Category: English

In the tenth year of our marriage, I fell out of love with my husband. I began to loathe his embraces, his kisses, his touch. Even the thought of handling his belongings filled me with a sickening revulsion. The day the chandelier fell, his first instinct was to shield his female secretary. The System watched me with pity. [Host has been detected as abandoned by the male lead ninety-nine times. The next instance will result in repatriation to your original world.] I breathed a sigh of relief. No one knew. I was the one who had deliberately loosened the chandelier wire. 1 When I arrived, Tanya was feeding Vincent his medicine. Seeing me, the man spoke in a flat tone. “Give the medicine to my wife. You can leave.” Tanya’s eyes immediately reddened. She looked at Vincent, her face a mask of wounded vulnerability. He showed no sign of softening. “Leave.” Tanya put down the bowl and fled the room in tears. I spoke calmly. “Why bother with this act for my benefit, Vincent? It’s only going to take you more effort to comfort her later.” He lowered his gaze, motioning for me to take Tanya’s place. Suppressing a wave of nausea, I scooped up the herbal medicine and brought the spoon to his lips. He was handsome. Devastatingly so. So handsome that women at his company, fully aware he was married, still threw themselves at him. Tanya was one of them. I, too, had once been utterly captivated. During nights wrapped in his arms, my fingers would trace the sharp, perfect lines of his jaw, his brow, his cheekbones, over and over. But now, it took every ounce of my self-control not to vomit at the sight of his face. “I wasn’t saving Tanya,” he said, his hand moving to stroke my hair. “I was saving the child in her womb.” He looked at me, his eyes pleading for understanding. “The child is innocent, isn’t it, Helena?” I took a step back. “Can I go now?” Vincent frowned. “I’m your husband, lying here in a hospital bed. Where else would you go?” A ghost of a smile touched my lips. “If I leave, your perfect little family of three can finally be reunited.” His jaw tightened, a flicker of anger in his eyes. But then he sighed, the anger dissolving into a familiar, weary resignation. “Helena Shen,” he murmured, “you only act this way because you know how much I love you.” 2 “You only act this way because you know how much I love you.” The eighteen-year-old Vincent had said those exact words to me once. It was right after he discovered I was a task-runner, a plant sent to complete a mission. “So all of it… was just a game?” he’d asked, his voice raw. “Buying me lunch every day, bringing me water after basketball practice, saving up all your money to buy me that RTX 4090… it was all just a mission to make me fall for you, so you could break my heart?” The usual carefree arrogance was gone, replaced by a vulnerability that made his lean, youthful frame seem fragile, on the verge of shattering. I stood before him, pale and speechless, the excuses dying on my lips. “You’re cruel, Helena,” he finally said. “You win.” “From now on, you and I have nothing to do with each other.” He forced a laugh, trying to slip back into the persona of the untouchable, wealthy heir. But as he turned to walk away, I saw the tell-tale redness rimming his eyes. He never looked at me again. The System informed me that his affection meter had dropped to zero. A heavy, suffocating weight settled in my chest. It wasn’t about the fifty-million-dollar prize money. It wasn’t about failing to go home. What was it, then? It was the realization that I, Helena Shen, was a coward. I didn’t have the courage to admit that I had genuinely fallen in love with the vibrant, rebellious boy from the story. From that day on, Vincent threw away every gift I’d ever given him. He rejected my apologies, my attempts to reconcile. If he saw me in the hallway, he would physically recoil as if I were something filthy. I thought a man as proud as him would never forgive me. But when a group of thugs with iron pipes cornered me in an alley, their leering faces a blur of malice… Vincent didn’t hesitate. He charged in, shielding me with his own body. After the brawl, as he lay bleeding on a stretcher, he shakily pulled something from his pocket. Something I thought he had thrown away long ago. A simple black hair tie. My hair tie. “You’re free now, Helena.” [Congratulations, Host. Mission successful.] The two voices spoke at the same time. I collapsed beside him, holding his hand and sobbing, a bittersweet ache blooming in my heart. That day, eighteen-year-old Helena made the boldest decision of her life. Looking straight at Vincent, she spoke to the System with unwavering certainty. “I’m not leaving.” “I’m going to marry him.” And now, at twenty-eight, looking at the man lying in the hospital bed, I said calmly, “Let’s get a divorce.” 3 Vincent grabbed the back of my neck and crushed his lips to mine. The kiss was savage, desperate. Fresh blood immediately soaked through his bandages, but he didn’t seem to feel the pain, his teeth grinding against my lip. When he finally pulled away, he asked me how it felt. I considered it for a moment. “Revolting,” I said honestly. “The thought of this mouth having been on God knows how many other women… I’m thinking of scheduling an HIV test.” His face darkened completely, his patience gone. Just as I reached the door of the hospital room, his voice, laced with casual mockery, stopped me. “Do you even remember how many times you’ve asked for a divorce?” he taunted. “A hundred? A thousand? Have you ever actually left?” “Stop the drama, Helena. You gave up your chance to go back to that other world. Without me, without our home, where could you possibly go?” My feet felt rooted to the floor. The trust I had once placed in him had become the very weapon he used to impale me. A suffocating pressure tightened around my heart. I turned back and gave him a bright, brittle smile. “Back to my own home.” A crack appeared in his composure. He was about to demand what I meant, but just then, his phone rang with Tanya’s unique ringtone. By the time he hung up, the room was empty. 4 Sitting in the back of a taxi on the way back to our villa, I drifted, wondering. When did it all go so wrong between us? Perhaps it started the day the System suddenly reappeared. [If you wish to return home, I can offer you another chance.] At the time, Vincent and I had been married for a year, deep in the honey-sweet haze of our newlywed life. My biggest complaint was that the man had the stamina of a wild animal in bed. I had laughed and refused without a second thought. “No, thank you. I’m happy. I don’t want to leave.” The System was silent for a long time before making a new pact. If Vincent abandoned me one hundred times, I would be free to go home. But how could that ever happen? This was a man who would side with me against his own mother in an argument. I dismissed the strange pact and forgot about it. Then came the third year of our marriage. Vincent hired a remarkably capable new female secretary. She was his right hand in the boardroom and the one who prepared his perfectly balanced lunches. She told me not to make him greasy chicken soup. She told me not to waste his time with frivolous shopping trips. She told me not to call him during his lunch break. At first, I was annoyed, but I didn’t think much of it. After all, Tanya was thirty-eight, dressed in plain, modest clothes, and never wore a speck of makeup. The office staff called her ‘The Iron Abbess’ behind her back. Then, while I was pregnant, a series of graphic photos were sent to my phone. The man working up a sweat on top of ‘The Iron Abbess’ was none other than my husband, Vincent, the same man who demanded a good-morning kiss from me every single day. 5 “We were both drunk.” “Neither of us meant for it to happen.” Vincent begged, pleaded, and apologized. He even got on his knees. But nothing could quell the storm of rage and betrayal inside me. Like any woman scorned, I stormed into his office and slapped Tanya hard across the face. But the man who was so docile and accommodating at home, in front of everyone, returned the slap with one of his own. I was stunned. My cheek swelled instantly, and a sharp pain shot through my abdomen. Vincent’s voice was ice. “You can take out your anger on me all you want, but you will not involve Tanya. She’s a victim in this, too.” A victim? The person who had sent me the photos… …was her. After that day, nothing changed. Vincent continued to take Tanya to business dinners, on work trips. They were inseparable, acting as if nothing had happened. Meanwhile, I became a paranoid wreck, monitoring their every move like a hawk, earning the label of ‘the crazy wife.’ Before my child was even born, I was diagnosed with severe depression. When I showed Vincent the diagnosis, my voice was hollowed out by exhaustion. “Let’s separate.” That’s when he finally panicked. He knelt again, begging me, his voice cracking with desperation. He fired Tanya, even offered to sell his company to focus on me. I was the one who stopped him. “Just come back to our family,” I had said. “Cut off all contact with that woman. Nothing else matters.” He nodded profusely, thanking me, calling me the best wife in the world. We were about to leave for a reconciliation trip to the Maldives. Then, Tanya attempted suicide. She swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills while wearing a wedding dress. Her suicide note read: “Vincent, I hope in the next life, I meet you first.” That night, Vincent left me alone in a foreign country and took the first flight back. Tanya didn’t die. But my baby did. The shock sent me into premature labor and I hemorrhaged. When the doctor told me I would never be able to carry a child again, I summoned the System. “That pact we made,” I asked calmly. “Is it still valid?” Ticking off the hundred abandonments was surprisingly easy. All it took was a little nudge in Tanya’s direction, and she would perform beautifully. A sudden heart palpitation on our wedding anniversary. A terrified phone call during a thunderstorm. A bidding war over the final piece at a charity auction. Every single time, Vincent would first try to placate me with a half-hearted excuse. Then, he would follow his heart. 6 “We’re here,” the taxi driver said. I nodded. I pushed open the door to the villa and collapsed onto the bed. Right on cue, a message from Tanya lit up my phone. “They say cravings for sour things mean a boy, and spicy things mean a girl. But I want to eat everything! I wonder what this one will be.” Another message followed. “Still, no matter what it is, it’s better than a useless lump of flesh, don’t you think?” My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone. After her ‘suicide attempt,’ Tanya had been rehired, promoted, and given a raise. A few months ago, they had another ‘accidental’ drunken night. Tanya ‘accidentally’ got pregnant. Vincent promised me that after the child was born, he would cut ties with her for good. I could only laugh. The System’s voice suddenly echoed in my mind. [Congratulations. You can go home now.] I froze. Weren’t we one short? The System projected a screen before me. It showed Vincent’s hospital room. His friends were there. “I never thought I’d see the day things got this bad between him and Helena,” one of them said with a sigh. Another friend elbowed him. “Dude, not now.” “No, it’s true! Back then, Vincent’s leg was completely shattered for her sake…” Just then, Tanya walked in, smiling. “What are you all talking about?” The room fell silent. After everyone else had left, Tanya spoke again. “Is it true? What he said? Did you really get your leg broken for Helena?” Vincent, eyes closed, grunted in affirmation. Disbelief washed over Tanya’s face, and she slowly covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Wincing, Vincent got out of bed and pulled her into a hug. “What’s wrong?” “Promise me,” she whispered, her voice choked with tears. “Promise me that if it ever happened again… even if Helena were about to be gang-raped… you wouldn’t sacrifice yourself to save her. Promise me.” Vincent froze. I held my breath, my hands trembling. Seeing his hesitation, Tanya took his hand and placed it on her swollen belly, her eyes red and pleading. “Promise me?” she asked again. Looking at the tear-streaked face of the woman in his arms, Vincent finally relented. “I promise,” he said, his voice heavy. “If it happened again, I wouldn’t be so stupid.” I laughed. I laughed until the tears streamed down my face. So pathetic, Helena. But if it happened again… I wouldn’t be so stupid, either.

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After my best friend was raped and took her own life, I covered for the man who did it. Lily’s mother fell to her knees on my porch, her forehead hitting the worn wooden planks as she begged me, but I just shut the door. When the townsfolk came with torches and threats, I let my dog bite them. Ten years later, on the verge of death, my other best friend, Sloane Davenport, came back. Now the richest self-made woman in the country, she returned with the righteous fury of a god. The first thing she did was drag me to the center of the Havenwood town square and strap me into the Memory Extractor, a machine typically reserved for death row inmates. “Wren Bishop, you filth,” she spat, her voice broadcast across the square. “You protected a rapist. Lily and I were fools to ever call you our friend.” Her words were acid. “Lily’s been gone for ten years, and for ten years you let her killer walk free.” Her eyes, once so warm, were now chips of ice. “Today, I’m going to use the technology I developed to see exactly who you’ve been protecting. We’re going to watch your memories, Wren. All of them.” But when the killer’s face finally materialized on the massive screen behind us, Sloane’s own face went dead white. 1 The spectacle Sloane orchestrated was immense. The entire town of Havenwood was packed into the square, a suffocating sea of bodies. News crews had set up tripods and satellite trucks, their live feeds plastered across every major network. I was half-dead already, my organs failing, kept alive by a drip of medications and nutritional fluids. They hauled me from the hospice van like a convicted felon and secured me to a steel chair on the stage. A man lunged from the crowd, his hands closing around my throat. “Wren Bishop, why did you protect him?” he roared, his face purple with rage. “You animal! You ruined my family! Why don’t you just die!” My vision swam in black spots as I choked for air. The crowd erupted, a wave of pure hatred. “That’s her! The heartless bitch! Her friend gets raped, and she knows who did it but stays silent!” “Her friend jumped in the river, and she wouldn’t even open the door for the poor girl’s mother! Let her break her head on the porch!” “She even sicced her dog on people! She’s disgusting!” The insults washed over me, a filthy tide. Sloane stood to the side, her brow furrowed into a knot of cold fury. Besides Lily’s family, there was no one on earth who hated me more than her. Ten years ago, the three of us—me, Lily, and Sloane—were inseparable. After Lily was defiled in the woods near my house and drowned herself in the river, our bond shattered. It was all because of Lily’s suicide note. A single sentence: Wren saw him. I became an accomplice. And the truth was, I had protected him. Sloane approached me now, her voice devoid of any warmth. “Wren, I’m giving you one last chance. Name him now. Confess to the police. It’s not too late…” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a hiss. “But once I turn this machine on, the high-frequency pulses will make every bone in your body feel like it’s been ground to dust. There will be no more chances to save yourself.” My face, already pale from sickness, lost its last trace of color. I thrashed against the restraints, my voice a raw croak. “Sloane, no! You can’t! You can’t see my memories!” Sloane grabbed my hand, her grip like a vice. “Scared?” she sneered. “You don’t have a choice. I have to get justice for Lily.” Tears streamed down my face as I begged her. “Sloane, please, listen to me. My memories can’t be made public. You’ll regret this!” She let out a short, bitter laugh, her eyes bloodshot. “Regret? The only thing I regret is ever being your friend.” Two of her security guards forced me back into the chair, the cold steel locking around my wrists and ankles. Ignoring my struggles, they slammed a heavy helmet onto my head. A thousand tiny needles pierced my scalp, sinking into my brain. Pain, white-hot and absolute, seized me. My body convulsed, a scream tearing from my throat as my very soul felt like it was being ripped apart. Even then, the crowd wasn’t satisfied. They hurled rotten vegetables and eggs at the stage, their curses relentless. “Traitor! Backstabbing bitch! Go to hell!” And on the giant screen, my memories began to rewind. The first scene appeared before them all. 2 The first image: three days after Lily’s death. I was being dragged before her casket at the funeral home, everyone screaming at me, demanding the killer’s name. They spat on me. They threw rocks. Hands grabbed my arms, tore at my hair until it hung in wild clumps. Fists rained down on me until my face was a swollen, bruised mess. I broke free and ran, the sound of the angry mob chasing me through the streets. Ahead of me, the sky glowed orange. My house, the only home I’d ever known, was engulfed in flames, a bonfire built by their rage. I could only stand and watch, helpless. Homeless, I fled with my dog, Buddy, into the deep woods of the ridges. But they found me. As I watched, screaming, they cornered Buddy and beat him to death with tire irons. They cooked him over a fire. I clutched a piece of his charred leg bone and sobbed until my throat was raw. That year, an orphan with no one in the world, I was sixteen years old. On the stage, Sloane stared at the image of my weeping, teenage face on the screen and laughed without humor. “Wren, you deserved every bit of it, didn’t you? Do you really think you were the victim here? Would any of that have happened if you hadn’t protected a monster? Of all the people in the world, you’re the last one who gets to feel sorry for herself. This was all your own doing.” Others in the crowd chimed in. “Shameless! Acting like she’s the one to pity.” “Trying to get sympathy with this sob story? Pathetic! Covering for a criminal makes you a criminal! She should rot in hell!” “Who does she think she’s fooling? Lily’s family was destroyed. Their daughter is dead, her mother lost her mind. Anyone is more pitiful than her!” Just then, a girl’s bright laughter echoed from the screen. “Lily! Slow down!” Lily’s young, innocent face filled the display. We were on a snow-covered mountain, and she was running toward me, her eyes sparkling with joy. “Heads up!” she yelled, tossing a snowball at me. “My baby girl…” Lily’s father cried out, stumbling toward the screen. Looking at his daughter’s smiling face, he finally broke, his body wracked with deep, gut-wrenching sobs. In the ten years since Lily’s death, this once-jovial man had become a ghost, his hair turning white overnight. Every year, he went to the sheriff’s department and asked the same question: Have you found him yet? And every year, the answer was a sad shake of the head. Our town had no cameras back then, and my house was isolated. No one knew who had followed Lily into the woods that night. Except for me. In the memory, after our snowball fight, I knelt reverently before Spirit Rock, a local landmark where kids made wishes. “Please,” I whispered, my breath fogging in the cold air, “let my friends be healthy and happy, and let our friendship last forever…” Seeing my earnest expression, Sloane’s control finally snapped. “You two-faced, hypocritical snake! You ungrateful parasite!” She stormed onto the stage, jabbing a finger at my image on the screen. “How dare you remember our childhood! Who are you trying to fool with this act? For ten years, you never once told the truth. Do you have any right to call yourself our friend?” As if on cue, the next memory showed me secretly throwing away a mango Lily had given me. The crowd went wild. “What the hell? She takes their food and then throws it out behind their backs!” “Sloane and Lily were so good to her, and this is how she repays them? She’s nothing but a selfish, cold-hearted ghoul!” Sloane knew I had a severe mango allergy. But she didn’t explain that to the crowd. She let their insults continue. “She probably never imagined Ms. Davenport would become the richest woman in the country and come back to settle the score!” “Come on, Ms. Davenport, get on with it! We’re all waiting to see the killer’s face!” Amid the jeers and curses, the scene on the screen shifted again. 3 Sloane’s heart-wrenching scream filled the air. “Lily! Don’t you die on me! Lily!” It was the day they pulled Lily’s body from the river. The rain was a cold, miserable drizzle. Sloane and I were kneeling on the muddy bank, our cries tearing through the gray air. Lily’s body was bloated and swollen, her skin icy and rigid. She looked nothing like the girl I remembered, the girl who loved to laugh and dress up. I stumbled home in a daze, collapsing in a corner, sobbing uncontrollably. “Ah!” I beat my fists against my chest, the pain of losing my dearest friend threatening to tear me apart. On the platform, my eyes were squeezed shut, tears tracking silently down my hollow cheeks. My own broken scream echoed from the screen. “Lily! Why did you do it? Why?” My grief was a raw, gaping wound, a bottomless pit of despair. The sight of my anguish on the screen stunned the crowd into a momentary silence. “What’s going on?” “Why does she look so heartbroken? How could she…” Lily’s father’s voice cut through the confusion, dripping with venom. “Crocodile tears!” he shouted. “That year, my wife knelt on her doorstep, begging her, bashing her own head on the wood until it bled, and she wouldn’t even open the door! She let her dog attack us! Is that the kind of person who feels grief? Lily was her friend since they were kids, and that’s how she treated the mother of her dead friend!” Just then, Lily’s mother appeared at the edge of the square, her hair a tangled mess, clutching a porcelain doll. She was muttering to it, rocking it gently. “It’s okay, Lily. Don’t be scared, Lily.” The crowd’s anger reignited. Sloane’s face was a mask of conflicting emotions, shifting from pale to flushed. She rushed forward and grabbed my shoulders, shaking me violently. Her eyes were wild and red. “Look, Wren! Look what you’ve done! This is the tragedy you caused by protecting him! You’re an orphan, you had no one, so Lily and I took pity on you since you were seven years old! We were good to you! And this is how you repay us?” Her hand flew up and cracked across my face. The sound was like a gunshot in the tense silence. “You still want to play the victim?” she shrieked, her chest heaving. Unbidden, tears began to fall from her eyes, tears of pure, shattered agony. “You want me to feel sorry for you after you let Lily die? You think these memories will soften me?” “Lily is dead!” she screamed, her voice breaking. “And the person who killed her… is you! It’s you, Wren Bishop!” She shook me again, the hatred in her eyes enough to incinerate me. For her, Lily’s death had been a tsunami that had leveled her world, leaving behind an endless, desolate wetland of grief. Suddenly, Sloane straightened up, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. In an instant, her sorrow was replaced by a chilling resolve. “I’m telling you, Wren, I won’t stop until I find him. And when I do, I will send you to hell right along with that monster.” Her face was grim as she signaled to the technicians. “Increase the extraction range.” She was done watching my performance. The technician hurried over to the console. The red needle on the dial shot up, and the pins inside the helmet drove deeper into my brain. “Aaargh!” A scream of pure agony ripped from my throat. A powerful electric current surged through my mind, and flashes of white light exploded behind my eyes. I convulsed violently, my limbs straining against the iron shackles. Blood began to trickle from my hairline, dripping onto the cold steel of the chair. The images on the screen flickered erratically. A classroom. A creek bed. A mountain path. All of them memories of the three of us—me, Sloane, and Lily—happy and together. But there was nothing from the night Lily was attacked. The crowd grew restless. The live-stream chat was a scrolling frenzy. “What’s happening? Where’s the memory of the rape?” “I thought she saw the killer!” Sloane’s brow tightened. She turned to the technician, her voice low and dangerous. “What is this? Why can’t we find the memory of the attack?” The technician wiped sweat from his forehead, stammering, “Ms. Davenport… it seems… she’s fighting the system. She’s refusing to let that memory be extracted.” 4 “What? Refusing?” Sloane’s face was a picture of disbelief, her gaze turning venomous as she looked at me. She slammed her hand on a nearby table. “Wren! Even now, you’re still resisting? Who is so important that you’d protect them with your life? He’s a rapist!” She had asked me the same question ten years ago. When Lily’s note was made public, I became the town pariah. Everyone demanded to know who the killer was. Sloane’s faith in me crumbled in less than a day, moving from disbelief to doubt, then to outright accusation. She was the only one who knew I was hiding in a cave up on the ridge. And when the mob found Buddy, she stood by and watched. As they beat my dog to death, I begged her to stop, but she just picked up a heavy branch and brought it down on my head. Blood streamed into my eyes, blurring my vision. Her face was contorted with rage. “Wren, we grew up together. We treated you like a sister. What did you treat us as? For a rapist, you’re throwing away your best friends?” I was nearly beaten to death that night. It was Sloane’s mother who finally dragged her away, her eyes wild with a fury I’d never seen before. Two days later, their family moved out of state. They never came back. Now, Sloane’s eyes were just as cold, staring at me as if I were something vile. She waved a hand dismissively, her voice sharp and final. “Continue. Widen the extraction field. I don’t care what it takes.” The technician hesitated. “But, Ms. Davenport, her physical condition is extremely fragile, and she’s resisting with everything she has. If we continue to expand the extraction…” “She might not survive it,” Sloane finished for him, a cold sneer on her lips. “Survive? I’ve spent the better part of my life and my fortune perfecting this technology for one reason: to find the truth. I don’t give a damn if she lives or dies. The world would be better off without trash like her.” At her command, the technician shakily adjusted the parameters. The hum of the machine intensified, and the needles in the helmet plunged deeper. “Aaaah!” My scream echoed across the square. Blood poured from my nose, ears, and the corners of my eyes. My chest felt like it was on fire, and my body thrashed wildly in the chair. The technician’s face was slick with sweat. “Ms. Davenport… should we continue? She… she’s not going to make it!” Sloane stared at the screen, her expression unreadable. “Continue,” she said, her voice a whisper of ice. The machine roared. The screen flickered violently. My consciousness was fighting a losing battle. My screams were a horrifying soundtrack to the spectacle. Sloane’s eyes were blood-red, and she shrieked at me, half-mad with desperation, “Wren, who was it? Who is worth this?” Suddenly, her rage broke. She collapsed against me, her shoulders shaking with sobs, tears streaming down her face and onto my shoulder. “We were your friends, Wren… We were supposed to be your friends…” Her body shuddered, her grief uncontrollable. The warmth of her tears soaked through my thin gown. Hearing her cry, a jolt went through me. A sharp pain lanced through my chest. My friend, my Sloane, is crying. I subconsciously tried to raise my hand, to wipe away her tears. In that single moment of lapsed concentration, the memory I had guarded with my life broke free. It flashed onto the screen. The crowd gasped. Sloane looked up in shock, her eyes widening. When she saw the familiar face on the giant screen, all the color drained from hers.

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I was Aidan Blackwood’s fixer. When he confessed his love to the scholarship kid, I was the one leading the applause. When they had a secret rendezvous, I was the lookout. After graduation, she went abroad to chase her dreams. And I became Aidan’s placeholder girlfriend. He said I’d step aside the moment she came back. But I waited. And waited. I went from his girlfriend to his fiancée, and from his fiancée, I nearly became his wife. Finally. Right before the wedding. Aidan flew halfway across the world and brought her back. I slipped the ring off my finger and breathed a sigh of relief. On my way out, I even thoughtfully closed the door behind me. 1 I wasn’t surprised when I heard Aidan had chartered a private jet on a moment’s notice. This was about Isabelle, after all. When my best friend found out, she was furious. “You two are getting married in a month! Has he lost his mind?” He hadn’t. Isabelle Valois was the fashion world’s new darling, a designer on a meteoric rise. It was also an open secret that she was the first love of Aidan Blackwood, the CEO of Blackwood Industries. Reporters had tried to confirm it with her once. “It doesn’t matter who was whose first love,” Isabelle had said, her voice cool and crisp as winter air. “I got to where I am today on my own merit. Please focus on my work, not on tabloid gossip.” But last week, that work became the center of a scandal. A dazzling, starlit gown she’d designed was suddenly at the heart of a plagiarism accusation. And the original creator was a complete unknown, an amateur who went by the name “Sirius.” The story blew up. In response, Isabelle posted a single, cryptic message on her Instagram story: Are you all trying to drive me to my death? That morning, Aidan had been glued to his phone during breakfast. We had a crucial meeting scheduled about a new partnership, a deal he had casually promised my father’s company. When Aidan ghosted the meeting, his VP took the opportunity to award the contract to a cousin’s firm. My father called me ten times in a row, each call a fresh wave of fury. I tried Aidan’s cell. No answer. On the third try, it went straight to voicemail. His phone was off. The next time I saw him was eleven o’clock that night. He texted me an address—a vacant penthouse he owned on the Upper East Side. A place I’d never been. The moment I stepped out of the elevator, I was hit by the scent of hundreds of pink roses filling the foyer. They were the same flowers Aidan had once given Isabelle—a flashy, extravagant gesture, his sports car’s trunk overflowing with them the day he first told her he loved her. The decor wasn’t his style, either. None of his sterile, minimalist-chic nonsense. This was all her. As I neared the master bedroom, I heard a woman’s soft sobs. The scene inside was exactly what I’d imagined. Isabelle, pale and fragile, sat on the edge of the bed, a pristine white bandage wrapped around one wrist. She was crying, a perfect, tragic portrait. Aidan, tall and powerful, stood beside her, looking completely helpless. His impeccably tailored suit, usually a suit of armor, was wrinkled and rumpled. The only thing holding the look together was a face that could have been carved from marble. I couldn’t figure out why he’d called me here. Postmates delivers, after all. He turned and saw me, and for a second, his eyes lit up with relief. I knew that look all too well. It was the same look he’d given me in high school when the dean nearly caught him and Isabelle making out in the woods behind the football field. Isabelle’s too shy for this, his eyes had pleaded. Take the fall for her. It was the same look he’d give me when he couldn’t decide what gift to buy her, or when he’d done something to piss her off and needed me to fix it. Usually, I was no help. We’d both end up getting kicked out, Isabelle scolding Aidan for thinking his money could solve everything and calling me his pathetic little lapdog. I’d just shrug. “I prefer ‘personal assistant.’ It sounds better on a resume.” That had made Aidan laugh. In the end, though, Isabelle always took his money. She had a dream of being a designer. In high school, if he bought her an expensive birthday present, she’d insist on working for three months to buy him something of equal value. Not me. I took whatever he offered, practically checking his pockets for loose change. Then, Isabelle bombed her SATs. She climbed to the roof of the school, threatening to jump. Aidan stood on the lawn below, tears streaming down his face, begging her to come down, promising he would make her dream happen. And he did. He sent her abroad. The Blackwoods were wealthy. Not old-world, untouchable royalty, but wealthy enough to bend the world to their will. Behind his family’s back, Aidan accessed the trust fund that became available to him when he turned eighteen. He spent millions to get Isabelle into a prestigious design school in London. Honestly, I’d always suspected she was only with him for the money. But then again, so was I. The difference is, a girl with a crush does it for free. A girl with a job sends an invoice. 2 The year his family found out, all hell broke loose. Aidan was cut off and forced into an engagement with a girl from a suitable family. His grandfather, a terrifying patriarch of the old school, laid down the law. “You will marry a woman of your own class!” But Aidan didn’t want anyone but Isabelle. So he came up with a truly terrible idea. He brought me to his grandfather’s imposing estate, orchestrating a scene where a maid would “accidentally” walk in on us exploring the mysteries of our youth. He’d cornered me in a guest room, urgently pulling me toward the bed. My heart hammered against my ribs. For a dizzying, stupid moment, I, barely eighteen myself, thought maybe he actually wanted me. A few minutes later, the door banged open. A crowd of servants and family members stood in the doorway, their faces a mixture of shock and disapproval. I yanked the duvet up to my chin, my own face burning with a shame so absolute it felt like drowning. But the humiliation of that moment was nothing compared to what Aidan said next. He looked at the crowd, a triumphant smirk on his face. “Chloe is my girlfriend,” he declared. “She’s a Rhodes. Chloe Rhodes.” Then he delivered the killing blow. “She started it. She’s the one who took my shirt off.” I’ve always been a quick study. If I weren’t, I never would have been the only one of my father’s illegitimate children he bothered to bring home. In that instant, I understood Aidan’s entire pathetic little scheme. He was using me as a shield. Not only that, he was using me to make Isabelle look like a saint by comparison. See? he was saying. This is the kind of girl you want me to marry? From a good family? Look at what she does the moment she’s in your house. It worked. Later, he spoke to me as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. “Chloe, you know who I love.” “When Isabelle comes back, you’ll leave. Don’t worry,” he’d added, a king bestowing a favor. “I’ll make it worth your while.” A girl’s reputation was a small price to pay for his epic love story. So I sold mine. For cash. I nodded. Aidan looked pleased, almost relieved. “See? This is why I like you, Chloe,” he’d said with a sigh. “You’re so practical.” And now, it seemed, my final invoice was due. 3 It all made sense now. That’s why Aidan had wired five million dollars to my account this morning. And here I was, thinking it was an early anniversary gift. Our fifth “anniversary” was in three days. After accepting the money, I’d actually felt a pang of guilt. I hadn’t gotten him anything, and I couldn’t exactly wire him cash in return. Not that he needed it. And okay, fine, I’m not that generous. So instead, I’d made a reservation at a Michelin-starred restaurant. I booked the entire place. I was even putting together a slideshow to project on the wall. I was juggling several massive projects at work, so I’d stayed up all night to finish the presentation. I’d just emailed the final version to the restaurant when Aidan’s text came, summoning me here. The slideshow was a collection of our five years together. College. Me, signing him in for attendance and answering questions in lectures while he slept beside me. When the professor called me out, I’d said, completely deadpan, “I’m his future wife. We’re a team. My answer is his answer.” The whole lecture hall had erupted in laughter. Travel. He loved extreme sports—skydiving, heli-skiing in treacherous terrain. His circle of trust-fund friends were all too precious to risk their necks, so I was the one who always went with him. Afterward, I’d be shaking so badly I could barely stand, my legs trembling as he’d catch me, pulling me into a steadying embrace. Living Together. Well, sort of. We watched TV together, shopped for groceries together, cooked together… Correction: I cooked, he ate. Aidan hated having maids or housekeepers around. And somewhere along the line, he started doing the dishes without being asked. My trip down memory lane came to a screeching halt. As I wondered if it was too late to get a refund on the restaurant, Aidan’s voice cut through my thoughts, sharp with irritation. “What took you so long?” I’d barely slept in two days, and my head was swimming. Isabelle looked up at me, her eyes puffy. “You’re… Chloe?” I managed a polite smile and a nod. She wiped a tear from her cheek. “I’m so sorry you have to see me like this,” she whispered. “Aidan said you’re very good at taking care of people…” I glanced at Aidan. He looked completely unfazed. “Take care of her,” he ordered. “She hasn’t eaten in two days. Make her something. And that dress is too thin, go buy her some clothes to change into…” He rattled off a list of demands, and I just kept nodding. Yes. No problem. On it. I’ll go right now. My complete and total compliance seemed to throw him off. He stopped talking abruptly. I was busy typing notes into my phone and, hearing the silence, I looked up, confused. “Is that everything, A— Mr. Blackwood?” A slip of the tongue. “Aidan” was the name he’d instructed me to use back when we had to put on a show for his grandfather. We’d had to perform so often that the name just stuck. But now, with Isabelle back in the picture, calling him that felt like stepping on a landmine. One jealous glance from her, and Aidan would have my head. His gaze darkened. Seeing that he was done, I turned to leave. “Chloe, stop right there!” he suddenly barked. I jumped, startled by the force in his voice. I spun around, my most helpful expression plastered on my face. “Yes, Mr. Blackwood? Is there something else?” His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscles twitching. The words seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth. “Don’t you have anything to ask me?” Ask him what? He glared at me, his cheeks puffed out slightly in anger. It made him look like a handsome, furious bullfrog. I thought for a moment. “What size are Miss Valois’s clothes?” I could already tell, of course. She was a size zero. She was even thinner than she’d been in high school, either from catering to the fashion industry’s brutal standards or because life hadn’t been kind to her. Maybe both. Not me. I ate well and slept better. I was a good thirty pounds heavier than I was back then. When my friends told me to lose weight, I’d tell them it was the look of prosperity. I’d been poor, and I was terrified of ever being hungry again. I liked myself this way. If I got any thinner, the male models I sometimes hired for an evening would be getting the better end of the deal. Aidan laughed, but it was a cold, sharp sound. “You’re really something, Chloe.” “Hey, thanks, boss!” I said with a cheerful salute. 4 I bought an entire wardrobe from Chanel. Everything from lingerie to outerwear, top to bottom. Then, I called the restaurant. When they confirmed that my six-figure deposit was non-refundable, I almost choked. “You can’t even refund half?” I pleaded. “I’m sorry, madam. That’s our policy.” “Okay, new plan,” I said, thinking fast. “I won’t be coming tomorrow night. Can you just make the food now and deliver it?” I gave them the address to the penthouse. “Don’t go crazy, but, you know, don’t be cheap about it either.” With food and clothing sorted, I did a final mental check. Was I missing anything? Ah. Of course. Basic human needs. I opened an app and ordered a pack of 0.01mm condoms. The size was a complete guess. I chose the smallest they had. Hope it fits. Not my fault if it doesn’t. It’s not like he ever showed me. When I got back to the penthouse, Isabelle seemed to have cried herself to sleep. Her eyes were closed, her hand clutching the sleeve of Aidan’s jacket like a lifeline. He was standing in the exact same spot as when I’d left, a silent, motionless guardian. As I pushed the door open, I saw him lean down, about to steal a kiss from Isabelle’s sleeping lips. Seriously? Couldn’t he wait until she was awake? Was he that desperate? The thought was so jarring it scrambled my syntax. I froze, then quickly backed out. After a moment’s thought, I tiptoed back in and quietly placed the essentials on the floor just inside the bedroom. Then, I gently pulled the door shut. Before I left, I sent Aidan a text. Me: Mr. Blackwood, the clothes and the dinner are in the living room. I’ve left them on the main console table. Me: You can get them whenever you two are finished. As I sent the message, my eyes fell on our previous conversation from earlier in the day, back when he was at the office. He’d been complaining about the old guard at the company, the board members with his last name who made his life hell. Then he’d turned playful, trying to convince me to go bungee jumping with him again. He’d said we should go to Nice in a few days to see the ocean, and then Switzerland at the end of the year to ski, to “wash the office stink off.” Maybe it’s because the future is so uncertain that we love to plan it. I’d replied with a simple: [Received.] That had annoyed him. He sent back an angry cat emoji. I scrolled through my own emojis for a long time before finding one of a hand petting a cat’s head, and sent it to him. Afraid he was genuinely upset, I’d followed up with: [What do you want for dinner tonight?] But by then, he must have seen Isabelle’s social media post. He never replied. The conversation just… stopped. A fitting preamble to the end of our entire relationship. It had started my freshman year of high school and ended two years after college graduation. I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of nostalgia. Aidan was bossy, childish, selfish, and foolish. But I couldn’t deny he was also decent, in his own way. And very generous. At our engagement party, he’d had a little too much champagne and said, his voice thick with arrogant affection, “Chloe, I’m officially permitting you to stay with me forever.” For a while, I’d actually let myself believe we would get married. Clearly, I’d misunderstood. But the cold, hard number in my bank account was doing a remarkable job of warming my spirits. I twisted the engagement ring off my finger and placed it gently on the living room table. As fate would have it, though I’d told the restaurant to just throw something together, they’d kept one item from my original order. The cake. Written across the top in delicate script were the words: Happy 5th Anniversary, A. I left my engagement ring right beside it. 5 Aidan’s lips stopped a millimeter from Isabelle’s. For some reason, the desire to kiss her vanished. This was the woman he had thought about for years, right here in front of him. He told himself it was out of respect. Isabelle wasn’t that penniless scholarship kid anymore. For the past four years, Aidan had flown to London for every one of her birthdays. He’d celebrated with her, introduced her to influential people. But nothing ever happened between them. Back then, Isabelle had told him plainly that she wasn’t coming back to the States and didn’t want to hold him back. “Who said I’m waiting for you?” Aidan had retorted, his pride stung. “I’m with Chloe now!” Isabelle had just smiled. “I’m glad she’s with you. It puts my mind at ease.” Then she’d added, “She’d do anything for you. She’ll take good care of you.” “Aidan, even if we can’t be together, you should know that I want you to be happy more than anyone else in the world.” His anger had evaporated instantly. This was what love was, wasn’t it? The beautiful tragedy of it. You couldn’t be together, but you were still number one in each other’s hearts. Isabelle deserved to soar. He had to set her free. She was like a rose he had cultivated himself. She had fought her way out of the mud, and now she deserved to bloom for the whole world to see. He couldn’t keep her trapped by his side. He should only be there when the rose needed watering. This was the truth he had slowly come to accept. He only needed someone like Chloe by his side—a woman who was greedy, practical, and transactional. He couldn’t give her his heart, but he could give her a marriage, money, and status. That’s how these things worked in their world. It’s why he’d sent her the five million for their anniversary. His friends told him to make it $5.2 million—a number that sounds like “I love you” in Chinese—but he’d found the idea too sentimental, too cheesy. Chloe didn’t even deserve to carry Isabelle’s shoes. She should be grateful for what she got. Thinking of Chloe, a strange irritation pricked at him. Even though nothing had happened between him and Isabelle, wasn’t Chloe even a little bit jealous? No. She was definitely angry. That’s why she was being so formal, calling him “Mr. Blackwood.” His friends always joked about how utterly obedient she was. “Man, Aidan, you’ve got her trained. My wife goes ballistic if I even look at another woman.” “I bet when Isabelle comes back, Chloe would even agree to be the other woman.” “The other woman? More like the maid. If Aidan booked a hotel room, she’d be the one to show up and deliver the condoms!” Aidan had never corrected them. Because it was true. Just then, his phone buzzed. A text message. It was from Chloe. She’d come and gone. He glanced casually toward the bedroom door. And then he saw it. A small, square box on the floor. Aidan shot to his feet and strode over to it, snatching it up. He stared at it in disbelief, his hand crushing the small cardboard box out of shape. Chloe had even thought of this for him. It was the exact scenario his friends had joked about. But now that it was actually happening, Aidan felt a sudden, sharp surge of fury. A suffocating tightness filled his chest. Isabelle stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She saw the box in his hand. A blush crept up her neck, but a flicker of triumph flashed in her eyes. “Aidan, please don’t,” she murmured. “When I asked you to get me out of there, I didn’t mean… I’m so sorry if I gave you the wrong impression…” Before she could finish, she watched him toss the small box into the trash can. Isabelle’s expression froze. “Do I look like some kind of animal to you?” Aidan snapped. She let out a quiet breath of relief. So, he wasn’t rejecting her. He was respecting her. “Besides,” Aidan continued, “you have a career to build back in Europe. How could I possibly stand in your way?” For a moment, an ugly look crossed Isabelle’s face. She tested the waters. “What if… what if I wasn’t planning on going back?” Aidan cut her off. “Don’t lie to me. I know you better than that. You’re meant to chase your dreams. You’re not like all those other women who just want to get married and have kids.” Isabelle swallowed the words she was about to say. Aidan brought in the clothes Chloe had bought. Isabelle looked at the shopping bags, and her face soured. Aidan glanced at the brand names and understood immediately. He pulled out his phone and texted Chloe. [Isabelle doesn’t like this designer’s aesthetic. She won’t wear their clothes. Go buy something else.] Next, they went to the living room. Seeing the lavish spread of food from the restaurant, Isabelle frowned again. Aidan texted Chloe again. [Isabelle doesn’t eat food like this, it’s too fattening. And she doesn’t want Western food right after coming back. Go to that Cantonese place I like and pick up a new order. Bring it here.] Isabelle put on a gracious expression. “It’s fine, really. I can eat this.” Aidan looked at her pale face, his heart aching for her. He thought for a moment, then sent one more text. [Isabelle’s not feeling well. I’m taking her out of the city for a few days to get some fresh air. We’ll be back before the anniversary.] He waited. The person who usually replied in seconds was silent. Annoyed, Aidan tried to call Chloe. The call went straight to voicemail. Did she block me? Suddenly, his eyes landed on the cake sitting on the console table. The inscription made him pause. Why would she have the anniversary cake delivered here? Then, a flash of light caught his eye. Next to the cake, sat her engagement ring. 6 The weather was clear and bright. A perfect day for a trip, or a move. With a five-million-dollar severance package in my bank account, I made a clean and efficient exit. I wanted to be long gone before Isabelle woke up. I checked into an executive suite at The St. Regis and immediately passed out. Before I did, I posted a vague, melodramatic Instagram story hinting at a breakup, officially announcing my split from Aidan. When I woke up, my phone was dead. I plugged it in, and the moment it turned on, it began to vibrate uncontrollably, a relentless stream of notifications. Dozens of missed calls and messages from Aidan. I scrolled through them, my eyes flying across the screen. [Chloe, what the hell is this? Are you throwing a tantrum now?] [Are you mad because I asked you to take care of Isabelle?] [She was in a bathtub trying to kill herself when I found her. Do you have any compassion at all?] He’d also sent a picture. My engagement ring, tossed into a wastebasket along with the five-year anniversary cake. My eyes stopped on the last message. [You have the nerve to do this? Fine. Don’t even think about coming back!] Oh. Okay. So he wanted me to not come back. Feeling entirely justified, I ignored his calls. But it didn’t take long for me to see his activity on social media. The story of Isabelle’s plagiarism had followed her from London to New York. The amateur designer she’d allegedly stolen from, Sirius, was apparently an American citizen of Chinese descent. And, just hours ago, he had landed back in the country. A blurry paparazzi shot from the airport flashed across my screen. A man with dark hair and striking green eyes, six-foot-two at least, so handsome he didn’t look real. The photo was deleted almost as soon as it went up, suggesting he was someone important. At the height of the scandal, Aidan posted a single, arrogant sentence on his X account: [The ants always rejoice when the swan stumbles.] The comments were a bloodbath of mockery, with a few of their die-hard “shippers” mixed in. Thankfully, sane people still seemed to rule the internet. Then, Sirius himself posted something. [The blind man plucked the moon from the sky, but didn’t know how to cherish it.] [So, I’ve come to chase the moon once more.] It was cryptic and poetic, and no one knew what to make of it. People guessed it had nothing to do with the plagiarism case. After all, he wasn’t the one who had posted the original proof that Isabelle had copied his design. This felt different, like a declaration of intent from someone coming to win back a lost love. One commenter asked: [Did you come back to pursue someone you love?] The author liked the comment. Immediately, internet sleuths discovered that years ago, the Sirius account had posted from a location tag that matched Isabelle’s old high school. The speculation exploded. [Wait, is he so magnanimous that the person he’s chasing is ISABELLE?!] The shippers went wild. [Sirius: I did all this just so you would finally see me!] [So we’ve been dragging this plagiarist for weeks, and it turns out it was just some kind of weird lover’s game?!] The comments section devolved into chaos. Sirius remained silent. But Isabelle, who had been hiding for days, suddenly emerged. She posted: [You cannot force love. To grasp at the moon in the water is only to push it further away.] Suddenly, dozens of new accounts popped up, all pushing the same narrative: The “moon” Sirius was talking about was Isabelle. The starlit dress was designed for Isabelle. Sirius had used the plagiarism accusation as a twisted way to get her attention. And so on. It was at that exact moment, as I stood in the hotel lobby scrolling through this mess, that someone called my name.

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The day after I married Mark Torrence, I took a briefcase full of his money to the hospital to see my brother. Leo, his leg still mangled from the “accident,” slammed the cash against my chest, his face a mask of bitter disappointment. “Jenny, you actually did it. You married Mark Torrence. He’s the man who destroyed us.” “Is this what it’s all about?” he snarled, his voice cracking. “Do you think money can fix Dad’s death? Mom’s coma? My leg?” For years, whenever he begged me to leave Mark, I had only one answer for him: “Leo, I really love him.” But this time, I said nothing. I just knelt, gathered the scattered bills, and walked away without a word. That night, Mark was in high spirits. He pulled me close, his hand tracing my spine as he whispered, “What do you want, little bird? Name your reward.” I turned in his arms and said softly, “Freedom.” My brother’s freedom. 01. Mark’s large hand was still wandering over my skin. He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. “I don’t recall putting you in a cage. You’ve gone wherever you pleased for years, haven’t you?” I snuggled deeper into his embrace, my voice a carefully crafted purr. “I was talking about Leo. Call off your men at the hospital. Please?” “I’m your wife now. My brother hasn’t caused any trouble for years. What are you still worried about?” In the darkness of the bedroom, his features were a blur, but I could picture the faint, self-satisfied smile playing on his lips. The look of a man who owned the world and everyone in it. His voice was a slow, deliberate drawl. “Freeing your brother isn’t so difficult, you know. If your mother were to pass away, he wouldn’t have a reason to stay at the hospital, would he?” My heart stopped. The blood drained from my face, a mercy that the darkness hid my terror. I forced another playful note into my voice. “Mark, you wouldn’t want to see me sad, would you?” He pulled me tighter against him, but his voice was laced with a cool warning. “No, I wouldn’t. Which is why we’re never speaking of this again.” I closed my eyes, the scent of him filling my lungs, a wave of nausea churning in my stomach. It took every ounce of my willpower not to be sick all over him. My brother hated me for marrying our family’s destroyer. But did he really think I had a choice? Mark Torrence’s influence was a cancer that had metastasized throughout Sterling City. Years ago, my parents were top researchers in a lab owned by one of his subsidiary companies. He treated them like lab rats, exposing them to a lethal experimental gas. My father died on the spot. My mother slipped into a coma, a shell of a person kept alive by machines. Faced with the wreckage of our family, Mark had simply stood there, one hand in his pocket, looking down on me and my brother as if we were insects. “Bury the dead one,” he’d ordered his men. “And get the other one to a hospital. I want to know when she wakes up. That data is crucial to my research. There can be no mistakes.” Leo, his fists clenched, had lunged at him, screaming, “You monster! I’m calling the police!” Mark’s bodyguards swarmed him. Mark didn’t even flinch, just gave my brother a look of utter disdain. “The police? You won’t even be leaving the hospital.” At his signal, they snapped my brother’s legs. From that day on, Leo was under constant surveillance. I was only thirteen at the time. Too young, Mark thought, to be a threat. His watch over me was lax. That changed when I was fifteen. I jumped from a third-story window and ran, delirious with pain and purpose, straight for the nearest police station. I didn’t even make it two blocks before I ran straight into him. His hand closed around my throat. With my free arm, I plunged the fruit knife I’d hidden in my sleeve into his wrist. Blood bloomed, dark and sudden. His men descended on me. I was ready to die. They twisted my arm until the bone snapped, but I held onto the knife, driving it deep into one of the bodyguard’s ribs. As the man screamed, Mark finally gave me his full attention. Our eyes met. My own were bloodshot, a trickle of blood leaking from the corner of my mouth. Pinned to the ground, I glared at him with every ounce of hate I possessed. Just as the world began to fade to black, he raised a hand. His men backed off. He walked toward me, his steps measured and deliberate. With a flick of his expensive shoe, he kicked the knife from my grasp. His eyes held a flicker of something new—a dark, analytical amusement. “Vicious little thing,” he murmured. 02. After that, he took me to his estate. He had my broken arm set and healed, and he made me a promise: as long as I behaved, he would provide for me. In the three years that followed, I learned the true chasm between us. Defy him, betray him, challenge him—it always ended the same way: a beating and the cold, damp dark of the basement. I was only let out when I had learned my lesson. So I spent the next two years earning his trust. The price of that trust was my brother. When Leo found out Mark had taken me, he stormed the estate, a wild, desperate animal. He was beaten until he was spitting blood, but he still crawled toward me, grabbing my hand, begging me to leave with him. My face was a mask of indifference. I pulled my hand from his grasp. “I’m in love with Mark,” I said, the words like acid on my tongue. The shock in my brother’s eyes was a knife in my own heart. But I got better at it. The more I broke his heart, the more convincing I became. Eventually, I could look down on him with the same condescending air as Mark himself. “Just go, Leo,” I sneered one day. “I’m going to marry him. Mom’s been in that bed for ten years. Who knows when she’ll finally die? I have to look out for myself.” CRACK. The force of his slap sent a ringing through my ears. “Have you lost your mind? Have you no shame?” he roared, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with tears. “Tell me the truth, Jenny! Is that monster forcing you to do this?” And Mark was standing right behind me, watching it all. I calmly tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and ordered the guards to throw my brother out. It was that very day that Mark told me he was going to marry me. There was no engagement. No ceremony. He tossed a diamond ring at me that probably cost less than his watch. That was it. We were married. Because that was all I deserved. I often prayed to the heavens, to my dead father. What am I supposed to do? What other way is there to save us, to save my brother? But the answer was always the same. This body was my only weapon. And it would only work as long as Mark Torrence was still interested in it. Ring— The sudden shrill of Mark’s phone cut through my thoughts. He answered it, and a sweet, feminine voice cooed from the other end. A few minutes later, he was dressed and heading for the door. The moment the front door clicked shut, a text message lit up my phone. It was from my brother. Just one line. [Jenny Asher. As of today, we are no longer brother and sister.] 03. My brother could curse me, hate me, call me anything he wanted. But for him to disown me… that was the one thing I couldn’t bear. I knew then that I had to accelerate my plan. When Mark left, he was usually gone until at least noon. I waited until the house staff were taking their mid-morning break, then slipped into his study. All the data from his illegal labs was on his computer. Even after all these years, there had to be a digital trail. I’d tried before, but the computer was protected by a three-tiered security system that would stump professionals. So, for the past few months, I had been secretly teaching myself to code. I bypassed the first two layers of security with relative ease. The third was just a matter of time. My hands trembled with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. As I typed the final character of the bypass code, I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming in triumph. The desktop flared to life. And from behind me, I heard a soft, derisive chuckle. I spun around, my heart seizing in my chest, and looked straight into Mark Torrence’s ice-cold eyes. He was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. His words were a death sentence. “I trust you remember the basement, Jenny.” 04. I hadn’t been in the basement for five years. Thrown back into the damp darkness, my arm broken again, I felt like I was suffocating. My face and body were slick with blood. This time, Mark had done the honors himself. He stood over me, a baseball bat resting on his shoulder, his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “I thought you were the smart one. It seems ten years wasn’t enough to teach you your place.” “Jenny, I was actually going to let it all go. Why couldn’t you just behave?” My mouth was full of blood. I spat a pink-tinged gob onto the concrete floor, sticking to my one and only story. “I was bored. I just wanted to play a game.” Mark sneered. “That’s a pathetic excuse. Do you really expect me to believe that?” I cradled my shattered arm, my voice flat. “You walk out on your new wife to see another woman. Can’t I have a little fun of my own? Or is there something on that computer you don’t want people to see?” He ran his tongue over the inside of his cheek, a predatory gleam in his eyes. To my shock, he admitted it. “Of course there is. It contains a complete record of your mother’s biometric data for the past decade.” He crouched down, his voice a low, mocking whisper. “I know what you want, Jenny. But you’re being naive. Even if you got that evidence, it would be useless in this city.” He was right. He had his hands in everything, legal and illegal. His public image as a philanthropist was impeccable. Without concrete, irrefutable proof, I could never touch him. I gritted my teeth. “I want your love, Mark.” His eyes widened almost imperceptibly, the same flash of surprise he’d shown the day I stabbed his wrist. “I want your absolute, undivided love,” I pressed on, my voice gaining strength. “I don’t care if my mother lives or dies. But you… you have to love me.” He moved closer. “So that’s what this is about. That phone call.” He tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Don’t worry. You’ll never see that woman in Sterling City again.” His voice was a soft, dangerous caress. “This is the Jenny I know. Vicious. I like it. But you still tried to hack my computer, and I can’t just let that go.” “So here’s what we’ll do. I’ll give you one more chance. Go to your brother. Make things right.” … At the hospital, I found Leo slumped on a bench in the hallway, his head leaned back against the wall, eyes closed. He was only three years older than me, but he looked like a man in his late thirties. Ten years of this hell had eroded the strong, vibrant young man he’d been, leaving this exhausted, broken shell. My fingers curled into a fist. I walked over and sat down beside him. He opened his eyes at the sound, and when he saw it was me, he recoiled as if he’d been burned. He scrambled to his feet, limping a few steps away, putting distance between us. “What are you doing here? I thought we were done.” The hospital was crawling with Mark’s men. I looked at him, my gaze deep and unwavering, but my voice was cold enough to freeze water. “Leo Asher, a text message has no legal standing.” “I have the papers here. A declaration of severance. Once you sign it, you and your mother will be nothing to me.” His mouth fell open, his eyes filled with a fresh wave of shock and despair. He knew a text wasn’t legally binding. He’d sent it as a last-ditch effort, a final plea for me to come to my senses. He never thought I would take it this far. I fought back the lump in my throat and pulled the documents and a pen from my bag. “Sign it. After this, we’re strangers. What I do will no longer be your concern.” He clenched his jaw, his eyes boring into me. “Jenny, I’m asking you one last time. Are you really in love with him? Have you forgotten what he did to our parents? Have you forgotten my leg?” The words wouldn’t come. I had spoken so many cruel, decisive words to him over the years. But this time, my throat was closed. He stepped forward and grabbed my hand, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Jenny, this is your last chance. Leave him. Come back to me. We’ll find a way to get justice. As long as we’re together, we can survive this! Do you want Dad to be unable to rest in peace?” A sharp pain shot through my nose, and I almost broke down. A last chance. Everyone was giving me a last chance. But what was I supposed to do? If I went back to Leo, everything I had worked for, everything I had endured, would be for nothing. All my pain, all my humiliation, would be meaningless. If I stayed with Mark, it was just more of the same, a slow, agonizing death of the soul. After all these years, I was still no closer to getting the evidence I needed. What if I never got it? What if one day, my mother and brother couldn’t hold on any longer? What was I supposed to do? As I stood there, paralyzed by indecision, Leo’s grip on my hand tightened, his eyes pleading. And from behind me came the slow, mocking sound of applause. “What a touching scene. A pair of suffering siblings. How pathetic.” Leo’s expression turned murderous. He let go of me and limped toward Mark. Just as he was about to swing, I grabbed his arm. “Leo, sign the papers!” “You!” he choked, enraged. The punch that was meant for Mark swung wide and connected with my face. The world spun. I collapsed to the floor, the impact jarring my broken arm. He stood over me, his entire body shaking with fury. “How could I have a sister like you? Have you no shame? Why wasn’t it you who died? Why aren’t you the one lying in that bed?” “Do you think Mom and Dad would be proud of you? Am I?” Pain, sharp and white-hot, shot up my arm. I couldn’t meet his eyes. My voice was a trembling whisper, but I repeated the words. “Sign it!” He looked at me, his face a mask of utter defeat. He nodded, a single, jerky motion. He snatched the pen and scribbled his name on the line. I let out a silent breath of relief. I struggled to my feet, snatched the contract from his hand, and looped my arm through Mark’s, turning my back on my brother. I could feel his gaze burning into my back all the way down the hall. Back in the car, Mark traced the swelling bruise on my cheek. His voice was laced with a triumphant smile. “Now, Jenny,” he said. “You have no one left but me.” 05. I was sick. First, the beating from Mark, then the violent confrontation with my brother. My body finally gave out. A raging fever took hold. I was freezing, no matter how many blankets were piled on top of me. A deep, bone-chilling tremor wracked my body, a physical manifestation of the terror that had become my constant companion. Just as I felt myself slipping away, a man entered my bedroom. He gently wiped the sweat from my brow and carefully tucked the blankets around me. The gesture was so tender, it reminded me of Leo. My eyes flew open. But the face looking down at me wasn’t my brother’s. It was Mark’s. My heart plummeted into an abyss. He stroked my hair, his voice as soft as a demon’s whisper. “Jenny, you’re pregnant.” “I was wrong the other day. I’m sorry. From now on, as long as you love me with all your heart, I’ll love you back. I promise.” My pupils constricted. Under the blankets, my hand clenched into a fist. First shock, then a wild, triumphant joy. I knew Mark had always wanted a child. And this child might just be the key to his downfall. A smile spread across my face. To him, it must have looked like a smile of pure happiness. He leaned down and kissed my forehead, his eyes dark and intense. “Jenny, you’ve cut ties with your brother. If you carry this child to term, safely, I’ll consider pulling my men from the hospital.” I met his gaze, my voice weak. “Leo has already given up trying to find evidence. Mom’s… his mother’s illness is more than enough to keep him occupied. After the baby is born, let’s go abroad. It’s been years. Any evidence you had is long gone anyway.” He squeezed my hand, his face radiating contentment. “Okay. Whatever you want. As long as Leo Asher behaves himself, I’ll call off the surveillance. For you, I’ll set him free.” His hand slipped under the covers, coming to rest on my flat stomach. “And when we’re abroad, I’ll give you a real wedding. Jenny, it took having a child to make me realize how much I… care for you. Now, we’re a real family.” I forced my lips into a gentle smile. Inside, I was screaming. My family is my brother and my mother. Not you, Mark Torrence. Just you wait. One day, I will be the one to send you to hell. … After the fever broke, Mark took me to the hospital for a check-up. The baby was healthy, a tiny, flickering heartbeat on the ultrasound screen. The smile never left Mark’s face. As we were leaving, I “accidentally” left the diagnostic report behind. Then I feigned a wave of morning sickness and asked him to go back and get it for me. He told me to wait for him and not to wander off. The moment he was out of sight, I hailed a cab and raced back to the estate. The password to his study computer had been changed back to something simple. Perhaps he was finally letting his guard down. I didn’t overthink it. I tried his birthday, his mother’s birthday, even the birthday of the woman who had called him that night. All of them failed. I frowned, preparing to hack my way in again. But as my fingers touched the mouse, an idea struck me. A cold, chilling premonition. I typed in the date. The date Mark Torrence first brought me to his home. The computer unlocked. The desktop wallpaper was a photo of the two of us. I let out a cold, humorless laugh. You said it yourself, Mark. A man with a weakness is a man who can be broken. My fingers flew across the keyboard. Finally, in a hidden directory, I found a folder labeled “LAB.” My heart hammered in my chest, my palms sweating with excitement. I clicked it open. The smile on my face froze. On the screen was a live feed. It was my brother, struggling against several of Mark’s men. They had him pinned to the floor. His eyes, wild and red-rimmed, stared through the camera, directly at me. “Jenny! What the hell are you and Torrence doing? I disowned you, wasn’t that enough? Are you trying to get me and Mom killed?” My pupils shrank to pinpricks. I slapped a hand over my mouth, my entire body shaking uncontrollably. “Heh…” Mark’s figure suddenly entered the frame. He looked at the camera, his expression one of profound disappointment. His voice was a cold sneer. “Do you see, Jenny? This is your precious brother. You fight so hard to protect him, and this is the thanks you get.” “Don’t think I don’t know what was really in that severance agreement you had him sign.” “It was a liability waiver, wasn’t it? Stating that no matter what actions you took, he would not be held responsible.” “You wanted to kill me, Jenny.” BZZZZT— My mind went blank, as if my very soul had been ripped from my body.

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I was eight months pregnant when my parents, who had always favored my sister, invited me over for dinner. It was the first time in years I had felt a glimmer of their warmth. That was the night of the fire. When the smoke detectors shrieked and the flames began to lick at the doorframes, their instincts were instantaneous. They shoved me aside, my swollen belly a clumsy obstacle, and grabbed my sister, Chloe—the one with leukemia, the one who had always been the sun in their universe. They carried her out into the night, leaving me behind in the suffocating heat. I was sure I was going to die. But then my husband, Ethan, burst through the wall of smoke. He swept me into his arms without a moment’s hesitation, his body shielding mine as he carried me to safety. The burns blistering his own skin didn’t seem to register. His eyes, full of a desperate tenderness I’d craved my whole life, were only for me. “Ava, you’re pregnant,” he’d whispered, his voice hoarse from the smoke as paramedics worked on us. “If anything happened to the baby… to you… I don’t know what I’d do.” In that moment, I believed I had finally found the one person who would choose me. Who truly loved me. That belief shattered when I saw the text exchange between him and Chloe on his unlocked phone. Chloe: I can’t wait much longer, E. Ethan: Just hold on, my love. A little more time. Once she has the baby and we get the cord blood, I can finally save you. My world tilted on its axis. The air left my lungs. Without a second thought, I pulled out my own phone, my fingers numb as I dialed the number for the women’s clinic. “Hello,” I said, my voice a dead, hollow thing. “I need to schedule an abortion.” 1 I had just tucked the clinic’s appointment confirmation slip into my purse when I saw them. Ethan was walking down the hospital corridor toward me, his arm wrapped protectively around my sister, Chloe, guiding her toward the oncology wing for a check-up. He stopped short when he saw me. “Ava? Honey, what are you doing here? I thought your next prenatal wasn’t until next week.” Ethan’s gaze dropped instantly to my stomach, his face a mask of anxiety. I used to mistake that frantic energy for love, for a fierce, protective instinct. Now I saw it for what it was: a man checking on his investment. “I just felt a little off,” I lied smoothly. “Decided to come get it checked out.” His panic sharpened. “Off how? What’s wrong? What did the doctor say? Is the baby okay? Did you get the results yet?” He rushed to my side, his hand hovering over my belly, his eyes wide with a carefully crafted concern. Chloe, however, couldn’t be bothered with the performance. She shot me a glare filled with pure contempt. “Can’t you do one thing right? Honestly, what’s the point of you if you can’t even carry a baby properly? If anything happens to what’s in there, I swear to God, Ava, I’ll make you pay.” I ignored her, pulling the ultrasound printout from my bag and handing it to Ethan. “Everything’s fine. The baby is perfectly healthy.” The relief that washed over his face was profound. He finally exhaled. “Oh, thank God. Okay, good. You should go home and rest, then. Chloe still has a few more tests, so I’ll stay with her and be back later.” His other hand, the one not reaching for me, had never once left Chloe’s arm. I used to explain away his constant, hovering attention on my sister as a kind of misguided brotherly affection, an extension of his love for me. Love the house, love the mouse. How naive I’d been. I never imagined their plan was this monstrous. As they walked away, a cold impulse took over. I followed them. I watched them disappear into the office of the Head of Hematology—an office that belonged to my father. “We can’t wait any longer,” Ethan’s voice was tight with urgency, even muffled through the door. “Chloe’s getting worse.” “Just a little more time,” my father’s voice rumbled. “Two months at most. Once Ava gives birth, we’ll have the cord blood, and Chloe will be saved.” “She might not have a month! We have to do the surgery now.” “Then we induce her now,” a new voice said, sharp and decisive. A figure stepped out from a corner of the office, and my blood ran cold. It was my mother, an OB/GYN at this very hospital. A thousand tiny blades seemed to plunge into my chest, stealing my breath. They were all in on it. All of them. And I had foolishly, desperately believed that my pregnancy had finally earned me a place in my parents’ hearts. “But the baby’s only at eight months,” Ethan said, a flicker of something—hesitation? concern?—in his voice. “If we take it out now, will it be… okay?” My mother’s face, visible through the crack in the door, was a granite slab of impatience. “Chloe’s life is the only thing that matters right now. Everything else is secondary.” I stared at the woman who had carried me for nine months, and my heart felt like it was being torn in two. Chloe leaned into Ethan’s embrace, her voice a sickly sweet murmur. “Ethan, honey, you seem so worried about her baby. You’re not getting attached to her, are you?” He immediately pulled her tighter, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper I could still just barely hear. “Never. Don’t ever think that. I only married her to get you this cure. To use her body to grow the medicine you need. The second that baby is out of her, she’s worthless to me.” Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent. My hand was clenched so tightly around the small packet of pills the clinic had given me that my knuckles were white. I lifted my head, my resolve hardening into something cold and sharp. Without another thought, I tossed the pill into my mouth and swallowed it dry. Back home, I took out the divorce papers Ethan had signed as a “show of faith” before our wedding—a document I’d never intended to use. I signed my name, dated it, and locked it in the safe. I had just started to pack a bag when the front door flew open with such force it slammed against the wall. I flinched, my heart seizing in my chest. Ethan strode in, his face grim. He grabbed my arm, his grip like a vise. “Ava. The doctor just called me. They reviewed your chart again. The baby’s in distress. We have to go back to the hospital. Now.” I tried to pull my arm away, but his fingers dug in, bruising the bone. My wrist was already turning red. “No. The doctor told me, to my face, that the baby was fine. And why would they call you instead of me?” His eyes were bloodshot, a wild desperation lurking in their depths. “It was a last-minute consult! Your mother called me herself. You don’t trust me, fine. But you trust your own mother, don’t you?” On cue, my parents walked through the open door. My mother’s face was a cold mask of disapproval. “This is your own fault for not being careful enough. You’ve upset the baby’s balance. We’re going to the hospital.” My father chimed in, his voice oozing false reason. “Your mother is a respected obstetrician, Ava. Are you really going to question her medical opinion?” My free hand shot out, gripping the bedroom doorknob like a lifeline. “I’m not going. It’s late. We can go tomorrow. I feel fine. Nothing is wrong.” My mother’s face twisted in fury. She marched over and began prying my fingers from the knob, one by one. “You’ll do as you’re told! Why must you be so difficult? I’m your mother! Do you think I would ever hurt you?” Yes, I screamed in my head. You have my whole life. They had shipped me off to live with my grandparents in the countryside as a baby, only deigning to bring me into their home after my grandparents passed away and the village council forced their hand. I’d spent my entire life wondering what was so wrong with me that my own parents couldn’t love me. I held on with every ounce of strength I had. My mother couldn’t break my grip. CRACK. The sound of her palm connecting with my cheek echoed in the room. “You are going to the hospital right now,” she hissed, her face inches from mine. “If you delay this and Chloe doesn’t make it, I will never, ever forgive you.” Half of my face was numb, the other half blazing with pain. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “There it is. The truth finally comes out.” She didn’t even flinch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I only know that your body is no longer a viable environment for this pregnancy. It’s a happy coincidence that your sister needs the cord blood right now.” My father, seeing I still wouldn’t budge, joined the effort. “Ava, you were always the sensible one. Your sister needs you. Please, just do this for us. For your mother and me.” He was trying to play the family card. I turned my head and spat on the floor by his feet. “Stop pretending. Her life is a life, but mine isn’t? Forcing a C-section at eight months is dangerous. I could die.” Seeing his emotional appeal fail, my father’s face contorted with rage. He slapped my other cheek, just as hard. “You ungrateful brat! That’s your sister! Sacrificing one baby to save her is a noble thing to do. It’s not like you can’t have another one.” Ethan dropped all pretense. He lunged forward, his hand clamping around my throat. “Enough of this. Chloe collapsed this afternoon. She’s waiting for this cord blood to save her life. You’re going to that hospital, one way or another.” “Ethan, it’s your baby!” I choked out, clawing at his hand. His eyes were chips of ice. “If my offspring can save Chloe, then that is its honor. Its sole purpose for existing. Otherwise, a woman like you would never have been worthy of carrying my child in the first place.” Staring into his cold, dead eyes was like falling into an abyss. “Dad, Mom, let’s stop wasting time,” Ethan said, his voice flat. “Chloe can’t wait. Let’s just tie her up and take her.” He found a length of rope in a utility closet. With my parents holding me down, he bound my hands tightly behind my back. “Move,” my mother snarled, shoving me toward the door. I dug my heels in, hooking my foot around the doorframe. Ethan let out a roar of frustration and kicked my leg, hard. “If we’re too late because of you, Ava, I will personally see to it that you pay with your life.” The force of the kick sent me sprawling to my knees. A searing pain shot up my leg, and a vicious cramp seized my abdomen. I cried out, tears of pain blurring my vision. “Be careful!” my mother snapped at Ethan. “Watch the belly! Hit her face, I don’t care, but you can’t damage the merchandise.” Ethan nodded grimly. He and my father hauled me to my feet like a sack of grain and began dragging me toward the elevator. The elevator doors slid open. A tall, well-built man was stepping out. I knew him. Officer Miller, from next door. He’d helped me once when my car was broken into. Hope, bright and blinding, flared in my chest. “Help—” Before I could get the word out, my mother’s hand clamped over my mouth. “Oh, sweetie, feeling nauseous again? Don’t worry, Mommy’s taking you to the hospital right now.” Officer Miller looked at the scene, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Is everything alright here?” “My wife,” Ethan said, his voice impossibly calm. “She’s not feeling well. We think she might be going into labor, so we’re rushing her to the hospital.” My hands were bound behind me, Ethan’s grip a crushing pressure on my wrist to keep me still. I could do nothing but stare at Officer Miller, pouring every ounce of my desperation into my eyes. “I’m an OB/GYN,” my mother added, pulling her hospital ID from her purse with a practiced motion. “It’s my daughter. She’s about to give birth. We can’t waste a single second.” “Oh, of course,” he said, stepping back immediately. “Don’t let me keep you. Go, go.” He held the door for them. Ethan breathed a sigh of relief. They bundled me into the elevator. As the doors slid shut, I watched Officer Miller’s back recede down the hallway, and the fragile hope in my heart turned to ash. The moment the doors closed, my mother dug her nails into my arm. “You little bitch. You almost blew it with that cop. Do you have any idea what you’re doing? You’re trying to murder your own sister. How can you be so evil?” The pain was excruciating, and fresh tears streamed down my face. Just then, my father’s phone rang. “Dr. Sterling? It’s the hospital. Your daughter Chloe has a sudden high fever and isn’t responding to treatment. You need to come back immediately.” He hung up, his face grim as he stared at my stomach. “We’re out of time. The second we get to the hospital, we’re taking her straight to the OR.” The elevator doors opened. Ethan and my father started to drag me out. “Hold it.” A voice. Footsteps, quick and urgent. I twisted my head and saw Officer Miller standing right behind us, his expression serious. That extinguished ember of hope sparked back to life. “You dropped this,” he said, jogging up to us. He handed my mother my ID card, which must have fallen from her purse. “Oh, thank you so much, Officer,” she gushed. I strained against my bonds, trying to make a sound, anything. “Offi—” As Miller turned to leave again, I gasped out the word, but Ethan’s hand immediately clamped over my mouth, muffling the sound. “Just breathe, honey, we’re almost there,” he said loudly, for the officer’s benefit. Then he was dragging me toward the car. The second I was thrown into the back seat, my mother’s hand was on me again, pinching and twisting the flesh of my arm. “You try one more thing, I swear to God, you will regret it.” Ethan drove like a madman, blowing through three red lights to get to the hospital. They didn’t even bother with admitting. I was dragged through back corridors directly into an operating room. The sterile chill of the room, the gleam of cold steel, sent a fresh wave of terror through me. I tried to scramble away, to run, but my mother was already there, plunging a syringe into my arm. A sedative. “We’re just taking a baby out, Ava,” she said, her voice laced with a chillingly casual cruelty. “I don’t understand why you’re making such a scene. We’re family. And you’re saving your sister.” The drug began to work, a strange lightness spreading through my limbs, but she must have used a low dose, afraid of harming the baby. My mind remained terrifyingly clear. “Strap her to the table,” she commanded. “I’ll perform the surgery myself.” Ethan and my father hoisted me onto the operating table. “This is illegal!” I screamed, my voice echoing in the cold, tiled room. “You can’t do this!” My mother just scoffed. “You’re my daughter. What’s illegal about me operating on you? I gave you your life, I can do with it as I please.” My father glared at me. “You’re a monster. We raised you, and now, when we ask you to do one small thing to save your sister, you talk to us about the law?” Ethan tightened the strap on my wrist, cinching it so hard I felt the buckle dig into my flesh. “Hurry up and sign the consent form, Ethan,” my mother said, thrusting a clipboard at him. “I need to begin.” He scribbled his name without even glancing at the page. I looked at the faces of the people I had once called my family, and my heart felt like it had been frozen solid. “Ethan, you might want to step outside,” my mother said, picking up a scalpel. “This could get messy.” He shook his head, his eyes fixed on my stomach. “No. I need to be here. I need to see the medicine for Chloe come out with my own eyes.” His words were needles, piercing my heart one by one. To him, my child and I were not human. We were a pharmaceutical. There was no anesthesiologist. It was a rogue, illegal surgery. My mother pressed the blade against my skin and cut. It was a pain beyond anything I could have imagined, a white-hot agony that felt like my bones were being shattered from the inside out. I could feel every layer of my body being sliced open, peeled back. My screams tore through the room, raw and unending, but no one wiped the sweat from my brow. No one flinched. No one even looked at my face. “You will all pay for this,” I hissed through clenched teeth. Ethan started to retort, but was cut off by a triumphant shout from my mother. “I’ve got it! The baby is out!” But her joy lasted only a second, replaced by a sound of pure horror. “The baby… why isn’t it breathing? It’s not breathing.”

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It was Labor Day weekend, and my childhood friend, Leo, brought his new girlfriend, Ashley, on our annual group trip. We were all out on the beach, the smell of salt and charcoal in the air from the grill. Leo pulled the first batch of perfectly charred chicken wings off the grate, walked past everyone—his girlfriend included—and handed the plate to me. That’s when Ashley’s voice cut through the relaxed vibe. “Doesn’t it get exhausting? Pulling that whole ‘one of the guys’ act?” The sizzle of the grill was suddenly the loudest sound on the beach. The air went still. I was just holding the plate, completely thrown. “I’m sorry, what?” “If you want him, just say it,” she continued, her voice sharp. “At least then I could respect you as a rival. But don’t hide behind this whole ‘best bud’ thing to flirt with my boyfriend.” The atmosphere went from zero to a hundred real quick. I was just standing there with a plate of wings, totally embarrassed and confused by her sudden attack. “I think you’ve got this all wrong,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. Leo jumped in, scowling at her. “Ashley, what the hell? Mia and I are just friends. Stop looking for trouble.” “Friends?” She let out a bitter little laugh. “You give her the first plate of wings instead of your own girlfriend, and now you’re yelling at me to defend her. You expect me to believe you two are just ‘buddies’?” Her glare snapped back to me. “And you, Mia. Drop the innocent act. I’ve seen girls like you a thousand times—the ‘cool girl’ who hangs around a bunch of guys, blurring the lines, acting like a bro. Have some self-respect.” I felt a headache starting to pound behind my eyes. Our little group of four—two guys, two girls—had been inseparable since we were kids. Our parents all knew each other, did business together. It was just how it was. But I’d always been careful to keep clear boundaries. The only reason Leo gave me the wings first was as a thank you. He and Ashley had been dating since sophomore year of college, and he was planning to propose this weekend. He’d asked us, his oldest friends, to help plan the whole thing. I was in charge of the venue and setup, while Sarah and Ryan handled fireworks and music. This whole beach resort? It belongs to my family. I shut it down to the public for a week just for his proposal. He could give me a million chicken wings and it wouldn’t cover the favor. But the proposal was a surprise. I couldn’t blow his cover. I forced myself to stay calm. “Look, he was just thanking me for helping him with something recently.” Sarah and Ryan quickly backed me up. “Ashley, seriously, we can vouch for them. There’s nothing going on between Mia and Leo,” Sarah said. Ryan added, bluntly, “Mia’s not into Leo.” But Ashley’s face was like stone. She slapped her phone down on the picnic table. The screen lit up with a screenshot of a text exchange between me and Leo. It was me, asking if his wound was healing okay and if he needed me to come take care of him. “Not into him, huh?” she sneered. “But you’re so concerned you offer to play nurse? Are you that desperate for attention you’ll just volunteer for anything?” I just stared at the screen. Those texts were from eight years ago. *** We were in high school. Puberty had hit our friend group like a truck. Leo, after learning some basic biology, turned into a total jerk. He’d snap girls’ bra straps, try to flip up skirts, and make gross jokes. It was disgusting. One day, I saw him do it and just lost it. I grabbed the nearest plastic chair and slammed it into him, screaming at him to apologize to the girl. I was young and didn’t know my own strength. He ended up with two stitches in his head. My parents read me the riot act, and I realized I’d probably gone too far. So, I sent him a few texts, reluctantly checking in. That was the extent of our “caring” exchange. The good news was, he never bullied another girl again. The bad news was, it revealed his true colors. He cycled through girlfriends at an insane rate, and even bragged about cheating. If it weren’t for our parents’ history, the rest of us would have ditched him years ago. But after he started dating Ashley, he seemed to clean up his act. He deleted all the other girls’ numbers and played the part of the reformed bad boy. I never bought it. A leopard doesn’t change its spots. The day Leo introduced Ashley to us, I pulled her aside and quietly gave her a heads-up. “Hey, just so you know, Leo used to be a huge player. Just be careful, okay? I don’t want to see you get hurt.” She looked at me with pure suspicion. “I think I can learn about my own boyfriend from him, thanks. I don’t need his ‘girl buddy’ to fill me in.” It was like she thought I was trying to sabotage them from day one. So, I dropped it. It wasn’t my business. But now, all these years later, she was dragging up ancient history to paint me as the villain. “I have absolutely zero interest in Leo,” I said, enunciating every word. Before Ashley could fire back, Leo had had enough. “If you’re not going to eat, then just go back to the room! Why are you so obsessed with attacking Mia? You’re embarrassing me!” Her head snapped up, her eyes suddenly red and glassy. “Oh, so now you’re getting defensive, are you? Fine! I’m the extra one here! I’m in the way! You and your *best friends* can have a great time!” She spun around and ran off down the beach. Leo muttered a curse under his breath, then turned to me, looking mortified. “Mia, I am so sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into her today. After I propose tonight, I’ll set her straight. I’ll make sure she apologizes.” I just gave him a tight, fake smile. I felt sick to my stomach and furious. If I’d known helping him out would be this much of a nightmare, I would’ve charged him for emotional damages. After that, no one felt like eating. We all just went to get the final proposal prep done. Ryan went to check on the fireworks, and Sarah started setting up candles and balloons. I was supposed to be directing the hotel staff with the field of roses we were planting in the sand. Per Leo’s request, the entire stretch of beach was supposed to be covered in red roses. But a freak heatwave had rolled in, and more than half the flowers were completely wilted and useless. I had no choice but to call Leo to ask if he was okay with using high-quality fakes instead. But it wasn’t him who answered. It was Ashley. Her voice was dripping with venom. “You’ve got incredible timing, you know that? The second Leo starts to calm me down, your name pops up on his phone.” I gritted my teeth, trying to stay professional. “I’m calling him about something important.” “And what could be so important that you can’t tell me?” she scoffed. “Hasn’t anyone ever taught you basic girl code? If you need to talk to one person in a couple, you call the one you have a goddamn Y chromosome in common with.” Leo’s angry voice cut her off in the background. “Ashley, that’s enough! Aren’t you embarrassed enough already?” I heard shuffling, and then Leo was on the line. “Mia, I’m on Ashley’s floor. Just come up here and we can talk.” *Click.* He hung up. To avoid any more drama, I grabbed Sarah and brought her with me. We found Leo waiting for us in the hallway outside his room. The second he saw me about to mention the proposal, he frantically waved us into the stairwell, terrified Ashley would overhear. “What’s up?” he whispered. I told him about the rose situation. A deep frown creased his forehead. “Why didn’t you order more backups?” he snapped. “Fake flowers? Seriously? Ashley cares so much about the little details, she’s going to be so disappointed.” I almost laughed in his face. “I ordered *thousands* of roses, Leo. You think I can control the weather?” Sarah didn’t hold back. “We’re busting our asses to help you, and you have the nerve to blame us?” He flinched, his tone softening. “No, you’re right, I’m sorry. I’m just stressed… Okay, fine. Use the fake ones from the hotel. It’ll be dark, maybe she won’t notice. All the damages are on me. Mia, don’t be mad. I’ll Venmo you the money right now.” Before he could finish, the stairwell door slammed open with a deafening *BANG!* And then, a sharp, stinging *CRACK!* Ashley was standing there, and she had just slapped me clear across the face. “You shameless, pathetic pick-me!” she shrieked. *** Ashley was heaving, her eyes blazing with a wild, triumphant fury. “I knew it! You create some stupid little emergency so my boyfriend has to come running to you! I caught you red-handed!” Her eyes darted down to his phone. “And you’re asking him for money? What’s wrong, isn’t your family’s money good enough for you? Or is his money just *special*?” she spat. “And you brought Sarah along as your lookout! You’re so calculating!” She lunged at me again, but this time Leo grabbed her, holding her back. “Ashley, are you insane?!” Sarah yelled. “You don’t even know what’s going on and you just hit her?” My cheek was on fire. I’d never been slapped in my entire life. All the patience I’d been holding onto evaporated in a rush of pure rage. “You think Leo is some kind of prize to be won?” I yelled back. “The only reason I’m even talking to him is because he’s about to ask you to—” “Mia!” Leo’s voice was a desperate plea. His eyes were begging me not to ruin the surprise. He turned back to Ashley, trying to wrestle her toward the door. “We were just talking about maybe taking a boat out later, that’s all! Why did you follow us? Come on, let’s go. I’m begging you, stop making a scene!” He practically dragged her out of the stairwell. A minute later, Sarah came back with an ice pack for my swelling cheek. My phone buzzed. It was a Venmo notification. Leo had sent me $10,000. The message read: *Mia, I’m so sorry. Please, please don’t ruin the proposal. I won’t let Ashley out of the room again. Don’t reply.* Sarah peeked at the screen and snorted. “Wow. A match made in heaven. He’s an idiot and she’s a psycho.” Just then, Ryan came back from checking the fireworks. When he saw my face and heard what happened, he looked both furious and completely exhausted by the drama. “That’s it,” he said. “Leo crossed a line. He cares more about his image and his crazy girlfriend than a friend he’s known his whole life. After he proposes tonight, we’re done. We’re not inviting him to anything ever again.” Sarah scoffed. “I don’t know why he acts so high and mighty anyway. You know his family’s business has been struggling for years…” The Maxwells had been quietly sinking, and their company was only staying afloat because of their contracts with our three families. This whole proposal weekend was something Leo’s parents had personally asked us to help with, as a favor. Otherwise, none of us would have bothered. I was so full of rage I couldn’t see straight. I was done. I handed the rest of the setup duties over to the hotel staff and called the dock to make sure our boat was ready to leave the island the second this whole charade was over. Later that night, everything went according to plan. Leo led Ashley down to the beach for a walk. He got down on one knee in the middle of the (mostly fake) sea of roses and pulled out a ring box. On cue, Ryan set off the fireworks, which exploded in glittering bursts across the sky, illuminating the tears welling in Ashley’s eyes. After a long, heartfelt speech, Leo held up the ring. “Ashley, will you marry me?” That was our signal. Sarah and I ran over, playing the part of the ecstatic audience. “Say yes! Say yes!” Ashley reached for the ring. And then she threw it. Hard. Right at me. “You sound so happy, don’t you?” she screamed, tears streaming down her face, her laugh turning into a sob. “You must be just sick with jealousy inside! Well, you know what? Fine! I’ll make it easy for you two! No more sneaking around and treating me like an idiot!” I was stunned. “Who’s treating you like an idiot?” “Oh, stop playing dumb,” she sobbed, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket. “You really think I don’t know? About the baby you and Leo had together?”

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1 After a three-year international assignment, I was back. My first stop? A new position at my fiancée’s company, at her own enthusiastic invitation. A few days in, her male assistant, Tim, dropped a settlement agreement on my desk. I frowned. “What’s this?” He rolled his eyes. “You made the mess. You take responsibility. Simple as that.” My first thought was that he’d mistaken me for someone else. “I just started,” I explained patiently. “I haven’t even been assigned to a project yet. How could I have messed anything up?” When I made no move to sign, he slammed the papers down, crossed his arms, and loomed over me. “I said sign it. Cut the crap and stop wasting my time.” I ignored him and dialed my fiancée, Chloe. Her voice came through, sharp with impatience. “Tim got into a bit of trouble a couple of days ago. Just cover for him.” Then came the warning. “And don’t you dare throw a tantrum. He’s the son of our chairwoman. If we don’t keep him happy, we’re both out on the street.” I looked up at the arrogant peacock standing before me. Funny. I didn’t remember my mother having another son. … I scanned the agreement. It was a full confession, stating that I had leaked core project data, causing catastrophic losses to the company, and that I accepted all legal and financial liability. They were trying to bury me. When I’d first returned, Chloe had been so eager for me to join her at Apex Corporation. With our wedding just around the corner, I’d seen it as a final chance to observe her character up close. I’d accepted the offer. I never imagined she was just hiring me to be Tim’s scapegoat. On the phone, Chloe must have realized her tone was too harsh, because it suddenly softened into a syrupy plea. “Ethan, darling, I’m just thinking about our future.” “Tim is the chairwoman’s son,” she reasoned. “He can’t have a stain like this on his record. You’re different. You’re new. It’s expected that you’ll have to take a few hits for the team.” “Chloe,” I cut in, my voice dangerously calm, “I suggest you think very carefully about what you’re doing.” I hung up before she could reply. Suddenly, Tim dumped a cup of ice water over my head. The ice-cold shock of it jolted through me, water sluicing down my hair and neck. He sneered, his face a mask of contempt. “You, with your degree from some third-rate university overseas. If it weren’t for Chloe, you’d be digging through trash cans for a living. The company asks you to do one small thing, and you drag your feet. Let me tell you something: if you don’t sign this today, and our partners come after us, my mother will hear about it. And when she does, no one will be able to protect you.” No one had ever dared to treat me with such disrespect. And to hear my Stanford MBA dismissed as a degree from a “third-rate university”… A hot surge of anger flooded my veins. I grabbed the mug of coffee on my desk, still steaming hot, and without a second’s hesitation, hurled its contents straight into Tim’s face. “Aaargh!” he shrieked, clutching his burning skin. The office erupted. Gasps filled the air as my colleagues stared, their whispers instantly buzzing. “Is that Chloe’s fiancé? The one who just got back? He’s got some nerve!” “Picking a fight with Tim on his first week? He’s toast. What an idiot.” “Oh, this is bad. This is really, really bad.” The sheer audacity of it all… If I didn’t know for a fact that my parents were deeply in love and had never spent more than twenty-four hours apart, I might have actually suspected Tim was my mother’s illegitimate son. But now that I was looking at him closely, his face scalded and contorted in pain, I felt a strange flicker of recognition. Tim frantically dabbed at his face with a tissue, his body trembling with rage. “Ethan! Are you insane? Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” “I know exactly what I’m doing,” I said, my voice like ice. “I’m teaching a lesson to someone who makes mistakes and then tries to run from the consequences.” “You—! Do you know who I am?” he screeched. I let out a cold laugh. “I don’t care who you are. To me, you’re nothing.” Just then, Chloe stormed in. The moment she saw Tim’s pathetic state, her face went pale. She didn’t even glance at me, rushing straight to his side, cupping his face in her hands as she examined him with frantic concern. “Tim, what happened? Are you okay?” She cooed at him with a tenderness I’d never once received. Even when I was sick with a fever, all I ever got from her was a terse “drink some water.” Tears welled in Tim’s eyes as he whined, “Chloe, my face… it hurts so much. I think he was trying to disfigure me…” He then buried his face in her shoulder, hugging her tightly. Chloe froze for a second, but then a flicker of something… pleasure?… crossed her face. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. They looked less like colleagues and more like lovers. She finally turned to me, her voice a furious shriek. “Ethan! Have you lost your mind? Apologize to Tim right now!” I didn’t move. I just stared at her. “He threw water on me first, Chloe. Why should I be the one to apologize?” Her fury intensified. She pointed a trembling finger at me. “You hurt him, and you have the audacity to say that? I must have been blind to ever fall for a vicious monster like you!” Vicious? A monster? It was clear then. In her mind, our relationship had become an inconvenience. A roadblock on her path to… whatever this was. In that moment, I felt a strange mix of relief and regret. Relief that I had never told her who I really was. When we were together, I’d only said my family was comfortably well-off, letting her believe I was just some generic trust-fund kid. It was that deception that allowed me to see her true colors. And regret? Regret that, before I left the country, I had recommended her to my mother for the manager position at this very subsidiary. I had vouched for her, telling my mother she was talented and trustworthy. The memory felt like a slap in the face. “In that case, Chloe,” I said calmly, “we’re done.” I stood up to leave, but she grabbed my arm, her eyes blazing. She snatched the settlement agreement from the desk. “Don’t you play these games with me, Ethan. You think I’m scared of you?” “You assaulted Tim. This isn’t over. And you’re not leaving this building until you sign this document!” The ice water from earlier must have seeped into my bones. A splitting headache was starting to build behind my eyes. I was too tired to argue anymore. I took the agreement from her hand. In the signature line at the bottom, I scrawled a name and tossed the paper back at her feet. Chloe was so stunned by my sudden compliance that she just stood there for a second, blinking. By the time she bent down to pick it up, I was already in the elevator. “Ethan!” I heard her enraged roar just as the doors began to close. “You signed Tim’s name! Get back here, you bastard!” The doors slid shut, sealing off her frantic screams. The family car was already waiting downstairs. I sank into the back seat, exhausted, and leaned my head back. “Home, Marcus,” I told the driver. Marcus Vance nodded, and the car pulled smoothly away from the curb. My head was still throbbing. I closed my eyes and, before I knew it, I was asleep. When I woke up, we weren’t at my house. We were parked in front of a five-star hotel. Marcus had worked for my family for thirty years. He was more than an employee; I thought of him as an uncle, a man I trusted so completely that I could fall asleep in his car without a second thought. But now, a cold dread coiled in my stomach. “Marcus?” I asked, my voice tight. “I said to go home. Why are we here?” He turned to look at me, and the respectful warmth he always wore was gone, replaced by a chilling malice. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, his voice flat. “But as an elder in this family, I feel it is my duty to teach you that a man must take responsibility for his mistakes.” Looking at his face, I finally understood why Tim had seemed so familiar. He was Marcus’s son. My hand shot toward the phone in my pocket, but Marcus was faster. He lunged, snatching it from my grasp. “Don’t bother, Young Master.” I stared at him, my mind racing. “Marcus, does my mother know about this? Do you really think you’ll get away with it?” He snorted. “The Chairwoman has been focused on overseas expansion for years. She barely sets foot in the country. You think she has time to worry about the petty squabbles of a subsidiary?” His eyes narrowed. “But you… you dared to hurt my son. For that, you will pay.” He opened the door and yanked me out of the car. I struggled, but Marcus’s strength was shocking. He was like a man made of iron. As he dragged me, I managed to discreetly press the emergency button on my watch. “What are you going to do?” I demanded, trying to buy time, to figure out a plan. But he wasn’t talking. He hauled me through the hotel lobby and shoved me into a private dining room. The air was thick with smoke. A bloated, greasy-looking man sat at the head of the table, with Chloe laughing and pouring him a drink at his side. Marcus bowed obsequiously to the man. “Mr. Cole, I’ve brought him as you requested.” Tim, his face still red but now plastered with a triumphant smirk, stood up and pointed at me. “Mr. Cole! This is the man who leaked the project data. I brought him here personally to apologize!” Mr. Cole. The name clicked. He was Richard Cole, the CEO of our biggest competitor, Stryker Industries. A man in his fifties with a reputation for… certain unsavory appetites. “Haha, well done, Tim. Very thoughtful of you.” Cole put down his glass and looked me up and down, his eyes lingering. “So this is the leaker? Not bad looking.” He rose and walked toward me. “Young man, do you have any idea how much money your little leak cost my company?” “When did I leak any data?” I shot back. Tim held up the settlement agreement. “Still playing dumb? Don’t forget, your signature is right here.” I glanced at it. It was the same document. But where I had clearly written “Tim Vance,” my name, “Ethan Kim,” was now printed in its place. “You forged this!” “Forged?” Chloe scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ethan. You signed it yourself. We have it on camera.” She was right. The office cameras would have caught the motion of me signing, but they wouldn’t have been able to see the name I’d actually written. “You see, Mr. Cole?” Tim added, pouring fuel on the fire. “He’s completely unrepentant. He even threw hot coffee on me back at the office. Arrogant prick.” Cole’s smile was predatory. “Well, young man, when you make a mistake, you have to face the consequences.” His gaze roamed over my body, making my skin crawl. “Mr. Kim is even more handsome in person than in the photos Chloe showed me,” he said, licking his lips. Chloe immediately chimed in, practically bowing. “Mr. Cole, Ethan is just young and foolish. He made a terrible mistake, but you’re a magnanimous man. Please don’t hold it against him. Why don’t we let him have a few drinks with you tonight, as a personal apology?” That bitch. She wasn’t just setting me up to take the fall. She was trying to serve me up on a platter to this disgusting old man. Cole picked up a glass and stepped in front of me. “Listen, pretty boy. Smart people know when to cooperate. You keep me… entertained… tonight, and we can renegotiate the terms of that compensation.” “In your dreams!” I shoved him away and made a break for the door. Two massive bodyguards immediately blocked my path. I turned back to Chloe, my voice raw with fury. “Chloe, are you even human? After three years together, you do this to me?” She laughed, a cold, ugly sound. “Feelings? Compared to my career, feelings are worthless. Besides, you’re the one who committed corporate espionage. Stop trying to shift the blame.” “I didn’t do it!” “The evidence says otherwise. Are you going to keep lying?” She gestured to the bodyguards. “Bring him here.” I fought with everything I had, but they were too strong, forcing me into a chair. “Chloe, you have to listen to me!” I yelled, my last desperate card. “Tim lied to you! I’m Seraphina Kim’s son! I’m the real heir! If you do this, my mother will destroy you!” The room went silent for a beat, then erupted in derisive laughter. Chloe patted my cheek like I was a misbehaving child. “You’re telling me the Chairwoman is your mother? Please. I see Tim getting picked up in her private car every day. Who else gets that kind of treatment besides her own son?” She stepped back, her face hardening. “You had your chance to do this the easy way. I guess you prefer the hard way.” She grabbed my chin, picked up a glass of liquor, and started pouring it down my throat. “Drink!” The cold liquid flooded my mouth. I thrashed my head, the alcohol spilling down my chin and soaking my shirt, but she didn’t stop. She grabbed another glass, and another. My mind grew foggy, my stomach churning violently. “Enough!” I screamed, shoving her away with the last of my strength. Undeterred, Chloe grabbed the entire bottle. “You won’t drink? Fine. We’ll pour.” She pried my mouth open. The liquor burned like fire down my throat. The world began to spin. Across the room, Mr. Cole watched, his eyes gleaming with a sick excitement. “Yes, yes. Much more interesting this way.” I had no strength left to fight. Chloe pulled a key card from her pocket and handed it to Cole. “Room 1208, Mr. Cole. All prepared for you.” “Haha, you’re a sharp one, Chloe,” he said, patting her shoulder. “You’ll go far.” Hands grabbed me under my arms, dragging me toward the door. I tried to scream, to struggle, but the alcohol had turned my limbs to lead. Despair washed over me like a black tide. And then—BOOM! The door to the room splintered inward, kicked off its hinges. A familiar voice, roaring with a fury I had never heard before, echoed through the room: “Bastards! You touch my son, you’re dead!”

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My girlfriend was just put on blast by a movie star in a tell-all post on Twitter. It came with a video. Her, on my arm, walking into a hotel and not leaving until the early hours of the morning. The post, from A-list heartthrob Aiden Vance, was a public breakup announcement: 【Yasmine, I never thought you were this kind of person.】 The evidence was undeniable. The topic started trending instantly. “Damn, Aiden Vance doesn’t pull punches!” “Wait, when did they even start dating?” “This is a shame, I was actually starting to ship them…” “Is anyone else wondering who the guy in the video is?” I put down my phone, the sheer absurdity of it all washing over me. Yasmine and I were childhood sweethearts. We’d been together for eight years. And now, Aiden Vance was her official boyfriend? So where does that leave me? 1 Less than twelve hours after Aiden’s post branded Yasmine a cheater, my personal information was doxxed and plastered all over the internet. Paparazzi camped outside my office building. My phone was flooded with an endless stream of harassing texts. The lies and vitriol wove a suffocating net around me, threatening to drown me. I hid in the office bathroom, calling Yasmine over and over. She never picked up. Desperate, I tried to set the record straight online. “So you’re saying Aiden Vance is the other man? Are you kidding me?” “Spoken like a true homewrecker. The nerve to come out and play the victim.” As a private citizen, my social media had no reach. The few comments I got were all from his fans, accusing me of trying to flip the script. The attacks intensified. Within a day, I had become the internet’s most hated “other man.” I took a deep breath, about to message HR to request time off, but a notification from them beat me to it: “Leo, your personal conduct has become a significant disruption to the company. Please take some time off to handle your private affairs before returning to work.” Just “take some time off”? I’d been in the corporate world long enough to know what that really meant. My phone buzzed again. “Don’t do anything. Wait for my people to pick you up.” It was Yasmine. My mind involuntarily replayed the details from Aiden’s post—the story of how they met, how they fell in love. A sharp pang of something cold and sharp pierced my heart. I stared at her text for a few seconds. I decided to trust her one last time. At the very least, I needed to hear an explanation from her, face to face. Escorted by a few of her staff, I was bundled into Yasmine’s private car. She wasn’t inside. Her manager, a woman with a perpetually cold expression, glanced at me. “You’ll be staying at a hotel we’ve arranged for a few days. Wait for Yasmine to contact you.” I didn’t answer, just watched the city blur past the window, my thumb unconsciously rubbing the watch on my wrist. “Yasmine has a watch just like that one,” her manager said suddenly. “You two have been together for almost eight years, haven’t you?” Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “Every Valentine’s Day, she’d custom order a matching pair from overseas. She really did care about you.” I froze, my mind drifting. There was a reason Yasmine and I both wore watches. Growing up, we were the neighborhood outcasts. Her mother had run off with another man, abandoning her. Her father was an alcoholic who beat her, once so badly she ended up in the hospital. As for me, I had no parents. I was raised by my grandfather, who suffered from dementia. Whenever the other kids pointed at me and jeered, “The psycho’s grandson is a psycho too!” Yasmine would be the one to step in front of me, her small fists flying. Driven by a desperate need to escape, we were the two smartest kids in the neighborhood, the ones who studied the hardest. One day, I was sick with a fever. My grandfather, making me porridge, forgot to turn off the gas stove. The kitchen caught fire. Luckily, Yasmine had come over to do homework and saw the smoke. She calmly ran for help, and they put the fire out. But not before both of our wrists were badly burned, leaving scars we’d carry forever. When we first got together, we were broke. But for our first Valentine’s Day, she used money she’d saved for months from a part-time job to buy us a pair of matching watches. That night, she’d rested her head on my shoulder, her warm, humid breath ghosting over my neck. “Leo,” she’d whispered, “I swear I’m going to give us a good life.” And she did. She was discovered by a casting agent, and her first TV show was a massive hit. She became a star overnight. Every Valentine’s Day after that, she’d give me a new watch to match hers. But this year, she didn’t. This year, she didn’t even spend Valentine’s Day with me. I had cooked a huge dinner and waited for her all night. Where was she? According to Aiden Vance’s post, Valentine’s Day was the wrap party for their show. While everyone else was celebrating, the two of them had slipped away. They’d walked the streets like a normal couple, gone to an amusement park. At the very top of the Ferris wheel, Yasmine, her face hidden by a mask, had leaned in and tentatively kissed him. He had pulled both their masks off and, smiling, kissed her back. I stayed in that hotel room for two days. I forced myself not to look at social media, not to contact anyone. On the third day, Yasmine finally showed up. The fever had returned. I was leaning against the doorframe, getting a glass of water, when I looked up and met her dark, intense eyes. She was thinner, which made her look even more fragile. Dressed in all black, she stood there like a statue carved from ice. I slumped against the door, feeling weak. It suddenly occurred to me that today was our eighth anniversary. Last year, on our seventh, Yasmine had a break from filming. We were supposed to go on a trip to the coast. But when we got to the airport, we were swarmed by paparazzi. In the ensuing chaos, it was another actor, who just happened to be there, who “saved” us. “Why is he at the airport with Yasmine?” “Didn’t he publicly confess his crush on her last month? Are they really together?” The reporters surged forward, shoving me out of the way to surround him and Yasmine, their camera flashes blinding. The other actor, a master at fanning the flames of shipping rumors, saw his chance. He smiled and said, “The show’s on hiatus. We’re just celebrating together.” When Yasmine didn’t object, he leaned in closer, a calculated gesture of intimacy. Yasmine looked up at him, a soft smile on her lips, her eyes so tender they looked like they were melting. The airport erupted in cheers. But then, she turned and looked in my direction, her eyes filled with apology. That night, the top trending topics were all about her and the other actor. And me? I wanted to post a gallery of our vacation photos, but I didn’t even dare to tag the location, terrified that someone would trace it back to me and cause problems for her. Later that night, she held me, her voice thick with guilt, her cheek pressed against my chest. “Just a little longer, Leo. I promise. Next year, on our anniversary, I’ll tell everyone that you’re my boyfriend.” My thoughts snapped back to the present. I was about to say something when her manager appeared from behind her and frisked me from head to toe. Only after confirming I wasn’t wearing a wire did she leave. “Were you afraid I was recording this?” Yasmine just smiled, as if nothing was wrong. “Leo, I’ve missed you.” I felt a strange, bitter laugh bubble up inside me. I was so confused. After that anniversary, I saw her less and less. She was always busy filming, doing press tours. I told myself I had to be understanding. One day, I was so lonely I posted a vague complaint on my private social media about wishing I had someone with me. I fell asleep on the couch and woke up to see her standing over me. She had seen my post and had taken the red-eye from the set just to be with me. When I opened the door and saw her, I was so happy I just started kissing her, messy and desperate. She laughed, her arms wrapping lightly around my neck. “I missed you too. Every part of me missed you.” By the end, I was clinging to her like a dying fish gasping for water. She had an early call time the next day and left before dawn. I stood in the empty apartment, watching her disappear down the street, feeling hollow. Then I noticed she’d left her suitcase. Inside, it was filled with all my favorite snacks. And at the very bottom was a photograph. An autographed picture of my favorite theater actor. I remembered reading a post from one of her fan accounts that she had turned down several jobs to study theater for three months. It had been for me. Even later, when the rumors about her and Aiden Vance were everywhere, I chose to believe her. I truly didn’t understand how we had ended up here. “That Twitter post. Aiden Vance. Aren’t you going to explain?” “Explain what?” “All those news articles saying you two fell in love on set. I never doubted you. You said it was just for publicity, and I believed you.” “But now?” “If you fell for him, you could have just told me. We could have broken up. Why did you have to lie to me?” My voice was rising. “Cheating on me behind my back with another man—was it a thrill? Did it make you feel powerful?” “Why would you put me in this position?” Yasmine just stared at me, silent. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through these past few days? Do you know what people are saying about me online?” My throat felt raw. The next words were poison on my tongue. “Yasmine, some of that ‘dirt’ on me… you were the one who leaked it, weren’t you?” Her expression hardened, but her voice remained calm. “Leo, it’s not what you think.” I looked at her, at a loss for words. This was the same Yasmine who would have fought anyone who said a single bad word about me. Now, faced with a torrent of vile abuse directed at me, she stood by and did nothing. Worse, she had added fuel to the fire. By throwing me to the wolves, her team had bought themselves enough time to handle the PR crisis. Looking at the woman in front of me, an overwhelming exhaustion washed over me. I didn’t want to fight anymore. “Yasmine, let’s break up.” “I don’t agree.” She grabbed my hand, reaching for my face. I jerked away. “About Aiden…” She paused, as if searching for the right words, and bit her lip in frustration. It took her a moment to continue. “After that fire when we were kids, I’ve always been afraid of explosions. There was a scene in the movie with pyrotechnics, and I just couldn’t get into character. He was the one who kept encouraging me.” “Our characters in the film had this incredibly intense, complicated relationship. I’ve never been so deep into a role before. I just… I couldn’t snap out of it.” She ran a hand through her hair, the frustration in her eyes deepening. I let out a hollow laugh. “So you’re saying you had a momentary lapse in judgment? That you never had any real feelings for him?” Yasmine was silent. I pressed on. “Did you sleep with him?” Her face went pale. “Valentine’s Day. I waited for you all night. I called you, and you didn’t answer. You were with him, weren’t you?” She looked at me, her lips moving, but no sound came out. Suddenly, a tickle in my throat exploded into a violent coughing fit. A cool hand touched my forehead. “You have a fever?” Yasmine’s brow furrowed. She pulled out her phone. “I’ll have someone bring you some medicine.” Seeing the faint trace of concern on her face just made me feel sicker. I turned away and dry-heaved. “Don’t pretend to care. It’s disgusting.” A shadow crossed her eyes. She stared at me for a few seconds, then grabbed my arms and pulled me onto the sofa. “Leo.” Her voice came from above me, the usual coolness in it now laced with something strange and chilling. “You promised you would never leave me, no matter what.” Her hands pressed against my chest, and she leaned in to kiss me. I put a hand up to stop her. “If you have any respect for me left, let me go.” Her body went rigid. After a moment, she pulled back. “I’m sorry.” The room fell silent. I looked at her. “I’m willing to have an amicable breakup. I won’t use any of our private information to add to this mess online. But you have to tell the truth. Clear my name.” She was silent for a moment, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I can’t.” “Leo, I’ve already released a statement. The public will lose interest in this soon enough. If you can just compromise one more time, once this all blows over—” “Compromise one more time?” I cut her off. “What does that mean?” Then it hit me. My hands felt numb as I opened Twitter, a platform I had been too afraid to look at for days. The top trending topic was Yasmine’s official response. “I apologize for taking up public resources. First, I want to apologize to everyone. Leo and I were previously in a relationship. Due to certain issues, we had to break up. Later, during filming, Aiden and I got together. When I ran into Leo again, I finally learned the real reason he had broken up with me. He suffers from a hereditary mental illness. The night of the video, he came to find me during an episode, mistakenly believing we were still together. It was dark, which led to a misunderstanding. I am deeply sorry I didn’t tell Aiden about this sooner. To Aiden, I am truly sorry. After coming to his senses, Leo also felt terrible about the situation and will be releasing a statement to clarify things.” I stared at the screen, my blood running cold. “So, the reason you came here today—” “Was to get me to confess to the whole world that I’m mentally ill? That I’m the crazy ex-boyfriend who’s harassing you?” Yasmine’s eyes darkened. “Leo, Vanessa will give you a script. Memorize it. She’ll record a video of you.” “After this is over, we can go back to how we were—” SLAP. The sound was sharp and loud. I had put every ounce of my strength into it. Yasmine’s head snapped to the side. The overhead light caught the corner of her mouth, where a bead of blood was starting to form. The silence stretched for a few seconds. Yasmine slowly turned her head back, her expression unreadable. She took my hand, a flicker of guilt in her eyes. “I’m sorry.” I didn’t pull away. I just looked down and asked softly, “Do you know what day it is?” She looked blank. “Last year, on our seventh anniversary, you promised me that on our next anniversary, you would tell the world that I am your boyfriend.” I let out a low, bitter laugh. “Today is our eighth anniversary. And you want me to tell the world that I’m a psycho.” The color drained from her face. A year. It’s not that long, but it’s not that short either. The bond we had built, brick by brick, over a lifetime of shared experiences—it only took one year to tear it all down and twist it into something unrecognizable. She knew. She knew how terrified I was of being called crazy because of my grandfather. She knew. Looking at her, it felt like I was seeing a stranger. “You’re so arrogant, Yasmine. You thought our eight years together, the fact that I loved you so much, meant I would forgive your betrayal. You thought I would sacrifice my dignity for you, admit to being a madman, and then just go back to being with you as if nothing happened.” “But why should I?” “The man I loved was the girl who defended me from bullies, the one who would fly across the country on a red-eye just to bring me snacks because I was feeling down, the one who only had eyes for me.” I looked at her, my voice steady and clear. “Not this person in front of me. This soulless, disgusting stranger.” Her grip on my hand tightened, a storm brewing in her eyes. Slowly, deliberately, I pulled my hand from hers. “Not only will I not record any video, but I will also find a reporter and tell them the truth.” “I’d advise you to think carefully about that.” It was her manager, Vanessa. She met my gaze and held up a phone. The screen was shattered. It was my phone. “Sorry about that. We couldn’t risk you not cooperating. We’ll buy you a new one, of course. But this one won’t have any chat logs on it.” Vanessa pulled a brand-new phone out of her bag and placed it in my hand. “If you want to expose her, you’ll need proof that you two never broke up last year.” She smiled. “While you were staying at the hotel, we took the liberty of removing any evidence from your apartment. All the gifts she gave you this past year, your ticket stubs from visiting her on set since January—all gone.” I looked at Yasmine in disbelief. She went pale and avoided my eyes. After a moment of silence, I spoke, my voice low. “I have backups.” Vanessa’s face fell. “Eight years together. I have backups of every chat log, every ticket stub. And they’re not on that phone.” I stared at Yasmine, my voice like ice. “My terms are the same. You go on Twitter, you explain everything, and you publicly apologize to me. It’s the last shred of dignity we can offer each other.” Yasmine suddenly laughed, a flash of mockery in her eyes. “Backups?” I took in her expression, and a wave of suffocating sadness washed over me. I turned to leave, pausing at the door. “You have two days to think about it.” I walked out of the hotel, my head burning, and hailed a cab to the hospital. Lying in a bed with an IV in my arm, I finally opened Twitter. I scrolled through the comments on Yasmine’s post. The top comment was from Aiden Vance: “Really?” Yasmine had replied: “Yes.” The second: “Okay, I admit I was a little harsh before. The way you’re still being so kind to your mentally ill ex proves you’re not a bad person.” The third: “Good thing they broke up. That psycho sounds scary.” The fourth: “So when is this Leo guy going to make his statement?” Yasmine had replied: “Soon.” I closed my phone and shut my eyes. The truth was, I didn’t have any backups. For eight years, I had trusted her completely. I loved her so much that I never even saved a clear photo of her on my phone. I rarely posted on social media, and when I did, it was just a picture of her hand reaching for mine, or her back from a distance. I never even dared to tag our location when we traveled. How could I have made backups? The only joke was, I really had saved our chat logs from this past year. I’d treasured them. This past year, I had felt her growing distant, her replies becoming more perfunctory. But I kept telling myself she was just busy. On Valentine’s Day, I’d created a private Twitter account, visible only to me, and filled it with screenshots of our few conversations from the past year, and the voice messages she’d sent. I would look at it whenever I missed her at night. I never imagined it would end up being my only weapon. I spent two days in the hospital on an IV drip. There was no update from Yasmine, no contact at all. In the bed next to me, an old woman was patiently feeding her sick grandson. I watched them, and my eyes stung. I suddenly missed my own grandfather. After I was discharged, I made two calls. First, to a leader of one of Yasmine’s fan clubs I’d met while visiting her on set. I got the contact information for a well-known journalist from her. Then, I called a cab to the nursing home. Three years ago, my grandfather had a sudden heart attack at home. I was at work, but Yasmine, who had just wrapped filming, happened to come home and got him to the hospital in time. The doctor said that with his age and his dementia, he needed round-the-clock care. I had been a wreck, but Yasmine had held me, gently patting my back. “I’ll find the best nursing home for him. I promise.” The old Yasmine had been so good to me, and to my grandfather. Before I completely cut ties with her, I wanted to see him. I walked down the familiar hallway to his room. The nurse on duty was surprised to see me. “Your girlfriend picked him up this morning. Weren’t you two going to get a family photo taken?” A roar filled my ears, and a chill shot up from my feet to the top of my head. I spun around and ran out of the nursing home, my hands shaking as I dialed Yasmine’s number. She picked up immediately. “Where are you?” I demanded. “Where did you take my grandfather? He’s confused, he doesn’t recognize anyone. Yasmine, what are you trying to do?” The background on her end was noisy, the faint sound of camera shutters clicking. “I’m at a press conference.” Her voice was low, sounding like it was coming from a great distance. I felt a wave of dizziness. “A press conference for what?” “I know you don’t have any backups.” A sigh came through the phone. “Leo, you love me too much. You would never back up our conversations.” A bitter taste filled my mouth. I practically spat the words out. “So what? What are you going to do to my grandfather?” “I won’t do anything to him,” she said, her voice trembling. “Leo, I had no other choice. If you won’t come out and clear things up, I have to let him do it for you. I taught him a few lines to say to the cameras. He has a good memory. He remembered them all.” Tears streamed down my face. I bit back a sob. “Yasmine, don’t make me hate you.” There was a pause on the other end. “Leo, I’ll protect him. Don’t worry.” … By the time I got to the hotel, the press conference had already started. I didn’t have a pass and was stopped at the door. On the big screens inside, the room was packed with media, cameras flashing as Aiden and Yasmine posed for photos. I hadn’t realized Aiden would be there too. From what I could overhear from the staff, Yasmine had three goals for this press conference. First, to have the “mentally ill ex-boyfriend” clear her name. Second, to officially announce her relationship with Aiden Vance. And third, to announce their next project together, a romantic comedy. In a daze, I saw a familiar, wrinkled face on the screen. He looked pale and lost. “Leo’s condition has worsened, so he is unfortunately unable to be here today. This is his grandfather,” Yasmine said, holding his arm and guiding a microphone to his lips. My grandfather looked helplessly at Yasmine, his eyes cloudy. He spoke haltingly. “Leo… is… is sick. He can’t come. He… he and Yasmine broke… broke up last year.” After forcing the words out, he shrank back behind Yasmine, as if the microphone were a monster. “He definitely doesn’t seem right in the head. That Leo guy must be…” “It’s so sad. The whole family is crazy.” Hearing the reporters’ whispers, my nails dug into my palms. I wanted to storm in there. “Leo?” A soft voice said my name. I turned to see an elegant woman in a cream-colored dress. I was momentarily taken aback. “I’m Julia, the journalist you spoke with. I can get you inside.” I quickly wiped my tears away with the back of my hand and nodded. The moment I stepped inside, I froze. Yasmine and Aiden were kissing. The entire room seemed to hold its breath. It was dead silent, except for the relentless flashing of cameras. Aiden’s eyes were closed, his hand slowly moving to her waist. Yasmine seemed to smile into the kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck to deepen it. Suddenly, a shout shattered the silence. “You can’t kiss him!” I whipped my head around, my breath catching in my throat. My grandfather was standing in a corner, his usually stooped figure now ramrod straight, his eyes red and filled with a childlike hurt. “Leo is your boyfriend! You two never broke up…” The room erupted. My grandfather, trying to get to them, rushed forward, tripped over a chair leg, and fell hard. The scene descended into chaos. Someone called the police, someone called an ambulance. The cameras kept flashing. “Grandpa…” I scrambled onto the ambulance, looking at my grandfather’s unconscious form. My head roared, and the blood in my veins turned to ice.

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For nine years, the heir to the Rhodes family fortune pretended he was poor. For me. He even had our son in on the secret, hiding the truth of their lives from me. When a voice in my head—a System, it called itself—told me I could finally leave this world, I thought it was the perfect ending. The heir would get the wife he was always meant to have, someone of equal standing. Our son would get a new mother he would adore. And I would get to go home. My real home. But a short time later, the System delivered a notification that made my blood run cold. “Host, they have been granted an opportunity to find you.” My question was sharp, immediate. “Did you give it to them?” “No,” the voice replied. “They begged for it.” 1 The world came back into focus with the sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic. I’d blacked out on the subway, a dizzying spell brought on by low blood sugar. Now, I was in a hospital bed. “Mom, why do you always have to make a scene?” Noah’s little face was pinched with an annoyance that was too big for his seven years. “Dad and I were about to go to the… the park.” The word “park” hung in the air, a clumsy lie. A wave of ice water washed over me, and the words I wanted to say froze in my throat. Noah crossed his arms over his chest. “You can get home by yourself later, right? Dad and I are busy.” I managed a numb nod. As soon as he left, I discharged myself. The exhaustion that settled deep in my bones felt more psychological than physical. I collapsed onto our small sofa, the worn springs groaning in protest. Suddenly, a strange, static buzz crackled in my mind. Bzzzt— Connection established. Host, I’ve finally found you. Before I could process it, a torrent of information flooded my thoughts. My apologies, Host. A critical error during transmission caused me to lose contact with you. Your original mission was to capture the heart of Ethan Rhodes, the heir to the Rhodes family fortune. “Ethan Rhodes?” I whispered to the empty room. The voice continued, oblivious. Well, what do you know? It seems you’re already well on your way! Your progress is at 89%, and you even have a child together. So, the man I had rescued from the street, the man I had built a life with, was an heir to one of the most powerful families in New York. 2 When I first arrived in this world, I had nothing. No memories, just five hundred dollars and a driver’s license in a name that felt like a stranger’s. To survive, I took any job I could find. I handed out flyers in Times Square, washed dishes in the greasy kitchens of late-night diners. I learned the city from its underbelly. I was working as an aide at an assisted living facility in Queens when I found him. He was unconscious in an alley behind the building, looking even more destitute than I was. Not a single dollar in his pockets. But his face, even bruised and pale, had a refined quality—the kind of bone structure that money creates over generations. A wild thought sparked in my mind: if I saved him, maybe this was my ticket out. My one-in-a-million shot at a different life. Because God, I was so tired of working three jobs just to stay afloat. But it didn’t play out like a fairytale. When he woke up, Ethan told me he was homeless, with no one to turn to. Maybe it was loneliness, or maybe I was just captivated by his movie-star looks. For reasons I couldn’t quite articulate, we ended up sharing my tiny studio apartment. Looking back now, I see it clearly. His entire life with me began with a lie. 3 Host, I can’t believe he’d keep this from you for nine years. He’s got to be the cheapest billionaire heir I’ve ever encountered, the System noted, its tone laced with digital sympathy. It was a good system. It just came nine years too late. I had no appetite to cook lunch. Instead, I ordered all my favorite takeout dishes from a place down the street, a small indulgence I rarely allowed myself. Our life together had been built on small things. The casual intimacy that grows between two people sharing a small space, a shared future. We’d split a single order of Pad Thai to save money, worn matching five-dollar t-shirts from a street vendor. I used to fantasize about the cozy, loving home we would build, a fortress against the world. Then, after one reckless, beautiful night, came Noah. There was no wedding. The simple silver bands we wore? I paid for them with my savings. Ethan held me tight that day, promising he would make it all up to me, that I just needed to wait a little longer. After Noah was born, our financial situation mysteriously improved. The cramped studio was replaced by a two-bedroom apartment. I assumed Ethan’s freelance graphic design work had finally taken off. He said he’d handle childcare so I could pick up more shifts at the restaurant, my nights and days blurring into a constant cycle of work. By the time Noah was three, Ethan was barely home. He was always taking our son on “outings,” but he was always vague about where they went. If I pressed, Noah would snap with a frustratingly adult impatience, “You wouldn’t get it, Mom.” He must have known by then. He must have known his father was a Rhodes. The family wouldn’t have let their heir’s son live in squalor. Noah had probably been welcomed into the fold years ago. And me? I was working weekends, killing myself to earn a little extra cash, my entire monthly salary probably not even enough to cover the cost of one of Ethan’s tailored shirts. The sound of the front door opening shattered my thoughts. It was Ethan and Noah. There was no concern on their faces, only surprise at finding me home so early. Seeing the takeout containers on the coffee table, Noah wrinkled his nose and tugged on Ethan’s pant leg. “I don’t want Mommy’s food. I already…” “Noah!” Ethan’s voice was sharp. He turned to me, his expression softening into a familiar, placating mask. “Mia, don’t worry so much about things like this. I’ll take care of him.” I remembered all the times Noah had thrown a tantrum at the dinner table, refusing to eat the food I’d made. Ethan would always play the part of the strict father, scolding him. I would then rush in to soothe Noah, who would be blinking back crocodile tears. I was so naive. I thought Ethan was defending my feelings. Now I realize he was just terrified our son would slip up and reveal the truth. Just like in the hospital this morning. Noah didn’t mean to say “park.” He meant to say “the office,” didn’t he? It was all there, all along. I just never let myself see it. I stood and began gathering the empty containers. “I have to get back to work. There’s a lot to do.” The moment the System told me Ethan was just a mission objective, a strange sense of relief washed over me. It meant my investment wasn’t a total loss. At least I’d get something out of this. I wouldn’t walk away with absolutely nothing. Ethan’s eyes narrowed, sensing the shift in my mood. “Noah and I will pick you up after your shift.” “Okay,” I said. 4 Host, do you want to exit this world? I can file a request for early mission completion. Due to our technical error, you’ll receive your full reward plus a compensation package. Of course, you can also choose to stay. I walked down the quiet street, thinking. “Why was I brought here in the first place?” You saved a drowning child in your original world. “What happened to her?” She’s in an orphanage. She’s physically fine, but her emotional state is… fragile at times. The afternoon sun filtered through the leaves of the oak trees, dappling the sidewalk in patterns of light and shadow. The breeze felt free. In that moment, for the first time in a long time, I felt like myself. Ethan was supposed to pick me up after work. I waited for over half an hour, but there was no sign of him. No reply to my texts. My legs started to ache from standing, so I decided to duck into the nearby high-end mall for a drink and a place to sit. The ground floor was a glittering expanse of luxury brands. As I passed a jewelry counter, a child’s voice, high and excited, cut through the quiet hum of the store. “Sloane, you look like a real princess with that on!” It was Noah. “You’re just saying that to be sweet,” a woman’s musical voice laughed. “What do you think, Ethan?” “It’s nice,” Ethan’s voice was smooth, casual. “Didn’t I just have a custom piece made for you last week?” “A girl can never have too many pretty things.” I saw them then. The woman was stunning, dressed in an elegant dress that clung to her frame, her aura bright and untouched by the grime of the world. Noah orbited her, his eyes shining with an adoration I hadn’t seen directed at me in years. When did he stop looking at me like that?

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My husband, Ryan, got back from a night of fishing and started putting on makeup. I screamed at him, shoving him into the bathroom and telling him to wash that crap off his face. But when I turned around, Ryan was standing right behind me. “Who were you just talking to?” he asked. 1 My soul just about left my body. I whipped my head back toward the bathroom. It was empty. Not a soul in sight. I’d heard stories before. Things about how people who fish at night can easily run into… something unclean. Had Ryan brought one of them home? He just smiled, his arms wrapping tightly around my waist, telling me not to be scared. But if his hands were on my waist… whose hands were these, cold and firm, closing around my neck? I thought I was going to lose my mind. Ryan did his best to soothe me, telling me it was all in my head. He promised that after dinner, he’d take me to a church, and we could get a blessing. Only then did I finally manage to catch my breath. 2 Just then, a message popped up on my phone. It was from Charlie, Ryan’s only fishing buddy. He was asking if anything strange had happened after Ryan got home. A chill shot straight down my spine. I quickly typed out everything that had just happened. Charlie’s reply came back instantly, frantic. It happened. I knew it. My heart leaped into my throat. Charlie told me that while they were fishing last night, Ryan’s phone had fallen into the river. But instead of sinking, it just floated there on the surface. He remembered hearing a story when he was a kid: if something falls in the water and doesn’t sink, it’s because something underneath is holding it up. The moment you reach for it, it’ll pull you down to take your place. But Ryan, worried about his expensive phone, reached for it anyway. Sure enough, something yanked him straight into the water. The weird part was, a moment later, Ryan swam back to the surface on his own. The real problem started after he got out of the water. Ryan never smokes, but that night, he bummed four or five cigarettes off Charlie, one after another. The way he held it, the way he inhaled… he looked like a man who’d been smoking for a decade. Charlie had just talked to a friend of his who knows about this stuff. He was certain Ryan had been possessed by something from the river. He said the only way to fix it was to take a piece of Ryan’s personal clothing, something he wears close to his skin, and burn it by the river where it happened. It would call Ryan’s soul back. He told me he was already on his way, almost at my apartment building. He said I needed to grab something and come downstairs immediately. And he gave me one last warning: whatever I did, don’t let Ryan know. And don’t believe a single word he says. I etched his words into my mind. 3 I bolted into the bedroom, grabbed a few pairs of Ryan’s boxers, and stuffed them into my purse. I was just about to make up an excuse—an emergency at work, something I had to run and deal with—when Ryan called out from the kitchen that dinner was ready. I hesitated. I had to make this look natural. Maybe I should just have a few bites. But the second I sat down at the table… Ryan looked at me, his expression unreadable. “Has Charlie contacted you?” My heart hammered against my ribs. I forced a laugh. “Charlie? Why would he contact me?” “Because he drowned last night,” Ryan said, his voice flat. “While we were fishing.” My world exploded. If Charlie was dead… who had I been texting? 4 I fought to keep my composure. This thing, whatever it was, knew Charlie would tell me the truth. So it was trying to discredit him first. I couldn’t fall for it. I feigned shock. “What? That’s horrible! Why didn’t you call the police?” Ryan sighed, a weary sound. “Charlie’s dead, but his body is still walking around.” I didn’t understand. He explained. Last night, it was Charlie’s phone that fell into the river. And just like Charlie had said, it floated strangely on the surface. Ryan, having written horror novels for years, knew immediately that something was wrong, that there was something sinister in the water. But Charlie, stubborn as always, didn’t believe in any of it. He reached for his phone, and a hand dragged him under. Ryan was about to call 911 when Charlie climbed back onto the bank. He thought everything was fine, but then Charlie grabbed him and tried to pull him into the water too. It took everything Ryan had to break free and escape. When he got home, he did some research. A young couple had drowned in that same river last year. According to the lore, if a spirit hasn’t been dead for three years, it can’t claim a replacement. So the male spirit had taken over Charlie’s body. The reason Charlie—the thing inside him—tried to pull Ryan into the water was so the female spirit could possess him. It just hadn’t expected Ryan to get away. “So it will come for you,” Ryan finished, his eyes dark with worry. “It knows I won’t fall for its tricks again, so you’re the next target. It will try to lure you to the river, so the other one can take you.” My blood ran cold. I quickly searched the local news on my phone. He was right. A couple had drowned there last year. “So… the you that came home and put on makeup… was that the female spirit?” Ryan nodded grimly. “It was probably looking for an opening.” A knot of fear tightened in my stomach. “An opening?” 5 “In the books I’ve read,” Ryan explained, “these water spirits need an opening—a fated connection—to possess someone. Charlie falling into the river was the male spirit’s opening. For the female spirit to find hers, she has to use the connection Charlie already has.” He looked at me. “Charlie doesn’t have a girlfriend. I’m his only close friend. So her opening is either me… or you.” Another shiver wracked my body. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” “If I had,” he said, his voice low, “it would be like handing her the opening on a silver platter. It would have put you in even more danger.” “So what do we do now?” I asked, my voice trembling. “A water spirit can only survive out of its element for three days. As long as we don’t leave the apartment for three days, they can’t touch us. Then we can find an expert to go to the river and perform a rite to send them on their way.” I finally let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. At least there was a plan. Everything, for now, had a logical, if terrifying, explanation. I was about to finally take a bite of food when a flash of color under the table caught my eye. My husband was wearing my black silk stockings. A new wave of panic crashed over me. What if he was the one possessed by the female spirit? And what if this dinner, right here, right now… was the opening she was waiting for? I couldn’t think about it. I had to get away. I had to contact Charlie—the real Charlie, or whatever was left of him—and figure this out. I pushed my chair back, mumbling an excuse about not having an appetite and needing to lie down. But just as I was about to close the bedroom door, Ryan was right behind me. “I’ll lie down with you for a bit.” My sanity finally snapped. 6 But strangely, as he lay beside me, he just held my hand, his grip firm. Was he trying to keep me from escaping? I didn’t dare move a muscle. After a few minutes, he started to snore softly. I took my chance, slowly, carefully, trying to slip my hand from his. Suddenly, his body jerked. He looked like he was having a nightmare, his face contorted in a struggle. He gasped, his voice a strangled whisper, “Honey! Don’t trust him! Don’t trust him!” My mind reeled. Don’t trust who? Charlie? Or him? But looking at the situation now, whether Charlie was a threat or not, something was definitely wrong with Ryan. My thoughts raced. I had to get out. Get out now. But as I sat up, Ryan’s expression smoothed over, returning to normal. “Where are you going?” he asked calmly. A chill seeped into my bones. “The bathroom,” I stammered. He didn’t say anything else. I rushed into the bathroom and locked the door behind me. My hands shook as I pulled out my phone and messaged Charlie. He replied instantly. I knew something was wrong when you didn’t come down. I called my friend, the expert. She’s on her way up to your floor right now. Just as I read the message, a sharp knock-knock echoed from the front door. My heart leaped. I burst out of the bathroom, ready to throw the door open. But Ryan was faster. He got to it first. My breath caught in my throat, my mind flooded with images of what was about to happen. But when the door opened, it was just a courier with a package. I was completely bewildered. Was Charlie lying to me? I peeked through the crack in the door, glancing down the hallway. Standing near the elevators was a woman in a long white dress, her dark hair hanging loose around her face. She was staring directly at our apartment. She didn’t look like any kind of spiritual expert I’d ever imagined. But maybe they had a different style these days. I tried to calm myself. Then Ryan slammed the door shut, his face pale with terror. “It’s over!” he whispered, his voice shaking. “That female ghost… she’s found us!” 7 My head felt like it was going to explode. From a purely visual standpoint, that woman did not look normal. But I was already sure something was wrong with my husband. That meant I couldn’t afford to think Charlie was the problem anymore. And if Charlie wasn’t the problem, then this woman wasn’t a problem either. Which meant the more afraid Ryan was of her, the safer she probably was for me. All I had to do was stay alert, find a chance to get out, and I would survive. But then, my husband opened the package from the courier. Inside was a small box of ritual supplies: powdered crimson and yellow parchment. He then went into his office and came back with a book titled A Compendium of Taoist Sigils. He meticulously copied a symbol from the book onto a piece of parchment, set it on fire, and let the ashes fall into a glass of water. He held it out to me. “Drink this.” I recoiled. “It’s a genuine Five Thunder Talisman,” he said urgently. “It’s for protection.” I was lost again. If Ryan was possessed by a ghost, why would he be able to draw a sacred Taoist symbol? And more importantly, why would he be foolish enough to use a talisman against a real-life spiritual master? Unless… unless Ryan was fine. Unless Charlie, realizing Ryan was protecting me, had brought the female ghost directly to our door to get to me. That had to be the logic. But then I remembered the stockings. I couldn’t get the image out of my head. Why would he be wearing my stockings? Ryan let out a heavy sigh. “If I can’t save you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “I was going to try and trick the spirit into taking my body instead.” My heart shattered into a million pieces. He was trying to sacrifice himself for me. And I had suspected him, thought he was the monster. I was a fool. Without another thought, I took the glass and drank the ashy water down. I would trust him completely. Ryan then drew another sigil. He explained his plan. “In a minute, that ghost is going to knock four times. When she does, I’ll open the door and slap this sigil right on her forehead. If that doesn’t stop her, you need to slap her across the face, as hard as you can. The combination of the two should be enough to completely destroy her.” I nodded, committing every word to memory. Just then, the door rattled. Knock. Knock. Knock. Three times. But… wasn’t it supposed to be four?

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