic medical investments, Kavi secretly financed illegal human experimentation projects across the globe. My client was a mother whose daughter had been taken from her. When one of my colleagues rescued the girl from Kavi’s “research facility,” she was missing both of her eyes and her lower legs. Three days after coming home, the seventeen-year-old girl killed herself with a fruit knife. Recent events had made Kavi paranoid. He was now constantly surrounded by a team of bodyguards. But here, inside the Styx Club, no one without an invitation was allowed. This was my chance. 14 I waited patiently until a masked Kavi sat down at my table. My fingers flew, shuffling and cutting the deck with a flourish. In the seamless arc of the cards, I made my move. An Ace, a King. They landed perfectly in Kavi’s hand. After a few rounds, Kavi’s stack of chips had grown considerably. He leaned back, rubbing his left arm with a satisfied hum. He was relaxing. My own nerves, however, were tightening. Despite me feeding cards to Kavi, one man at the table kept winning. In fact, he was winning more than everyone else combined. He wore an impeccably tailored black velvet suit, and an emerald brooch on his lapel caught the dim light with a predatory glint. No matter how much he won, his demeanor never changed. He was a statue of calm indifference, stacking his chips with slow, deliberate movements. There was an aloofness about him, the cold detachment of a man who was used to being in control. He knew I was cheating. He had to. I took a deep breath, preparing for the next hand. Suddenly, the lights in the casino went out. A moment later, a smooth voice echoed from the overhead speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Styx Club’s midnight masquerade.” 15 A single, dark gold spotlight illuminated a dance floor on one side of the casino. Soft jazz began to play, and the crowd started to move. A gloved hand extended, a delicate one accepted. Masked figures began to twirl and sway, their silhouettes weaving through the golden haze. I leaned against the blackjack table, my eyes locked on Kavi as he made his way toward the dance floor. My hand slipped into a hidden slit in my dress, my fingertips brushing the hilt of my knife. I had a plan. Lure him into the shadows, and end his life without a sound. I took a step forward, and an icy point of metal pressed sharply against the small of my back. “Don’t move.” The man’s voice was a low, cold monotone, utterly devoid of emotion. Every nerve in my body screamed, but I kept my expression neutral. “The Styx has a no-firearms policy. You fire that gun, and you won’t walk out of here alive either.” “Is that so?” he replied, his tone flat. “Feel free to test it.” 16 The one small mercy was that the man in the suit didn’t seem to want to cause a scene. He prodded me forward with the gun, guiding me through the club’s internal corridors. Every employee we passed, from dealers to security guards, stepped aside and bowed their heads respectfully. Not a single person questioned the weapon in his hand. My stomach sank. I was in deep, deep trouble. We walked to the end of a long hallway and entered an impossibly lavish private suite. A crystal chandelier cast a cold, sterile light from the ceiling. “Knocking out a dealer and hiding her in a supply closet without anyone noticing… you’ve got some skills,” he said. I raised my hands in a gesture of surrender. “If I’d known you were the owner of the Styx, I would’ve been feeding you the winning hands.” He ignored me completely. “I respect talent. So I’ll give you the courtesy of knowing why you’re about to die. Nyx.” My pupils contracted. He knew my codename. The owner of the Styx Club was Orbit. Shit. If I’d known this was his territory, I never would have taken this job. But I couldn’t die here. Nathan was waiting for me. Our anniversary was coming up. I forced a smile. “We’re in the same business. Can’t we talk this out—” Before the words were even out of my mouth, I drew a miniature pistol from a hidden holster in my dress. But Orbit was faster. A single, clean kick sent my gun flying. He snatched a silver dinner fork from a nearby table and threw it like a dart. I jerked my head to the side. The tines grazed my cheek, tearing my white mask and sending it fluttering to the floor. My face was exposed. The gun in his hand, which had been aimed squarely at my forehead, wavered for a fraction of a second. BANG. The bullet screamed past my ear, shattering a crystal glass on the bar behind me. For some reason, Orbit didn’t raise his gun again. Instead, he closed the distance between us, grabbing my shoulder with one hand. With the other, he unfastened his expensive-looking tie and used it to bind my hands behind the chair. He stared at me, then took a slow, deep breath. “Ms. Nyx,” he said, his voice suddenly altered. “I’ve changed my mind. Perhaps we could cooperate.”

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My boyfriend’s electric razor was borrowed by his female “best friend.” When she returned it, it was covered in tiny, dark hairs. “Are these her armpit hairs?” I demanded, storming into the bathroom. Before my boyfriend could answer, a series of comments popped up in my vision, like a live stream chat. [LOL, this girlfriend is so petty. What else is a razor for if not for shaving?] [If she’s this mad about armpit hair, imagine if she knew the bestie used it to shave her bikini line. She’d probably have a heart attack.] [Don’t worry, guys. If she doesn’t throw a fit and start a huge fight, how will the male lead ever realize his true feelings? He’s been hiding behind the ‘best friend’ label for years because he’s scared of losing her. This is true love, I’m telling you!] [Just waiting for the crazy girlfriend to push him away so the bestie can swoop in and comfort him. Sparks will fly, and they’ll finally get their happily ever after!] My boyfriend’s annoyed voice snapped me back to reality. “So what if they are? We’re best friends, we don’t care about that stuff. Stop being so dramatic.” I just smiled and handed the razor back to him. “It’s your stuff. If you’re not grossed out, then it’s fine by me.” 1. Asher was a neat freak with a touch of OCD. Since we moved in together, I’d kept our apartment spotless. I hand-washed and ironed all his clothes, making sure there was never a single wrinkle. I mopped the floors twice a day, and I changed the sheets every three days. Normally, I would have meticulously cleaned every single hair off that razor before giving it back to him. But this time, I just handed it to him, hairs and all. Asher stared at me, stunned. The live stream chat in my head exploded. [WTF? Why isn’t she flipping out? Isn’t she supposed to have a full-blown meltdown and demand an explanation?] [Yeah, at this point in the story, the bestie and the male lead are still just friends. It’s the crazy girlfriend’s jealousy that pushes him into the bestie’s arms. If she doesn’t follow the script, what’s gonna happen to our girl?] [OMG, this stupid side character is going off-script. What is she planning?] I ignored the ridiculous comments and walked out of the bathroom. “I’m going to be late for work,” Asher called after me, grabbing my arm. He didn’t have to say it. I knew he didn’t want to use that razor and was hoping I’d clean it for him. But why should I have to clean up after another woman’s pubic hairs? “Oh,” I said flatly. “Then you should probably hurry up.” I gently closed the bedroom door behind me, ignoring the shocked look on his face, and calmly started packing my suitcase. 2. Asher and I met our freshman year of college. He was the student body president, and I was the top-ranked incoming student. We were assigned to co-host the orientation ceremony. I wasn’t looking for a relationship, but he pursued me relentlessly. He wrote me heartfelt letters every morning and evening, brought me three home-cooked meals a day, and if I so much as glanced at something in a store window, it would appear on my desk the next day. When I was being bullied by some upperclassmen, he was always the first one there to defend me. Everyone said we were the perfect couple. Eventually, I was swept up in the romance of it all and agreed to be his girlfriend on his 18th attempt. The first time I heard about his female “best friend” was the night I said yes. We were watching a movie when his phone started buzzing incessantly. “It’s just my best bro,” he’d whispered in my ear. “Probably heard the good news and is calling to congratulate me.” “I’ll just take this outside.” I didn’t think much of it at the time. But he was on the phone for the entire movie. An hour and a half. When the movie ended, I was pushed along with the crowd, finally getting some fresh air. I saw him standing under a streetlight, moths fluttering around him. It was a hot summer night, and his arms were covered in mosquito bites, but he hadn’t moved an inch. As I got closer, I heard a cheerful, feminine voice on the other end of the line. “Can’t you stand a little closer to the light, dude? I can’t see your face.” “You’re finally in a relationship, and you’re just going to forget about your best friend, huh? We haven’t seen each other in, like, six months.” It hit me then. His best “bro” was a girl. I stared at Asher, and he had a pout on his face. “Don’t even start with me. It’s my first day in a relationship. You’ve been in one for six months.” I didn’t realize it then, but that was right when he had started pursuing me. Now, seeing the comments, it all made sense. My perfect, fairy-tale romance was just a lie, a childish game from the very beginning. [Poor guy. He didn’t even know his own heart back then.] [The bestie got a boyfriend first, so he got jealous and started dating someone else to compete with her. They were so close to being together!] [If only he had realized he was jealous back then, he wouldn’t have been stuck with this psycho for so many years. And now they’re about to get engaged!] That’s right. Asher and I were supposed to have our engagement party in seven days. We’d been together for seven years, from freshman year of college to my last year of my master’s program. He was a year older than me and had a great job in his hometown. After a year of long distance, he had proposed three months ago. Even though I knew that being with him meant leaving my home of over twenty years and starting a new life in a new city, I had said yes without a second thought. But now, I regretted it. 3. The apartment we were living in was supposed to be our marital home. His family had paid for it in full, and my family had paid for the renovations. As I calmly packed my bags, I tried to figure out how to get my family’s money back. The comments kept scrolling. [Wait, is she leaving him?] [This psycho doesn’t get that she’s just a plot device, does she? Stop messing with the story!] Just as I was zipping up my suitcase, Asher walked in, holding a brand-new razor. He saw my suitcase and frowned. “You’re just going back to campus for your thesis defense, right? Why are you packing so much?” [Oh, right! I forgot she had to go back for her defense.] [LOL, I actually thought she was breaking up with him for a second. I guess I overestimated her.] [What are you guys thinking? She’s obsessed with him. And their engagement party is in a week, the invitations have already been sent out. There’s no way she’s giving up that easily.] I ignored the comments. And Asher. I just tucked my ID and passport into my suitcase. He grabbed my hand. “We need to talk.” But his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and his frown deepened. “I might have to work late today,” he said quickly. “But I’ll still be able to take you to the train station. Just wait for me at home.” He rushed out the door. I thought he was really going to work. But then, that evening, I got a text from the train ticket app. *Your train ticket has been successfully changed.* 4. I jumped to my feet, my hand slipping from the handle of my suitcase. It crashed to the floor with a loud thud, scattering my panicked thoughts. My defense was tomorrow. I had specifically booked an evening train so Asher could take me to the station after work. But now, it had been changed to the earliest train the next morning. That meant I would have to rush straight from the station to the university, and if there were any delays, I would miss my defense. How could this have happened? Was it a weather delay? I immediately called the ticket app’s customer service. The moment I was connected to a representative, a chorus of “LOL”s filled the comments. [OMG, guys, she’s so dumb. She actually thinks it was a weather delay.] [She’s going to lose it when she finds out he was the one who changed it.] [Well, what was he supposed to do? Our strong, independent queen, the bestie, was finally showing a moment of weakness. He couldn’t just abandon her. It’s the crazy girlfriend’s fault for not realizing she was getting in the way of true love.] A chill went down my spine. Asher had changed my ticket? Just to be with his “best friend,” Sienna, who was feeling down? My hand was trembling as I dialed his number. “Asher,” I said, my voice surprisingly calm. “Why did you change my train ticket?” He just sighed. “Sienna got fired. She’s really upset.” “You know how she is,” he continued. “When she’s sad, she stress-eats, but she just had a stomach ulcer. As her best friend, I can’t just leave her alone.” It hit me then. “So,” I said, my voice flat, “when you rushed out this morning, you weren’t going to work. You were going to be with Sienna.” Suddenly, Sienna was on the phone. Her voice was hoarse. “It’s not his fault, Chloe. I’ll tell him to come back and take you to the station right now.” “I told him I was fine,” she added. “He’s always so overprotective.” Asher sighed again. I could picture the look of annoyance on his face. Whenever it came to Sienna, he always got impatient with me. Even the comments were getting annoyed. [This girlfriend is so annoying. She’s interrupting their special moment.] [They were so close to confessing their true feelings, and she had to ruin it.] [I’ll bet you a dollar she’s about to throw a tantrum. She really thinks that’s how you win a man’s heart.] [You don’t need to bet on that. Of course she’s going to go crazy.] Asher sighed again, his voice thick with frustration. “Chloe, I promise you won’t miss your defense. You don’t have to…” “I get it,” I said, cutting him off. Then, I hung up. 5. I immediately called a cab and went to the train station. I changed my ticket back to the original time. The comments were a stream of mockery. [Wait, what is she doing? She’s such a manipulative bitch.] [She’s just changing it back so he’ll see the notification and come running after her. She’s not going to cry and scream this time, she’s going to play the victim and run away?] [LOL, not everyone is the main character. Does she really think this is going to get his attention?] [This girl is so toxic. How is she supposed to be a foil to our sweet, down-to-earth bestie? I’m crying.] [Don’t worry, she won’t be able to keep it up for long. I guarantee she won’t get on that train until she sees him. She’s just wasting a ticket.] I just glanced at the comments and then looked away. As I was heading to the platform, I got a text from Asher. [You changed it back?] [Come on, don’t be like this. Sienna is worried about you. She even offered to come with me to see you off.] [See? Why can’t you be more like her?] [We’re on our way. Just wait for me. We’ll talk before you go. We agreed, never go to bed angry, remember?] The train pulled into the station. The crowd pushed me forward, into the bustling car. Ignoring the comments that were still flashing in my vision, I calmly found my seat. As the train started to move, I looked down at my phone and typed a reply. [Don’t bother, Asher.] [We’re breaking up.]

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