Category: English

Rich Blackwood’s younger brother was filming a reality dating show at the family estate. And as it turned out, Rich and I became the unwitting control group for this celebrity couple. At first, the internet mocked me. I was just the wallpaper wife, the bland backdrop to a glittering romance. My husband was distant, my mother-in-law impossible. But then… the comments started to change. Netizens began tagging the show’s producers: [@Showrunners We’re here for Rich and his wife! A million of us are begging you, give them more screen time!] [I live for squinting at the corners of the screen, just to catch a crumb of their sweetness!] [My blood sugar is crashing. I need a dose of the main couple, stat!] 1 Leo Blackwood’s love life was a whirlwind romance, the kind that lit up the gossip columns and trended on social media every other day. His girlfriend was Seraphina Vance, one of the most celebrated actresses of her generation. The infamous playboy was finally settling down. He’d spent a month wearing down his older brother, Rich, until he finally relented and agreed to let them film their new reality show at the historic Blackwood estate. Rich didn’t bother telling me until a week before the cameras were due to arrive. “It’s just for a few segments,” he said, his voice even. “If you don’t want to be on camera, we can move out for the duration of the shoot.” I was sprawled lazily across our bed, the smooth curve of my shoulder and neck a pale glimmer against the cascade of my dark hair. “Forget it,” I murmured. “Too much effort to move.” I’d been married to Rich for three years, and the estate had become my home. The thought of packing up and relocating, even temporarily, was exhausting. 2 The day filming began, I drifted downstairs in a sleepy haze, my eyes still heavy with sleep. Rich had already instructed the crew not to film me without permission. The ground floor was already buzzing with activity. Seraphina stood in the center of it all, a queen holding court, flanked by an entourage. She was already playing the part of the lady of the manor. She caught sight of me descending the grand staircase and, with a flourish of warmth, called out to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Gable, could you please prepare breakfast for my sister-in-law as well?” Mrs. Gable hesitated, her eyes flicking to me for confirmation. I let out a soft yawn and gave a slight nod. Only then did she signal to the kitchen staff. Leo, already at the dining table, greeted me with a cheerful, “Morning, Nora.” I blinked slowly, my mind still foggy. “Morning.” “Rich already left for the office?” he asked. “Hm? I guess so,” I replied, the uncertainty clear in my voice. After all, the man rose with the sun. Even a night of passionate reunion after a week apart couldn’t disrupt his clockwork precision. But that was Rich Blackwood for you. As the heir to the Blackwood fortune, he was the embodiment of discipline and self-control, forged from a lifetime of expectation. He never allowed himself to lose his composure. Even our intimacy was governed by a quiet, unspoken schedule. While I waited for my food, Seraphina suddenly glided over and sat beside me, looping her arm through mine with a practiced smile aimed at a nearby camera. “This is Nora’s first time on camera, so she might be a little shy,” she cooed to her audience. “I hope all my wonderful fans will be gentle with her!” She turned to me, her smile unwavering. “Don’t be nervous, Nora. My fans are the sweetest people.” And just like that, with no makeup and a thoroughly bewildered expression, I made my television debut. Seraphina kept one eye on the live comment feed, her lips curved in a saccharine smile as she cherry-picked questions to answer. “You think Nora looks familiar? Hmm, maybe it’s because she has one of those classic, relatable faces.” “You’re asking her age? Shhh! It’s not polite to ask a lady her age, you know.” After a few more carefully selected questions, she noticed the audience’s attention was still stubbornly fixed on me. With a slight huff, she shifted back to her original seat, trying to reclaim the spotlight. The live chat, however, was still on fire. [So that’s Leo’s sister-in-law? The wife of the Blackwood Corporation’s CEO?] [She really does look familiar! And not in a ‘relatable face’ way. I swear I’ve seen her on TV before!] [Is she trying to ride Sera’s coattails to get famous?] [Sera is too kind, letting her steal the spotlight for free.] [I’m only here for Seraphina! She’s so gorgeous!!!] [Sera is living the dream. A fiancé that handsome, that rich, and he adores her!] And me? I was a million miles away. Tired. I was just so profoundly tired. Rich had just returned from a week-long business trip. The ever-so-proper man had been possessed by a feverish energy the night before, determined to make up for a week of lost time. My body was still paying the price. 3 After breakfast, Leo disappeared into the study to handle some business. This left me vulnerable, and Seraphina, ever the enthusiast, seized the opportunity. She pulled me onto the sofa to help her choose a wedding dress. She and Leo were engaged, with the wedding just around the corner. “Nora, what do you think of this one? Isn’t it divine?” I glanced from her face to the glossy pages of the bridal catalogue. “It’s beautiful.” “And this one?” Another glance. “Also beautiful.” “Nora,” she began, flipping a page with feigned casualness, “I heard you and Rich never had a wedding ceremony.” I took a loud crunch of my apple. CRUNCH. A beat later, I replied, “We didn’t.” Seraphina gasped, her hand flying to her lips in theatrical shock. “Rich wouldn’t even give you a wedding?” I shook my head, offering a simple explanation. “I was the one who didn’t want one.” Our marriage was an arrangement between two powerful families, a merger of assets, not hearts. There were no feelings involved. Before we signed the papers, he had asked me, “When would you like to have the wedding? A church or a beach ceremony?” At the time, I held no grand illusions about our union. We were strangers who knew each other only by name. The thought of standing before a priest, exchanging rings and a kiss with a man I didn’t know… it was absurd. “Let’s just skip it,” I’d said without a second thought. “It feels pointless.” I remember how he’d watched me then, his gaze deep and unreadable. After a long silence, he’d simply agreed. Whenever anyone asked, he told them it was his decision not to have a ceremony, shouldering all the gossip and judgment himself. Seraphina seemed not to have heard me, lost in her own monologue. “Every woman dreams of her perfect wedding day,” she lamented, her voice dripping with sympathy for me. “How could Rich deny you that?” Seeing her pitying look, I decided it wasn’t worth explaining further. I just stayed silent. “Leo told me he’s going to give me the wedding of the century,” she went on, her tone a delicate blend of complaint and boast. “I told him not to be so extravagant, but he insisted. He said he would never give me a single reason to regret marrying him.” She sighed dramatically. “But all of these gowns are just so exquisite. I’m completely overwhelmed with choices!” It was a performance of blissful agony, and her fans online were eating it up. [Leo spoils her so much! Seraphina is the luckiest woman alive.] [This is what I’m here for! Sera and Leo are so sweet, it’s giving me a toothache.] [Talk about a reality check. Look at Nora’s face, she’s totally sour.] [Can you blame her? Her marriage is just a business deal. I bet Rich was the one who refused to have a wedding.] “Nora, my head is spinning,” Seraphina said, pushing the catalogue towards me. “Why don’t you pick one for me?” I idly flipped through a few pages, then pointed to a design. “This one’s very elegant.” Seraphina gave it a dismissive glance. “The waistline isn’t very flattering.” She snapped the book shut. “Oh, never mind. I’ll just have Leo help me choose later. He has impeccable taste.” 4 After wedding dresses came the rings. “Nora, didn’t Rich get you a wedding ring?” Seraphina asked, her eyes fixed on my left hand. On my ring finger sat a simple, unadorned band. The sigil etched into it was strange, almost like something you’d find in a two-dollar trinket shop. “He did.” I glanced down at the ring. The day we got our marriage license, I’d found two boxes on the nightstand. One held a diamond ring so large and brilliant it was blinding. The other held this one. Rich had asked which one I preferred. While I found this one a bit ugly, the diamond was so enormous it felt impractical for daily life. Without much thought, I’d chosen the simple band. “That’s it? Did he buy it from a corner store? Haha,” she laughed, a little too loudly. “Oh, Nora, you know me, I’m always joking. Don’t take it personally.” She stuck her tongue out playfully for the camera. Then, she held up her own slender hand, showcasing the massive diamond sparkling on her middle finger—her engagement ring from Leo. She waved it around. “I told Leo not to be so extravagant. A diamond this big is just heavy, and it gets in the way. But he wouldn’t listen, he’s just so stubborn.” She sighed again, a picture of put-upon adoration. “And just the other day, he told me I have to pick a wedding ring that’s even bigger than this one.” “Nora, you have to help me choose.” “Of course,” I said. I had nothing better to do, so I started flipping through the catalogue of rings. Just then, Leo finished his work and emerged from the study. He wrapped his arms around Seraphina’s shoulders, planting a kiss on her cheek. “How’s the ring shopping going, my love?” Seraphina blushed prettily. “Nora and I were just looking.” Then, she changed the subject. “Leo, your brother is really something else. He couldn’t even be bothered to buy Nora a proper ring.” “Why don’t we buy one for her?” she suggested, her voice full of magnanimous concern. “It would be like we’re making up for Rich’s oversight.” She must have expected him to agree immediately, to praise her thoughtfulness. Instead, Leo’s eyes flicked to my hand, and a bemused smile touched his lips. “Sera, honey, you shouldn’t underestimate that ring,” he said casually. “That’s not just any piece of jewelry. That’s the Blackwood family signet, passed down through generations. It marks the matriarch of the family.” He leaned in, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “As long as she wears that ring, seeing her is the same as seeing my brother. She could walk anywhere in this city and command respect.” The words hung in the air. Seraphina’s perfect smile vanished. For the first time, she looked genuinely stunned. Her gaze snapped back to my ring, now filled with a mixture of disbelief, assessment, and a raw, unconcealed longing. I froze. This ugly little ring meant that? Why hadn’t Rich told me? I thought it was just a simple, lightweight band. That’s the only reason I’d been wearing it all this time. [WHOA. I knew that ring was special! If you look closely, that symbol on it is the Blackwood family crest!] [I thought Rich didn’t care about her, but he gave her the ultimate symbol of power!] [Don’t worry, Sera, you’ll get one too when you marry Leo.] [Probably not. There’s only one matriarch. Unless something happens to Rich and Leo takes over the family business.] [Why shouldn’t Sera get one?! Just because Leo is the younger brother, she can’t be the matriarch and wear the ring?!] [Rich is supposed to dislike Nora, right? So why would he give it to her?] [She’s his wife, and he’s the heir. Who else would he give it to, you?] The online chat exploded into a fierce debate over the ring. Seraphina was seething with jealousy, her eyes glued to my hand. It took Leo prompting her—”Sera, what’s wrong?”—for her to finally tear her gaze away. She quickly grabbed Leo and pulled him to the other end of the sofa to look at rings, far away from me. 5 That evening, I found Rich in his study. He’d come home late, but instead of being buried in work as usual, he was watching something on his tablet. A closer look revealed it was a recording of our reality show from earlier that day. “Come here,” he said, patting his lap. I went over without a word and settled onto his lap as he wrapped an arm around my waist. It was a familiar routine. Our first year of marriage had been spent as polite strangers. He was always traveling for work, and I was busy with my own career. We barely saw each other. Then came New Year’s Eve. I was at the estate with his parents, watching the televised countdown. Outside the large French windows, fireworks exploded in silent, brilliant bursts against the night sky. In the flickering light, I heard a sound from the foyer. I turned to look. It was Rich. He was standing there in a long, black overcoat, a suitcase at his feet. His mother had said he wouldn’t be back until after the holiday. With his parents watching, a strange impulse took over me. I walked over, took his coat from him, and hung it up. When I turned back, I froze. I’d surprised myself. He looked just as surprised. From that day on, something shifted. Rich’s pace slowed. He stopped living out of a suitcase. And slowly, steadily, we settled into the quiet, comfortable rhythm of married life. Now, sitting on his lap felt as natural as breathing. “You never told me this ring was so important,” I said, slipping the band off my finger. I held it up to the porcelain-white light of the lamp, squinting at the tiny, intricate crest. He’d given it to me so casually. I’d worn it just as casually. I had no idea this unassuming little thing carried so much weight. Rich took my hand, gently taking the ring from me and sliding it back onto my finger. “It was never important on its own,” he said, his eyes fixed on my hand as he toyed with my fingers. “It’s only important because it’s on yours.” 6 To show their enthusiastic support for their future daughter-in-law, Rich’s parents made a special trip back to the estate for a family dinner, despite their chaotic schedules. Faced with a house full of cameras, they were understandably a little stiff, but they did their best to act naturally. For once, Rich was home from work on time. As he was taking off his shoes in the foyer, the camera crew, ever the opportunists, pretended to pan across the room, letting the lens linger on him for a split second before darting away. It was only a second, but it was enough to send the online audience into a frenzy. [IS THAT RICH?! OH MY GOD! THE LEGEND FINALLY SHOWS HIS FACE! HE’S GORGEOUS!] [He’s just as handsome as Leo, maybe even more so with that powerful aura he has!] [Nora is living the good life. With a husband like that, who cares about a wedding? I’d marry him in a heartbeat!] That one-second glimpse of Rich sent a new wave of viewers flooding into the livestream. At the dinner table, Seraphina was the perfect prospective bride, charming and sweet, and the atmosphere was pleasant. As the conversation flowed, Rich’s mother turned her gaze to me. Noticing my constant yawning, her eyes drifted down to my stomach. “Still no news from you two?” she asked pointedly. [Here we go. The classic ‘heir-pressure’ scene in every wealthy family drama.] [You can tell his mom doesn’t like Nora. The first thing she does is ask about a baby.] [She’s so calculating. She’s probably saying it for Seraphina’s benefit, a little warning shot.] I shot a look at Rich. He was eating quietly, pretending not to have heard a thing. “Mom,” I said, a sly smile playing on my lips. “You’ll have to ask him about that.” I passed the buck squarely to him, giving him a meaningful stare. His mother’s attention shifted to her eldest son, waiting for his answer. Rich met my gaze, his expression calm. Then, he announced to the table, “We’re working on it. We’re aiming for two in three years.” Excuse me? Under the table, I reached over and pinched his thigh. It was solid muscle, hard to get a good grip. I mouthed at him silently: What the hell are you talking about? Didn’t we agree I could have kids whenever I wanted? He captured my hand under the table, his warm palm easily enveloping mine. I tried to pull away, but his grip was firm. I shot him another angry glare. Rich just smiled, a faint, teasing light in his eyes, and mouthed back: Behave. His mother watched our silent, flirtatious battle, and a slow smile spread across her face. She slid a gold credit card across the table towards me. “Nora, dear, you’ve been putting up with a lot lately. Take this and buy yourself something nice. If it’s not enough, just ask for more.” I hadn’t even finished spending the money on the last card she gave me. That one had a seven-figure limit. This one was probably even more. Seraphina’s eyes widened with envy as she stared at the card lying casually on the table. But she wasn’t officially a Blackwood yet, not Mrs. Leo Blackwood, so she couldn’t very well ask for one herself. She forced a bright smile. “Nora, Mrs. Blackwood is so good to you. She treats you just like her own daughter.” Rich’s mother beamed with pride. “Of course she is. Having Nora marry into our family was the best thing that could have happened to us.” Seraphina’s smile faltered for a moment. His mother, sensing the shift, quickly added, “Of course, you’re wonderful too, Seraphina.” Leo jumped in to smooth things over. “Don’t worry, Sera. My mom is very generous. She treats everyone equally. Whatever Nora has, you’ll have too.” Only then did Seraphina’s smile become genuine again. “Thank you, Mrs. Blackwood.” “Thank you, Mom,” I said, cheerfully pocketing the card. My personal slush fund was overflowing again. I was so pleased that I even ate the piece of carrot Rich had placed in my bowl—a vegetable I despised. Seeing this, he promptly placed another serving of carrots in my bowl. I glanced at him, but he was completely composed, focusing intently on his meal. I pouted and pushed the offending vegetable to the side. [I love this mother-in-law. When in doubt, just throw money at the problem. Sign me up.] [Guys, I think… I think I’m starting to ship Nora and Rich!] [Scavenging for crumbs in the corner of the frame again!] [This? You call this shipping material? You’re desperate. Go watch Sera and Leo, they’re the real deal.] 7 After dinner, my in-laws left for another social engagement. The Blackwood brothers disappeared into the study to talk business. Once again, it was just me and Seraphina downstairs. I was about to head up to my room and give her the space, but she caught my arm. Seraphina was the brand ambassador for a major domestic luxury label. Recently, the brand had organized a high-profile charity fundraiser, and as the face of the company, she was expected to make a significant opening donation. But she clearly didn’t want to be the only one writing a big check. While nibbling on a post-dinner pastry, she casually brought it up. “Nora, would you be interested in donating as well?” As she explained the cause, I quietly pulled out my phone and messaged my assistant, asking her to verify the legitimacy of the charity project. Seeing my silence, Seraphina pressed on. “Of course, it’s fine if you’d rather not. It’s just, my heart breaks for those poor children in the mountains. They don’t have enough to eat or warm clothes to wear. Donating a little something is the least we can do.” She paused, as if calculating. “I saw some of the other celebrities pledged fifty thousand… so I was thinking, maybe I’ll donate one hundred…” Her sentence was cut short by my response. “I’ll donate one million.” My assistant had just replied, confirming the project was legitimate. Seraphina stared at me, speechless. “The money will come from me,” I continued, “but please put it under my mother-in-law’s name. By the way, how much did you say you were donating?” A moment ago, Seraphina had been preening, proud of her intended six-figure donation. After all, not many celebrities could afford to part with that kind of money. She was only offering that much because she was on camera and didn’t want to appear cheap. But I had just raised the stakes to a million. In front of millions of viewers, she couldn’t afford to back down.

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Everyone knew Donovan Blackwood, the king of Manhattan real estate, was devoted to his wife. The day she died in a car crash, his hair turned white overnight. From that day on, a darkness settled in him, a violent temper that drove a wedge between him and his son until they were like strangers living in the same gilded cage. Eventually, Donovan relented. He would find a stepmother for his son. And somehow, I was one of the candidates. For the culinary test, the others presented gourmet dishes. I served a greasy chili dog from a street cart on 53rd. For the talent portion, they played concertos and recited poetry. I performed a strange, modern dance routine I made up on the spot. For the test of their knowledge of Donovan Blackwood, the others sang his praises, listing his accolades and business triumphs. I leaned in close and whispered, “Mr. Blackwood, you have a mole on your left ass cheek.” Donovan went silent. That night, I was the one who was told to stay. He pressed a gun to my temple, his expression as cold and hard as the steel. “Tell me who sent you.” I dropped to my knees, my eyes darting to the empty space beside him. There, a ghost who’d been dead for ten years was flying around in a panic. “This doesn’t make any sense,” she wailed. “Everything I told you was right!” Bullshit. She also told me her husband was a big softie under that cold exterior. 1 The moment the muzzle of the gun pressed against my temple, I’ll admit it: I was terrified. “Wait!” I knelt on the plush rug, all my pride gone. “Mr. Blackwood, you’ve got this all wrong.” Donovan tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. The wrist of his gun hand twitched, and the cold metal kissed my skin with more pressure. “Wrong?” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “I clawed my way to the top of this city, Sloane. Do you really think I’m some fool you can play games with?” I nervously wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead, daring to meet his gaze. His features were sharp, chiseled, a face that belonged on a magazine cover but was terrifying up close. At forty, he held New York in the palm of his hand. He was right. No one could fool this man. He paused, then suddenly pulled the gun away. He retrieved a cigarette from a silver case on the table and lit it with a casual flick of a lighter. He took a long drag, the smoke curling from his lips as he exhaled, his gaze distant. “You knew the first thing Eleanor and I ever ate together. You knew her favorite way to exercise. And you knew…” his voice hardened, “…that. It must have taken a lot of work to dig all that up.” He locked his eyes on me. “You have three minutes to tell me everything. Otherwise, I have countless ways to make you talk.” My heart hammered against my ribs. This man was far more dangerous than I had imagined. Deep, gut-wrenching regret washed over me for ever taking this job. My eyes flickered again to the empty space beside him. Donovan couldn’t see her, but the ghost of his dead wife was spinning in frantic circles. She kept muttering to herself. “It shouldn’t be like this, what happened?” “I swear, everything I told you was right! Donovan loved those chili dogs, and he always said my dancing was beautiful…” “What went wrong?” The problem, lady, is that a normal person wouldn’t know about the mole on his left ass cheek! It was my own damn fault for not thinking it through, for just repeating everything she told me. The second the words left my mouth, I knew I’d screwed up. The ghost, Eleanor, floated over to me, offering a weak, apologetic smile. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll think of something. He’s probably just trying to scare you.” Scare me? I glanced over. Donovan was calmly loading a fresh clip into the handgun. Thump. I scrambled forward and wrapped my arms around his leg. “Mr. Blackwood,” I blurted out, “I have a secret.” 2 I have a secret. I’ve been able to see ghosts since I was a child. After a long and exhausting journey through terror, fear, breakdowns, and despair, I finally came to terms with it. I learned to just ignore them, to look right through them as if they weren’t there. That is, until a month ago, when the ghost named Eleanor found me and wouldn’t leave me alone. “Honey, you can see me? Oh, thank God! Can you do me a favor?” “Why aren’t you answering me? Hello? Helloooo?” “Please, you’re the only one who can help me. I’ll give you ten million dollars if you help me.” That’s when I stopped pretending. I turned to face her. “How much!?” “Ten million dollars!” Seeing my resolve crumble, Eleanor floated closer, her voice a seductive whisper. “It’s a small favor, really. I just need you to check on my husband and my son. Since I died, their relationship has completely fallen apart. They’re like enemies. You just have to go to my house and do a few little things for me.” I was hesitant. She pressed on. “My husband is a good man. He looks cold, but he’s kind and gentle, and he’s a total pushover once you get to know him.” “Don’t be scared, sweetie. I’ll be right there with you.” “Before I died, I stashed away a debit card. It was my secret little slush fund. If you agree to help me, the card is yours!” “It has ten million, seven hundred twenty-two thousand, four hundred and eleven dollars on it!” Damn. She had it down to the dollar. It had to be real. I was tempted. Insanely tempted. I’m the “other” daughter of the wealthy Peterson family. And while I have the name, I’m treated worse than the maids. I’m the product of an affair, a stain on the family’s reputation that everyone wishes would just disappear. I was desperate to get away from them, to leave the country and go to college, but that required money. Lots of it. After weighing my options, I gritted my teeth and agreed. 3 And now, I was regretting it. Deeply. I clung to Donovan Blackwood’s leg. “Mr. Blackwood, the truth is… your wife has been visiting me in my dreams.” It was better than saying I could see ghosts. Both were insane, but the dream angle was slightly more palatable. Donovan froze, his gaze dropping to the top of my head as he processed my words. Just as I was about to breathe a sigh of relief, his hand shot out and clamped around my throat. “You’re a liar,” he rasped, his voice raw. “If she could visit someone’s dreams, why wouldn’t she come to mine?” His grip was crushing. Air refused to enter my lungs. My face flushed, dark spots dancing in my vision. Eleanor shrieked, zipping around us in a panic. “What do I do? Donovan was never like this!” I clawed at his hand, forcing the words out one by one. “Because… she’s… still… angry… with… you.” Donovan’s pupils contracted. His hand went slack. He stared at me, either not hearing me or not believing what he heard. “What did you say?” I collapsed to the floor, coughing violently until I could breathe again. I looked up at him, my voice hoarse, and repeated, “Because she’s still angry with you.” “You know exactly how she died, don’t you? You had a fight. She stormed out to get away from you, and she walked right into the path of that car.” “If you had just let her win that one argument, she might still be alive.” “Mr. Blackwood, your wife blames you. That’s why she won’t come to you in your dreams.” The cold, hard mask on Donovan’s face cracked. His expression shifted into a complex storm of doubt, regret, and soul-crushing guilt. The veins on the hand holding the gun bulged, his breathing ragged. I was terrified. I scooted back, praying he wouldn’t accidentally pull the trigger. He stood there like a statue for several minutes before his entire body seemed to deflate. The rigid posture that defined him slumped. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I deserve this,” he muttered to himself. Then, looking like a ghost himself, he turned and left the room. I heard the housekeeper ask, “Sir, what should we do with the young lady?” “Find a guest room. Let her stay.” “Very good, sir.” 4 Lying on the impossibly soft bed in the guest room, I was still trembling from my near-death experience. Eleanor, however, was muttering beside me. “But I don’t blame him. He looks so sad. It makes me sad, too.” I shot up, exasperated. “Lady, if I hadn’t said that, I’d be dead right now!” “I know, I know, I’m not blaming you. It’s just… it makes me sad.” “…” Right. I reminded myself that the longer a ghost sticks around, the fuzzier their thinking gets. I could forgive her for being a little scrambled. I ignored her and tried to sleep, but the fear was still thrumming through me. After a while, I saw her, a lonely, translucent figure perched on the windowsill. I felt a pang of pity. “Hey,” I said, breaking the silence. “You never told me. What were you and Donovan fighting about that night?” Eleanor paused, her form drooping with sadness. “It was because…” BANG! A loud crash echoed from downstairs. The sound of the front door being slammed open. It was followed by a raw, teenage voice, spitting the foulest words. “Donovan Blackwood! You bring another woman into this house? How dare you! Do you have any respect for my mother?!” “Come out! Or are you too much of a coward?” “Donovan! You gutless bastard!” Ah. The little demon of the Blackwood family was home. Eleanor had told me that when she died, her son was only seven. Now, ten years later, he was seventeen and in the throes of a brutal rebellious phase. It was common knowledge throughout New York that the Blackwood father and son were at war. As I was processing this, a frantic pounding of feet charged up the stairs. It stopped right outside my door, followed by a series of violent kicks. “Is the woman in here? Get the hell out!” The housekeeper’s voice was strained. “Young master, please! The person inside is a guest.” “Guest, my ass! She’s the little bitch Donovan brought home.” Hey! Who is he calling a little bitch? That did it. I shot out of bed, marched to the door, and yanked it open. I glared at the boy in front of me. “What do you want?” We stared at each other for a few seconds, and it struck me how much he looked like his father. The same nose, the same mouth, practically stamped from the same mold. But his eyes were Eleanor’s, softer and warmer around the edges. Not that his handsome face excused his rotten behavior. Liam Blackwood gave me a dismissive, head-to-toe scan. He sneered. “Someone like you thinks you can set foot in my house? Get lost.” I was so angry my organs started to ache. Eleanor floated over. “Oh, my baby boy is so big now,” she cooed. “Isn’t he just the cutest?” I rolled my eyes. Before I could think a sarcastic thought, I heard her next whisper. “Sweetie, slap him.” I froze for a second, then a grin spread across my face. My hand flew up and connected squarely with Liam’s handsome cheek. SMACK. His head snapped to the side. He was completely stunned. Then, his eyes widened in disbelief as he turned back to me. “You… you hit me?!” The housekeeper looked horrified. “Miss Sloane, you may be a guest, but striking the young master is highly inappropriate!” “You fucking hit me!” Liam exploded, lunging at me like a wild animal, his face contorted with rage as if he wanted to tear me apart. The housekeeper, fearing it would get worse, threw his arms around Liam’s waist. “Young master, please calm down!” I stumbled back a few steps. I looked at Eleanor and whispered, “Okay, now what?” Eleanor blinked. “Huh?” I scowled. “After the slap, what was the plan? You didn’t think that far ahead, did you?” The ghost just stared at me with a blank expression. I almost fainted. I’d been tricked again. The commotion was loud enough to finally draw Donovan out. “What is going on here?” The moment his voice cut through the air, Liam stopped struggling. He shrugged off the housekeeper, his eyes red as he turned to face his father. Well, his eyes were red, and so was half of his face. Donovan saw the red handprint and his expression darkened instantly. Liam’s voice was laced with hatred. “You’re a real piece of work, Donovan. Mom’s death anniversary is in two days, and you pick now to bring this woman home and let her hit me… Aren’t you afraid of my mother watching you from the great beyond?” Donovan’s gaze shot to me like a dagger. “You hit him?” “Who gave you the nerve?!” Liam scoffed. “Why are you pretending? As if she would have dared to touch me without your permission.” All three of them—the father, the son, and the housekeeper—were now staring at me. I blinked a few times, then dramatically crumpled to the floor. “Oh, what happened? I think… I think I was dreaming. Wasn’t I just sleeping? Why am I on the floor?” I looked around in feigned confusion. “Why are you all here? And you, handsome, what happened to your face? It’s all red.” Liam looked at me with disgust. “What the hell are you playing at?” I shook my head, looking lost, then my eyes lit up. I scrambled to my feet and rushed to Donovan’s side. “Mr. Blackwood, I dreamed about your wife again.” Donovan’s eyes were cold. It was clear he didn’t believe me anymore. I swallowed hard and kept bluffing. “It’s true.” I pointed to the windowsill. “In the dream, she was leaning on the sill, looking at the flowers. She said the climbing rose in the yard was a gift for the young master, that she planted it herself for his fifth birthday.” “She looked so sad. She said her son was going down the wrong path, and she wished she could do something to guide him. She even asked if she could… borrow my body for a little while. It scared me so much that I woke up.” “Master Liam, did I really hit you? Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I think I was possessed…” As the words tumbled out, the three men in front of me froze. Donovan instinctively looked at the housekeeper. The housekeeper immediately said, “Sir, I never said a word about the rose bush.” But Liam was the one who became agitated, focusing on the wrong detail. “What are you talking about? How do you know about the roses? Who told you?!” He paused, his gaze snapping to his father. “You told her? What right do you have to talk about my mother?” “Donovan, my mother must have been blind to ever fall in love with you!” SMACK. Now his right cheek was red, too. His father had hit him. The atmosphere turned to ice. Even Eleanor stopped drifting and stared blankly at her son. Liam touched his face, a twisted, humorless smile spreading across his lips. The look he gave his father was terrifying. He seemed completely unhinged. He shoved the housekeeper aside and stormed downstairs. “Sir, it’s raining outside! The young master is furious. If he goes out like this, something could happen!” “You go find him!” The housekeeper hesitated. “Sir, if you don’t go, I’m afraid we won’t be able to bring him back. You know his temper. What if he gets hurt…?” Donovan closed his eyes, his chest heaving. Before he left with the housekeeper, he gave me one last, unreadable look. I immediately bowed my head. “I’ll be good and stay right here. Don’t you worry, Mr. Blackwood.” 5 This was a house of lunatics. This father and son were both completely insane. This place was dangerous. I had to leave. In a matter of seconds, I made up my mind. I turned to Eleanor. “What exactly is this favor you need? Tell me now. I’ll do it, and then I’m out of here.” Eleanor’s expression was melancholic. She sat on the windowsill, gazing down at the roses in the yard. The rain was battering the delicate petals, making them look pitiful. “I wanted you to help them mend their relationship…” What? An abstract favor like that? No way I could pull that off. I was about to refuse when she continued, “But I never realized things had gotten this bad between them. Asking you to do this now… it’s too much.” Good, she understood. “So, you…” “I don’t know,” Eleanor said, her voice faint. “I’m lost, too. I don’t know what we can do anymore.” I fell back onto the bed with a sigh. Whatever. I’d just take it one step at a time. I was starting to realize I was stuck with a thoroughly unreliable ghost. That ten million dollars wasn’t going to be easy money. Since I couldn’t sleep, I tried talking to her again. “You still haven’t told me why you and Donovan were fighting that night.” Eleanor floated over and lay down beside me on the bed. A wave of cold washed over me, but I wasn’t scared. I was ready for the gossip. Her pale, thin lips parted. “I… I don’t remember.” “…” You wasted my emotional energy. Time for sleep. I wasn’t too mad about not getting the story. I knew this was how it worked for ghosts. The longer they wandered the earth, the more their memories faded. The first things to go were always the moments surrounding their death. “I’m sorry, sweetie. You should get some rest.” Eleanor didn’t need to sleep. Bored, she floated out of the room to explore. A few minutes later, she was back. Seeing that I was still awake, she knelt by my bed and began to hum a soft melody. I stilled. “What song is that?” “Oh, just something I made up. I used to sing it to Liam to help him sleep. Is it bothering you?” “No.” I buried my face in the pillow. “It’s beautiful. Can you sing it again?” “Of course.” I grew up in an orphanage and was only recently taken in by the Petersons, where I was treated with nothing but contempt. Being sung to sleep was a luxury I’d never known. To think that the first time would be at the hands of a stranger, a ghost… it was a strange feeling. As Eleanor’s gentle voice washed over me, I finally drifted off to sleep. 6 I didn’t see Donovan again after that night. The housekeeper said he was away on a business trip. Fine by me. I was happy to have the place to myself. I spent two days doing nothing but eating and sleeping. On Monday evening, the housekeeper knocked on my door. “Miss Sloane, the master has instructed that while he is away, you are to pick up the young master from school.” I sighed. “…Fine, I’ll go.” Mainly because Eleanor was staring at me with those big, pleading puppy-dog eyes. I couldn’t say no. On the way to the school, she chattered nonstop in my ear. “Liam used to be such a sweet boy, really!” “I used to pick him up every day. He’d give me a huge hug before going inside and tell me he loved me.” To avoid suspicion from the driver, I didn’t respond. Not that Eleanor seemed to care. She was pressed against the window, looking out at the city with a happy expression. When we arrived, I spotted Liam almost immediately. He stood out in any crowd. I got out of the car and was about to call his name when I saw him block the path of a girl pushing a bicycle. The girl had a sweet, innocent face and a high ponytail. Her eyes were red, as if she’d been crying. “Tessa, why are you crying?” Liam stood in front of her, glancing down at her bike. “Is that a flat tire?” “Guess you can’t ride that home.” The girl, Tessa, bit her lip and said nothing. Liam bent down and smiled. “You can ride with us. My driver should be here any second.” Eleanor had a proud, motherly smile on her face. “My son is so kind. Always helping others.” I snorted. “Kind, my ass. He’s the one who let the air out of her tire.” “What?” I tilted my head. “Look at his right index finger.” There was still a smudge of black grease on it. Eleanor’s eyes widened. “That little brat!” She flew over and started throwing phantom punches at Liam’s face. Liam looked around. “Why does it suddenly feel so cold?” I walked through the crowd, grabbed the collar of Liam’s uniform, and pulled him away from the girl. Then I waved the driver over and had him put the girl’s bike in the trunk. “Hey there,” I said to the girl. “I’ll have him give you a ride home. Just tell the driver your address. Don’t be shy!” Tessa was still stunned as I ushered her into the back of the Rolls-Royce. Liam shot me a death glare. “What are you doing here!?” Tessa looked over. He immediately changed his tone, hissing at me through clenched teeth, “We’ll settle this later.” He tried to get into the car, but I held him back by his shirt. I slammed the door shut and told the driver, “Please make sure this young lady gets home safely.” 7 The car sped away, leaving Liam and me standing on the sidewalk, glaring at each other. Just as he was about to explode, I smoothed my hair. “Kid, that’s not how you get a girl’s attention.” Liam’s face flushed crimson. “What are you talking about?” “Oh? So you don’t like her? Then why’d you flatten her tire?” I paused, feigning realization. “Oh, I get it. You hate her. In that case, I’ll be sure to tell her to stay away from you so she doesn’t bother you anymore.” “Are you insane?!” Liam yelled. I just looked at him with a smirk. He was probably mortified that someone he disliked had figured out his secret. He turned and stomped away in a huff. I followed him at a leisurely pace. “You know, when you like someone, you’re supposed to be nice to them. All you’re doing is causing her trouble. That’s just going to push her further away.” Liam’s pace slowed, but he didn’t stop. I kept going. “Let me guess. You probably pull her hair at school, ‘accidentally’ bump into her desk, steal her pens, and—” “Shut up!” Liam stopped dead in his tracks and spun around to glare at me, his face still red. Ah. So I was right. “Fine, I’ll stop.” I held up my hands. “I was just about to tell you the right way to win a girl over…” I shook my head and walked past him. Eleanor kept me updated. “He’s scuffing his shoes on the pavement… he’s looking over here… he’s scratching his head… yes! He’s coming after you!” Hah. I’ve been navigating the real world for over a decade. You think I can’t handle a teenager? I smirked and hopped onto a city bus that had just pulled up. I called out to him, “Hurry up! We’re taking the bus home tonight!” He was clearly fascinated, probably his first time on public transit. He touched everything, looking around with wide eyes. Finally, he tried to act casual. “Hey, you didn’t finish what you were saying before. I hate it when people leave things half-said.” What a proud little brat. It was kind of amusing. I dropped the act and got serious. “When you like someone, you don’t have to bully them to get their attention, just to make yourself ‘special’ in their eyes.” Liam was listening intently. “What else?” “Shoot your shot,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder. “At this age, when everyone is awkward and shy, being direct is a superpower.” “As long as you’re sincere, she’ll feel it.” 8 The driver was already back by the time we got home. Liam walked over to him. “Did you get her home okay?” The driver smiled. “Watched her walk right in the door.” “Oh.” Liam was still a bit awkward about it and went straight to his room without another word. The housekeeper, however, looked surprised. “It seems you and the young master are getting along well, Miss Sloane.” “It’s alright,” I said with a yawn, heading upstairs. The main reason for our truce was that I promised him on the bus that I had no intention of staying in the Blackwood house or becoming his stepmother. We ate dinner separately, with maids bringing trays to our rooms. My room was on the second floor, his on the third, so we didn’t bother each other. That evening, I was chatting with Eleanor, listening to her tell funny and embarrassing stories about Liam as a child. As I was laughing, I heard faint footsteps outside my door. I stopped, exchanging a look with Eleanor. I got out of bed. The moment the footsteps stopped in front of my door, I pulled it open. A guilty-looking Liam froze in the hallway. I leaned against the doorframe. “You’re the one who’s been pacing outside my door the last few nights, aren’t you?” “Spit it out. What do you want?” Liam pursed his lips and looked up at me. “Before… when you said you dreamed about my mom. Was that true?” I was a little surprised. “You’d believe me?” Liam nodded. “Actually,” he said, his voice soft, “I think I saw her once, when I was little.” 9 Liam told me that when he was ten, he was playing around and climbed out onto the third-floor balcony. A stray cat startled him, and he fell. The moment before he hit the ground and blacked out, he thought he saw his mother. She was calling his name frantically, telling him not to fall asleep… “I broke my leg in that fall. Everyone said I was lucky to be alive, but I think… I think my mom saved me.” He took a deep breath, then looked at me, his eyes pleading. “So, besides dreaming of her… can you see her?” Instinctively, I was about to look over at Eleanor. But I heard her voice in my head. Don’t tell him. I paused. I understood her reasoning. Liam couldn’t see her. Telling him she was here, when they couldn’t talk or touch, would only create a painful obsession. If he got too caught up in it, it would be impossible for him to move on. I shook my head. “No.” Liam’s face fell with disappointment, but there was also a hint of relief in his smile. “It’s okay. Dreaming of her is good enough.” “Sloane…,” he started, a bit awkwardly. “Can you do me a favor?” Just for him calling me by my first name like that, I was all in. “Anything.” “The next time you dream of my mom… can you tell her that I miss her?” That was it. My eyes started to water. I admit, I can be a real softy sometimes. My whole perception of Liam shifted. “Of course,” I said, my voice thick. “I’ll tell her.” As he was leaving, I called out to him. “Have you ever thought that maybe your mom would want you to grow up happy? And that she’d want you and your dad to get along?” Liam stopped, his back stiffening. His voice turned to ice. “That’s impossible. I’ll never forgive him. Not as long as I live.”

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I had a theory: Leo Maxwell, the unofficial king of Northwood Prep, was into me. He’d stood before me, clutching a pink envelope, his face flushed beet red. “I heard,” he’d stammered, “that you’re from a single-parent family. Me too.” “So… what would you think if my mom married your dad? Then I could be your brother.” Excuse me? I thought I was the one with the secret admirer. Turns out, it was my dad. And so, three years after my own mother walked out on us, my father and I married into a fortune. A year later, fraternal twins were born. And with that, my dad’s new role as the beloved patriarch of the Maxwell dynasty was set in stone. My brand-new, ridiculously wealthy stepbrother would cling to my dad, sobbing his eyes out. “I’m finally not just some kid without a dad anymore!” he’d wail. 1 I have a theory: Leo Maxwell, the unofficial king of Northwood Prep, is into me. And I have evidence. During gym class, his eyes are always finding their way to me. The second I look back, he snaps his head away, but the bright red tips of his ears give him away every time. It’s the kind of blush that screams I’ve been caught staring. He gets so flustered that once, he didn’t even react when a basketball came flying straight at his face. He ended up with a bloody nose and a ticket to the nurse’s office for the rest of the day. Then, during study hall, I turned to check the clock and caught him staring at the back of my head, a goofy, unfocused smile plastered on his face. Even my best friend, Chloe, who’s the undisputed gossip queen of our grade, leaned over to whisper, “Ava, word is Leo Maxwell has a crush on someone. He bought pink stationery. Like, he’s going to write an actual, physical letter.” My stomach dropped. Oh, God. He’s going to ask me out. I had the sudden, violent urge to start rolling on the floor and begging him not to. What if I say no? He’s a Maxwell. They practically own this town, and their name is on half the buildings at this school. He could probably get me expelled with a single phone call. I’m here on a full scholarship. That academic grant is the only thing patching the gaping hole in my family’s finances. The thought of my dad—my kind, handsome, perpetually worried dad—frowning over an expulsion letter and then sighing at our empty bank account… I just couldn’t. This is my fate, then. I have to say yes. I have to pretend to be Leo Maxwell’s girlfriend until graduation. To avoid becoming a high school dropout, and to prevent my dad from having to sell his soul to some lonely rich widow, I’ll do it. I took a deep breath, steeling myself. I can do this. I started mentally rehearsing my acceptance speech, even pulling out a notebook to script the lines. As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the classroom, I packed my bag with excruciating slowness. One textbook. Pause. Another. Finally, it was just me and Leo left in the empty room. I heard his footsteps approaching, each one a drumbeat against my ribs. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. “Ava Collins.” Leo stood in front of my desk, his face flushed. The usual swagger and I-own-the-world arrogance were gone. In their place was the meekness of a lamb. He wouldn’t even meet my eyes. I took a silent, deep breath, running through the lines I’d spent all afternoon perfecting. He carefully pulled a pink envelope from behind his back. On the front was a hand-drawn picture of two stick figures holding hands. Next to them were two even smaller stick figures, a boy and a girl. I was floored. He’d already planned out our future family, right down to the gender of our kids. The depth of his affection was… terrifying. “Ava,” he began. “Present,” I yelped, a conditioned reflex from years of school. Damn you, Pavlov. He gave me a weird look before continuing. “Could you do me a favor and give this to Mr. Collins?” I blinked. “Huh?” What kind of move was this? A love letter that needed my dad’s approval first? “I heard you’re from a single-parent family,” he said, his voice softer. “Me too.” I nodded slowly. From that perspective, we were in the same boat. A little mutual support group, I could understand that. “So,” he said, his eyes finally lighting up, bright and hopeful like a golden retriever’s, “what do you think about me becoming your brother?” “…What?” What was happening? Wasn’t this a confession of love? Was this some kind of weird roleplay scenario? Start as brother and sister and then… evolve? I didn’t get it, but I respected the hustle. If that’s what he was into, I could grit my teeth and go along with it. Leo pressed his advantage, clearly mistaking my stunned silence for consideration. “It was love at first sight with Mr. Collins. I’ve always wanted a dad just like him.” My brain short-circuited. Before I could reboot, he snatched the envelope back, tore it open, and pulled out a single sheet of paper. It wasn’t a letter. It was a résumé. The photo was of a woman in a sharp, tailored blazer, her hair pulled back in an elegant twist. She looked poised, powerful, and intimidatingly beautiful. Leo held up the paper and launched into a full-blown presentation. “This is my mother, Isabelle Maxwell. 38 years old, CEO of Maxwell Corp, net worth in the nine figures. She’s beautiful, she’s rich, and she has only one son, yours truly. She’s the perfect match for our dad. I know she can be a little… intense, but our dad is so gentle. They’ll complement each other perfectly.” He was on a roll now, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I’ve already got it all planned out. Today’s Friday. They can meet this weekend. If it goes well, they can be at the courthouse by Monday.” He spoke with such passionate conviction, you’d think he was already standing at the wedding, watching our parents walk down the aisle. I finally found my voice. “Whoa, hang on. What do you mean, our dad?” I asked, cutting through his fantasy. “Since when is my dad your dad? And marriage? Does your mother even know you’re setting her up on a blind date?” Leo paused, then gave a firm, resolute nod. “She knows. And she agreed.” 2 By the time I walked out of the school gates, clutching the repurposed love letter, the campus was nearly deserted. I couldn’t stop replaying Leo’s parting words, and the way he’d pitched his voice higher in a forced, syrupy tone. A shiver ran down my spine. “Ava, my dear sister, you have to give this to our dad, okay?” he’d chirped. “Don’t you worry, our mom will take amazing care of him. And I’ll be the best big brother ever. From now on, I’ve got your back at this school.” I managed a tight, pained smile that felt more like a grimace. Ethan Collins, my dear father, was already waiting by the school entrance. He was leaning against a lamppost in a simple button-down shirt, looking like a quiet poem amidst the afternoon chaos. People walking by couldn’t help but glance his way. He was pushing forty, but he still carried an air of tranquility that seemed to make time slow down around him. When he saw me, his face broke into a warm smile. He walked over, took my heavy backpack, and gently wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead. “Rough day?” he asked, his voice softer than a spring breeze. “I made that beef brisket you like. It’s waiting for us at home.” I knew my dad was charming. He’d been voted “Most Popular Professor” at his university multiple times. After he and my mom divorced, a string of wealthy women had practically thrown themselves at him. Some of his old admirers even offered to divorce their own husbands for a chance. One of his college students, a girl barely ten years older than me, once earnestly tried to convince him to let her be my new stepmom. But this? This was a whole new level. The CEO’s son, acting as a matchmaker. My dad’s looks were a legitimate public hazard. “Beauty is a curse,” I muttered to myself as I walked toward his beat-up bicycle. “A total curse.” He just ruffled my hair, a quiet laugh playing on his lips. That night, before bed, I remembered my mission. I formally presented the letter from the “filial son in desperate search of a father.” “This is from a kid in my class, Leo Maxwell,” I explained. “He wants you to marry his mom so he can be your son.” My dad took the envelope, a look of utter confusion on his face. As he read the contents, a disbelieving smile spread across his lips. “Oh, it’s him,” he said with a soft chuckle. “I’ve run into him a few times. He’s a very polite young man.” As for the weekend meeting Leo had proposed, neither of us took it seriously. Why would a high-powered CEO be interested in us? A moderately handsome university professor with a mountain of debt and a teenage daughter who came as part of the package deal. The next morning, I went with my dad to the farmer’s market to buy groceries. We were planning to make braised pork for lunch. He had a freelance translation project lined up for the afternoon, which probably meant another all-nighter for him. When my parents divorced, he’d walked away with almost nothing, except for me. He still had the mortgage to pay off on the house he gave my mom. He had to borrow from every friend and relative he knew just to pay it off early. The moment the papers were signed, my mom sold the house. With tears in her eyes, she said her goodbyes and left town. She said she couldn’t stand living a life where she could see the end from the beginning. She had to go find her own worth. So my dad and I moved into a tiny one-bedroom apartment. He started working harder than ever, taking on any side gig he could find. The pay was never great, and it drained him completely. Clients were always late with their payments. But with his debts and a money-guzzling daughter to feed, he had no choice but to keep grinding. The easy, breezy smile he used to have, the one that reminded me of a clear mountain spring, slowly became clouded with the grit of real-world exhaustion. That’s when the first rich divorcee showed up. She was a client a colleague had referred, and she loved his translation work. She loved him even more. She wanted to “get to know him better.” That ended quickly, and he lost the client. Thankfully, he eventually found a good agency that gave him steady work, and our lives slowly stabilized. We finally reached a point where we didn’t have to meticulously budget every time I needed a new pair of jeans. But for years, I had the same recurring nightmare: my dad would leave with one of those rich women, and she’d decide I was too much baggage and leave me behind. I’d wake up in a cold sweat, tiptoeing out of my bed and using my phone’s flashlight to make sure he was still there. He never made me feel like baggage, though. He always called me the beautiful product of their love. But what happens when one half of that love decides they don’t want the product anymore? How long can something like that stay whole? 3 I was still trying to process the whiplash. One minute, I was haggling over the price of pork belly at the market, and the next, I was sitting in a lavish, gold-leafed private dining room, watching Leo Maxwell obsequiously pour my dad a glass of water. He and two guys built like refrigerators had literally bundled us into a black SUV and brought us here. “Dad, have some water. Please, make yourself at home,” Leo chirped, his voice dripping with eagerness. “My mom got held up with something, but she’ll be here any minute.” He carefully took the bag with the pork belly from my dad’s hands and set it aside as if it were a sacred artifact. My dad accepted the water with a polite nod, taking a small sip. Leo, ever the thoughtful host, hadn’t forgotten about his new “little sister.” He grunted as he heaved a gigantic gift box onto the table in front of me. “Ava, my sister! The guy at the bookstore said this is the ultimate SAT prep package. I bought you the whole set. Hope you like it!” I stared at the box, which came up to my shins. “How long is this supposed to take me?” I whispered in horror. I could probably write until my hand fell off and still not finish it all. I think he bought out the entire test prep section. Leo grinned, flashing a set of pearly white teeth, and waved his hand dismissively. “Do what you can! If you don’t finish, who cares? We’re loaded. Money is the one thing we’re not short on. As long as our dad agrees to marry our mom, I guarantee you’ll be living the high life.” I shot a desperate, frantic look at my dad. He just offered a helpless smile. To him, this was all just a kid’s over-the-top game, probably born from a deep-seated wish for a father. Teenagers, after all, were known for their dramatic whims. He and Leo fell into an easy conversation. They talked about school, about mental health, about the time Leo wet the bed as a kid, and the time I got into a fistfight in elementary school. A nostalgic look crossed my dad’s face. “Ava used to be so tiny,” he said, holding his hand up to his waist. “Maybe up to here on you. Some kid called her chubby, so she marched right up and punched him. Then she told him he was only skinny because his parents were too cheap to feed him properly, and that he looked like a beanpole.” Spurred on by Leo’s rapt attention, my dad pulled out his phone and started showing him my baby pictures. Leo stared at the photo of a chubby little girl on the screen with pure adoration. “She’s so cute! How could anyone call her chubby? If I had a little sister like that, I’d protect her from everything. Dad, don’t you worry. From now on, I’ll look out for Ava at school. I won’t let anyone mess with her.” He puffed out his chest and slapped it for emphasis. My dad smiled. “Well, thank you, Leo. That’s very kind of you. If you have time next week, you should come over to our place. I can cook for you. My specialties are beef brisket and braised pork. What are your favorite foods? I’ll make them for you.” Leo transformed. This was the same guy who was notoriously picky at the school cafeteria, but now he was the model of compliance. “Dad, I’ll eat anything! I’m not picky at all. Whatever you make is fine.” His voice grew quiet, and he looked down, as if wiping something from his eye. “It’s been a long time since I had a home-cooked meal. I… I just want to know what that feels like again.” That did it. My dad’s heart melted on the spot. His own parental instincts went into overdrive. He completely overlooked the “dad” thing. “Leo,” he said, gently placing a hand on the boy’s head. “Anytime you want a home-cooked meal, you come to my house. I’ll cook for you.” Leo seized the opportunity, wrapping his arms around my dad’s waist and burying his head in his stomach. “So this is what it feels like to have a dad,” he mumbled, his voice thick with emotion. My dad looked like he was about to cry, too. Ever since I was born, he’s had a massive soft spot for kids in need. He’s the guy who steps in when he sees another parent being too harsh, the one who brings homemade cookies to the neighbor’s kid. He’s the dream dad of every kid in our apartment building. I once heard a boy plotting with his mother: “Mom, you should divorce Dad. Mr. Collins is so much nicer. You could marry him, and he could be my new dad.” He earned a spanking for that, and his cries echoed through the entire building. Watching the two of them in this touching, bizarre tableau, I felt a wave of secondhand embarrassment so strong I wanted to crawl under the table. Just as I was seriously considering it, the door to the private room swung open. A woman with an aura of crisp, executive authority strode in. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. 4 She walked directly to my father and extended a hand. “Hello. I’m Isabelle Maxwell. I believe I’m your blind date for today.” Her voice was smooth and confident. “We’ve met before, briefly, so let’s skip the formalities.” My dad stared at her, completely stunned. It took him a few seconds to stand and shake her hand. “Hello,” he managed. He hesitated, then added, “Blind date? You mean…?” Isabelle smiled, pulling a sleek credit card from her purse and handing it to Leo. “Leo, darling, take your sister and do some shopping. Buy whatever you like.” She then turned her attention from my bewildered father to me. She knelt down, her sharp business demeanor softening as she gently smoothed my hair. “You must be Ava. It’s so lovely to finally meet you. I have a little welcome gift for you in the car; we can get it on your way out. Right now, I need to have a little chat with your father. Why don’t you go with your big brother Leo and have some fun? Don’t worry about saving my money.” And just like that, I was being half-dragged, half-escorted out of the room by Leo. “Don’t worry, sis,” he whispered conspiratorially. “We gotta give our parents some space to, you know, build a connection. Come on, let’s hit the mall! I’ll buy you designer bags, diamonds, whatever you want! We’ve got the cash!” The last thing I saw before the heavy door clicked shut was Isabelle Maxwell’s hand resting gently on my father’s. And he didn’t pull away. He didn’t pull away! I remember the second wealthy widow who tried her luck. She’d attempted a casual little hand-hold to “connect,” and my dad had recoiled like he’d been electrocuted, putting a solid six feet of distance between them. But now, with Isabelle, his hand was still in hers, and a faint blush was creeping up his neck. The only other person I’d ever seen him look at like that was my own mother. I think I’m actually getting a new mom. I wandered through the gleaming mall like a ghost, trailing behind a hyperactive Leo whose favorite new phrases were, “You like this, sis?” and “Silence means yes! Charge it!” I didn’t even have time to process the thought of my-dad-is-remarrying because I was too busy trying to fend off Leo’s relentless shopping spree. “No, no, that’s way too expensive!” “Please, stop, you’ve already bought too much.” He just waved his black card at the sales associate. “It’s not expensive if you don’t look at the price tag. Money is meant to be spent. The more you spend, the more motivated our mom will be to earn more.” The two bodyguards following us were quickly accumulating a mountain of shopping bags. I didn’t even want to count the number of zeroes on the price tag of the necklace he’d just bought. Leo was in a full-blown retail frenzy. Dear Dad, back in that private room, I thought desperately, for the love of God, just say yes to Ms. Maxwell. There’s no other way out of this. Selling us both into servitude wouldn’t even begin to cover this bill. 5 Things moved at lightning speed. Even though I’d braced myself, I was still caught off guard. To put it simply: an old flame, once rekindled, burns hotter than a wildfire. When middle-aged people fall in love, they don’t mess around. I watched my dad’s defenses crumble day by day. He was smiling more, a permanent, soft curve to his lips. There was a new light in his eyes, a springtime warmth that had been missing for years. And Isabelle looked at him with an undisguised, tender affection that melted her corporate armor. The air between them was so thick with chemistry it was practically visible. I had a feeling moving boxes were in our near future. Isabelle seemed ready to annex my father into her territory immediately. But they were both tactful enough to give Leo and me what they thought was an “adjustment period.” Leo, of course, needed no such thing. The moment it was semi-official, he broke down in a flood of tears, snot and all. “I’m finally going to have a dad,” he wailed. I passed him a tissue, feeling a profound sense of secondhand embarrassment. How did I ever mistake this guy for a school tyrant? He was just a big, overgrown kid with bleached hair and a leaky tear duct. Why did he want a father so badly? When my mom left, I was sad, but I was okay. If she and my dad had stayed together, they would have just grown to resent each other. They didn’t fall out of love; they just weren’t compatible anymore. Separating was the kindest thing they could do for each other. They were always honest with me about it, and I understood. Before I could even ask, Leo, red-eyed and looking a little pathetic, started explaining on his own. The usual happy-go-lucky mask he wore had slipped, revealing a rare glimpse of melancholy. “You probably think I’m being super dramatic, don’t you, Ava?” Everyone has their own way of dealing with things. I wasn’t going to judge. He looked at me earnestly. “Maybe it seems like I’m overreacting, but I really, really want your dad to be my dad. I’ve wanted a dad for a long, long time. And I want my mom to have someone who will truly be her partner for the rest of her life.” He wiped his eyes and gave a self-deprecating laugh. “You know, my parents were the ‘it’ couple of their social circle back in the day. You can still hear people talk about what a shame it was they divorced. But if it doesn’t fit, it doesn’t fit. When I was a kid, my dad used me as a weapon against her. He knew my nanny was awful to me, but he did nothing about it. He wanted to force my mom to quit her job and come home to take care of me herself. He’d coach me, tell me to cry and beg my mom to stop working so much and pay more attention to our family.” “For a while, I did resent her,” he admitted. “I thought it was all her fault, that if she wasn’t so obsessed with her career, I wouldn’t be the kid with a broken home. All I had was a cold, empty house full of stuff I didn’t want.” “But as I got older, I realized how lucky I was that she didn’t give up her career for me. That man, my biological father, had the exact same job as her, but he always acted like her work was less valuable. Like she was the one who was supposed to make all the sacrifices for the family, just because she was a woman. That’s not fair. Before they got married, he loved that she was brilliant and ambitious. After, he wanted to use me to chain her to the house. My mom is Isabelle Maxwell, the CEO of a major corporation! She’s supposed to be out there, shining.” “If he wanted a trophy wife, he shouldn’t have married a titan,” Leo said, his head held high with pride, like a peacock admiring its own feathers. I couldn’t help but be impressed. “You figured all that out? That’s really smart.” He tossed his blond hair. “Of course. I have to be smart if I’m going to be your brother. What really pissed me off was how he remarried and had new kids almost immediately after the divorce. Like, why does he get to have a happy, perfect family while my mom is supposed to be alone? It made it seem like she was the problem. I couldn’t choose my first dad, but I’ll be damned if I don’t get to choose my next one. And our dad is a million times better than that guy.” He was so fired up, so fiercely loyal. I gave him a genuine thumbs-up. A true filial son of the modern age. And he had good taste. My dad was a gem—a kind, gentle, honorable man. For that speech alone, I decided, I would accept him as my brother. Wholeheartedly. 6 So, here we are. My dad and Isabelle are head-over-heels, just one trip to the courthouse away from making it official. They’re adults; they know what they’re doing. At first, my dad was worried about me, wanting to have a “big talk” to make sure I was okay with everything. But he was talking to me. Ava Collins. An emotional capybara, steadfast and unbothered. A human water pig. When he and my mom got divorced, I didn’t cry or throw a tantrum. I just accepted it. You can’t hold onto sand, so you might as well let it go. If my parents couldn’t walk the same path anymore, it was better for them to part ways. Was I supposed to scream and kick and chain them together? I learned at age three that throwing a fit just gets your clothes dirty. It’s not my style. Even if I was sad, even if I was scared. And I knew this was inevitable now. I couldn’t selfishly keep my dad from finding love again. If Leo, with his failing math grades, could figure that out, then so could I. He was already calling my dad “Dad” with zero hesitation. The least I could do was not embarrass my own father. So, while Dad was away on a business trip this week, I accepted my future stepmom’s invitation to stay at her place. The official reason was to help tutor my future brother. Unofficially, it was a trial run. And frankly, his grades were so atrocious I couldn’t stand by and do nothing. I even suggested to Isabelle that we hire him a team of tutors. Summer break was coming up; it was time for academic boot camp. Leo, blissfully unaware of the rigorous educational future I was plotting for him, was all smiles as we walked out of school together. “Hey, sis! You wanna get that Thai food you liked last time? I promised our dad I’d fatten you up while he was gone.” I nodded. “Sure. But you have to finish your math homework tonight. You got a 30 on the last test. Out of 150. Leo, even a 60 would be an improvement.” The mere mention of his test scores made him deflate like a punctured balloon. I sighed. Before I could offer a word of encouragement, a voice I hadn’t heard in years sliced through the air, freezing me in place. “Ava.” It was cool and clear, yet laced with a soft, hopeful warmth. I turned toward the sound, my heart stuttering. The woman standing there was just as beautiful as I remembered, radiant and luminous, like a sliver of moonlight gracing the earth. Maybe even more beautiful than when she’d left. The two words I had locked away for three years tumbled out of my mouth in a daze. “Mom.”

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I married a detective in a whirlwind romance, and now our marriage feels like a long-distance relationship with a stranger I met online. Our text exchanges are about as personal as a chatbot’s. [On a stakeout. Won’t be home. Lock the door.] [He got away. Still on it. Not coming home. Lock up.] [Stakeout. Door.] [K.] Finally, unable to bear the crushing loneliness any longer, I decided to go out with my best friend and find a little fun for myself. I texted him first, just to be safe. [Still chasing bad guys tonight?] Apex_Predator: [Yep.] Perfect, I thought. If he’s busy chasing criminals, he can’t be busy chasing a cheating wife. The next thing I knew, I was in a private club, happily watching a male model work a dance pole, when the door burst open. “Vice raid! Everybody down!” My world went black. Turns out, the person he was busting tonight… was me. 1 Day 32 of my new marriage. My best friend, Maya, had sent me ten straight thirst-trap videos. I stared at the parade of sculpted abs on my screen, swallowing hard. “So,” she texted, “how do they stack up against your Detective Cole?” I stared up at my blank ceiling. “I’ve… never actually seen him with his shirt off.” Her reply was a string of shocked emojis. “Are you serious? Ginnifer, if you don’t jump his bones soon, his gun is gonna get rusty.” Believe me, I wanted to. I was practically starving for a taste of him. I met Nate Cole on a blind date. The moment I saw him, I was a goner. He was walking testosterone—a police uniform stretched tight over broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and impossibly long legs, topped off with the kind of intense, chiseled face that screamed alpha. He was handsome, but with a wild, dangerous edge. “You don’t mind that a detective’s work schedule is crazy?” he’d asked. “Not at all!” I’d shaken my head, probably a little too enthusiastically, trying not to drool. So what if he was busy? I loved an ambitious man. I didn’t realize “busy” meant he’d be so absent I’d practically turn to stone waiting for him. On our wedding night, before our lips even had a chance to properly meet, his phone rang. He shot out of bed like he’d been ejected. “Emergency call. Got a lead.” I spent the night tossing and turning, waiting. The next morning, my period arrived before he did. Nate was always either chasing a suspect or on his way to chase one. Usually, I was asleep by the time he got home, and he was gone before I woke up. He knew I was a grump in the morning, so to avoid disturbing me, he’d just sleep in the guest room. A month into our marriage, and we were like strangers who’d matched on a dating app three states apart. His response time to texts was glacial, and the content was as robotic as it gets. (Monday) Barely_Breathing: [Coming home tonight?] Apex_Predator: [On a stakeout. Won’t be home. Lock the door.] Barely_Breathing: [Package at the front desk. Pickup code 5210.] Apex_Predator: [I’ll get it when I’m back.] (Tuesday) Barely_Breathing: [Did you get him?] Apex_Predator: [Ran. Still on it. Not coming home. Lock up.] Barely_Breathing: [Package pickup: 5456] Apex_Predator: [K.] (Wednesday) Barely_Breathing: [Home?] Apex_Predator: [Stakeout. Door.] Barely_Breathing: [Package pickup: 5678] Apex_Predator: [K.] Apex_Predator has sent you a transfer of $3000. Memo: Paycheck. (Thursday) Barely_Breathing: [?] Apex_Predator: [K.] Barely_Breathing: [Package pickup: 6785] Apex_Predator: [K.] I swear… I felt like I had married a ghost who moonlighted as an unfeeling delivery bot. 2 I poked at the two new stress pimples on my chin, a restless heat simmering under my skin. Maya forwarded me an article titled: The Dangers of a Sexless Marriage. Her text followed immediately after: [If you don’t get some action soon, you’re going to turn into a nun.] Attached was a video of a guy with washboard abs opening a beer bottle with his belt buckle. [I got a private room and invited all your favorite streamers.] [Get over here! My treat!] That was all it took. The words “my treat” obliterated what little marital fidelity I had left. “Screw it!” I ripped off my pajamas and threw them on the bed. Out came the short skirt and the spaghetti-strap top. “Tonight, Mama’s gonna be an outlaw!” Still, just in case, I sent Nate a quick text. [Still chasing bad guys tonight?] This time, he replied almost instantly. [Yep.] Perfect. A man busy chasing criminals had no time to chase a cheating wife. [Okay, have fun! I’m heading to bed then~] It was Maya’s birthday party. She was beautiful, well-connected, and wild. She’d assembled a small army of male models and influencers. The moment I walked into the private club room, I was surrounded by a sea of shirtless, sculpted young men. “Wow, you’re so beautiful.” “Do you have a boyfriend?” “Can I dance for you?” “You can touch my abs if you want.” By the time the tenth chiseled boy-toy leaned in and called me “ma’am,” I finally understood what it must have felt like to be a Roman empress. “Wanna feel?” a silver-haired kid with wolfish eyes asked, lifting the hem of his shirt. Eight perfect abdominal muscles glistened under the dim lights. “Just started working on my V-line…” I swallowed hard and tried to lean back, but my fingers had a mind of their own, inching forward. Damn it, a woman works hard. She deserves a night like this. The sight of his muscles, half-hidden beneath his shirt, made my head spin. “Ma’am? Are your hands shaking?” Of course they were shaking. At this very moment, my husband’s hands—the very hands that catch criminals—were probably wrapped around the grip of his service weapon. Meanwhile, my hands were about to grope another man’s waist. Just as the endless chorus of “ma’am” had me floating on cloud nine, the door to our private room was kicked open with a deafening crash. “Vice raid! Hands on your head, get down!” 3 That voice. It was so familiar it sent a jolt of ice through my veins. I looked up and there he was. Nate Cole, standing in the doorway, his uniform buttoned to the collar, a leather belt cinching his lean, powerful waist. His eyes swept over my tiny skirt and barely-there top, and I saw his Adam’s apple bob. Our gazes locked. My hand shot behind my back as if it had been burned. “Honey, I… I can explain…” I stammered. “They all ordered a guy, I didn’t… I didn’t even touch him, I swear! I didn’t even look!” A young officer next to him snorted, trying to stifle a laugh. “Detective Cole, here’s the surveillance footage…” He handed Nate a tablet. I watched in horror as the screen played back a crystal-clear video of me, drooling over a set of abs like an idiot. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. It got worse. Nate hit pause. Then he zoomed in, enlarging the image of my trembling fingers, hovering just inches from the model’s stomach. “Ginnifer.” He tapped the screen with a knuckle, his wedding ring making a sharp, metallic sound against the glass. “Care to explain this particular… gesture?” My knees went weak. I nearly collapsed right there on the floor. “Honey, listen to me! It was… art appreciation!” Nate gritted his teeth. “Take them away.” He strode past me, the long legs of his uniform trousers practically radiating fury. I suddenly remembered our first date, how I’d stared at his uniform and my mind had filled with filthy thoughts of handcuffs and forced proximity. Well, karma had come for me. He really was putting me in handcuffs. I had earned myself a shiny pair of silver bracelets. Sob. 4 In the interrogation room, Nate’s eyes were fixed on my spaghetti-strap top. His face was a thundercloud. He took off his uniform jacket and draped it over my shoulders. I huddled in the chair, doing my best impression of a scared little bird. “Name?” “Your wife…” His pen hit the tabletop with a sharp clack. He loosened his tie, his voice rising. “Be serious.” I stared at the way his throat moved when he swallowed. “Ginnifer,” I whispered. “Ginnifer Davis.” His face was grim. “Motive?” “Thirty-two days of solitary confinement.” I started counting on my fingers, my voice full of accusation. “Falling in love with a man who never comes home…” The officer taking notes in the corner let out a loud snort of laughter. Nate shot him a look that could kill. “Give me a detailed account. What exactly did you do in that room?” “Nothing! I just had a glass of juice…” He tapped the table again, his eyes narrowed. “Providing a false statement is a crime, you know.” “Fine! We danced a little…” “How did you dance? What happened?” “I might have… accidentally… touched his abs.” “How many times?” “What does that have to do with the case?” I shot back. His expression hardened. “Every detail needs to be accounted for.” I hung my head, my voice barely a whisper. “Two? Three times?” The color drained from Nate’s face. His voice dropped to a terrifyingly low growl. “How. Many. Times?” “I’m sorry, Nate… I was wrong…” A few detectives were peeking through the window in the door. One of them cleared his throat. “Uh, Cole? Regulations state you have to get specifics on the point of contact. Was it the upper, middle, or… lower abs?” Nate’s glare was venomous. “You guys have nothing better to do?” “Hey, you taught us this!” one of them yelled as they started to scatter. “Last week’s raid, you said evidence collection had to be precise…” “That was for soliciting prostitution!” Nate roared back. “But the Captain’s wife said she touched his V-line!” another one called out. The officer in the room was shaking with suppressed laughter. He pulled out his phone. “Detective, you should see the group chat. Everyone’s talking about how you broke the precinct’s response time record tonight. They’re asking if you sprinted here…” Nate grabbed the young officer by the collar and practically threw him out the door. The officer poked his head back in. “Hey, if the missus needs some ‘art appreciation’ of abs, our squad has plenty of…” “Do you want to go home tonight?” Nate snarled. The officer grinned sheepishly. “Yes, sir! You two continue the… uh… enforcement.” He paused. “Oh, and Detective? You’ll need to sign the family release form to take your wife home.” Nate signed the form with a grim expression, then reached over and pulled his jacket tighter around my shoulders. 5 The drive home was silent. He didn’t say a word. I sat there, small and scared. “Nate… are you mad?” His face was a stone mask. “No.” Liar. I snuck a peek at him. His jaw was clenched, his dark, intense eyes focused on the road, his lips pressed into a thin line. One hand gripped the steering wheel, the sleeve of his uniform shirt rolled up to his elbow, revealing a forearm corded with muscle and veins. Damn it. He was even hot when he was angry. I was trying to figure out how to apologize when my phone buzzed. It was Maya. Her voice exploded from the speaker. “Ginnifer! Your husband arrested all eight of the models I hired! You got your fun, but what about me? I’m still burning up over here!” she shrieked. “And let me tell you, his squad is full of long-legged gods in uniform. I bet Detective Cole’s waist works a hell of a lot better than any of those models!” What was she even saying… In my panic, I fumbled with the phone and accidentally hit the speaker button just as I was trying to hang up. “I heard he’s taking you home,” Maya’s voice boomed through the car. “Does that mean you’re finally going to go at it all night? After being starved for so long, your panties must be on fire, right?” Nate turned his head and looked at me, his expression unreadable. My hand trembled, and the phone slipped, falling to the floor beneath my seat. “You know,” Maya’s voice continued from the floor, “the fact that he never comes home… you think maybe he’s got nothing to show for it downstairs? I sent you a ‘Manly Man Performance Review’ checklist! You have to send me a full report… and I bought you some new victory lingerie. Make sure he cuffs you to the headboard…” Nate leaned over, picked up the phone, and spoke into it with calm, chilling clarity. “Ms. Evans, about that $20,000 VIP membership you have at the Starlight Lounge… would you like us to stop by and have a little chat about local ordinances?” A violent coughing fit erupted from the other end. “Oh, hey… Detective Cole! We were just… appreciating art…” He hung up. The car was plunged into a dead, heavy silence. He pulled over at a convenience store, his face still grim. He was gone for a minute, then came back. He was holding two small boxes. “What did you buy…?” I asked, curious. He didn’t answer. He just shoved them into my hands. I looked down. The box was printed with a bold 0.01. Oh. And they were XL.

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The call came in on Memorial Day. An accident at the MegaWorld Fun Park. A child, a fall, a severed artery. Halfway there, siren screaming, the Head of Emergency Medicine told the driver to pull over. She wanted to take a picture. I begged her to keep going. A child was bleeding out. She gave me a look cold enough to freeze blood. “Don’t think that fancy degree gives you the right to question me, Maya. In this department, my word is final.” I couldn’t force her. All I could do was sit there, my own heart bleeding with every tick of the clock. When she finally got back in, I thought we were leaving. Then she told the driver to open the gas cap. “Siphon some into the canister for me,” she said. “My personal car is running on fumes.” 01 “Lauren, the father’s called three times already. If we don’t get there soon, that little boy might…” My voice trailed off. A cold sweat was starting to prickle my neck, but Lauren Pierce, my new boss, looked as relaxed as if she were on a Sunday drive, aiming her phone at a ridiculous, newly erected statue of a superhero. “What’s the rush?” she snapped, her face tightening as she glanced at me. The phone, however, didn’t lower. “Maya, don’t think because you waltzed in here from some Ivy League medical school that you can tell me how to do my job. Let’s get one thing straight: I run this ER.” “Dr. Pierce, Lauren, that’s not what I meant at all,” I pleaded, my voice softer than I wanted. “It’s just… the kid can’t wait. The last call, the dad said he was unconscious. It has to be massive blood loss.” She cut me off before I could finish. “‘Massive blood loss’,” she mocked. “You have no idea. People like that always exaggerate. A tiny cut becomes a gaping wound.” She finally lowered her phone, but only to sneer at me. “It’s a manipulation tactic. They think if they sound hysterical, we’ll magically teleport there. They don’t get that we’re doctors, not gods.” She shook her head, a world-weary sigh escaping her lips. “I’ve been doing this for fifteen years. You’re a rookie. You’ll learn.” “But…” I tried to interject, but she put up a hand, a final command. “One more word out of you, Maya, and you can find your own ride back to the hospital. You’re my subordinate on this call. Act like it.” The words hit me like a slap. I bit my lip, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth, and slumped back into my seat in the ambulance. Today was my first official day on the job. And this is how it was starting. Lauren and I weren’t just colleagues. We’d been in the same pre-med program years ago. My rival, she’d called herself. She competed with me over everything, from grades to lab placements. She even competed for my husband, Alex. He was the one that got away for her; the guy she’d spent three years trying to win over in college. After graduation, she’d used family connections to land a cushy residency at Providence General. I’d gone on to get my M.D.-Ph.D., and by a twist of fate, had been assigned to the same hospital for my fellowship. Her department. As if on cue, my phone buzzed again. An unknown number. “Doctor! Are you here yet? My son… Oh god, my son… I don’t think he’s breathing…” The father’s frantic, choked sobs sent a fresh wave of ice through my veins. From the first call, I knew the situation was dire. The boy had fallen from the Ferris wheel. Multiple lacerations, and the gushing blood suggested a major artery—likely the femoral. The park wasn’t far from the hospital, a ten-minute drive at most. But we’d been on the road for twenty-five minutes, twenty of which had been spent parked here so Lauren could get a snapshot of the new Marvel Universe exhibit for her own son. My insides felt like a tangled knot of wires. I’d tried urging her along at least ten times, each attempt met with a glare of pure contempt. I had no choice but to try and calm the father. “We’re almost there, sir. It’s the holiday traffic. In the meantime, find a piece of cloth—a shirt, a towel, anything—and press down hard on the bleeding point. As hard as you can. We’re coming.” I clicked off the phone, my scrub top now damp with sweat. This child was going to die. He was going to die right here, on the phone, while we sat less than a mile away. I didn’t think. I just moved. The side door of the ambulance slammed open as I jumped out and stalked over to Lauren, snatching the phone from her hand. “Lauren, are you coming or not?” my voice was shaking, but it was loud. “Because if you don’t get in this vehicle right now, I swear to God I will report you for criminal negligence.” 02 I stood there, trembling, pointing a shaky finger at the ambulance. My shout had attracted attention. Passersby were starting to slow down, their curiosity piqued. “Hey, isn’t that an ambulance?” someone muttered. “What’s a paramedic doing taking pictures?” “Right? They blast their sirens for us to get out of the way, run red lights, and then they stop to admire the view? Talk about abusing their power.” “Guess their emergency wasn’t so urgent after all. Next time I hear a siren, I’m not pulling over.” The murmurs grew, a chorus of judgment aimed directly at us. Lauren’s face flushed. She hadn’t expected me to push back this hard. She wanted to put me in my place, but the growing crowd of onlookers made that impossible. To save face, she swallowed whatever venomous retort was on her tongue. Honestly, I didn’t want to cause a scene. But when I pictured that child, bleeding out on the pavement, I knew I had no other choice. It didn’t matter if this was some power play, some attempt by Lauren to sabotage my first day. A life couldn’t be the price of her pride. Pressured by the stares, Lauren finally stowed her phone and climbed back into the ambulance. I checked my watch. We had wasted nearly thirty minutes. But we were moving. A few more minutes and we’d be there. The boy still had a chance. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. But my relief was short-lived. Lauren, her face a mask of resentment, barked a new order. “Rick, pull over at the corner up ahead.” My heart seized. I didn’t know what fresh hell she had planned now. The driver, a man I now recognized as her cousin, didn’t question it. He steered the ambulance to the curb. I looked out the window. It was a fish market. Before I could process it, Lauren spoke to the driver, her eyes deliberately avoiding mine. “Wait here. I need to pick up some shrimp. My son wants garlic shrimp pasta for dinner tonight.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. With a child’s life hanging by a thread, she was thinking about dinner. I thought the public shaming had gotten through to her, but I was wrong. Her connections ran deep; a complaint from a rookie fellow meant nothing. As she started to get out, I grabbed her arm. “Lauren, the boy is unconscious. His blood pressure has probably bottomed out. We don’t have any more time to waste.” My voice was raw with desperation. I tried a different tactic, appealing to the one thing I thought we might share. “Lauren, you have a son. Imagine if it was your boy lying there. Wouldn’t you be frantic?” It was the wrong thing to say. My attempt at empathy ignited her rage. “Shut your mouth, Maya!” she shrieked, her face contorted with fury. “First you yell at me, then you threaten me, and now you’re cursing my son? Is that it?” “Let me tell you something,” she spat, her voice low and dangerous. “My son is perfectly fine. My husband has him at the fun park right now, having a wonderful day.” She leaned in closer. “And you? You just want to steal the spotlight, same as you always did in school. Well, not this time. Not a chance.” With that, she wrenched her arm free and disappeared into the market. As I watched her go, a cold dread settled deep in my stomach. After a few seconds of stunned silence, I made a decision. I climbed into the back of the ambulance. “Let’s go, Rick! Now!” It was a long shot. I didn’t have years of field experience, but I’d graduated at the top of my class. I’d run dozens of trauma simulations during my residency. I could handle this. I had to get to that child, with or without her, because if I waited any longer, he would be gone. But the driver didn’t move. He stretched, yawning, and didn’t even bother to look back at me as he picked up his phone to scroll through videos. And then he said two words that sealed the child’s fate. “Not moving.” 03 The two words echoed in the small space, each one a stone thrown at my hope. They landed with a thud, shattering what little composure I had left. I stared at the back of his head in disbelief. “What did you say? Why won’t you go? Didn’t you hear me? That child is dying!” My voice cracked, rising to a desperate shriek. He just kept scrolling, his thumb flicking across the screen. “I heard you,” he said, his tone flat and bored. “But the department head didn’t give the order. I’m not moving this vehicle.” He finally glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes cold. “Something goes wrong, who’s responsible? Not me.” A fragmented conversation I’d overheard in the breakroom earlier that morning clicked into place. Two nurses gossiping. The new driver, Rick? That’s Lauren’s cousin… Of course. He wasn’t just an employee; he was family. He would never defy her. I wiped a bead of sweat from my temple. My chest felt tight, like it was packed with cotton, thick and suffocating. My phone rang again. “Doctor! He’s gone cold… My whole shirt is red, it’s all blood… We have ten minutes, maybe. Please…” The man’s voice dissolved into ragged, desperate sobs. Each gasp was a knife twisting in my gut. I paced the small confines of the ambulance, a caged animal, wishing I could sprout wings and fly there myself. I tried to calm him down again, walking him through the basic steps of applying pressure, my own voice trembling. After I hung up, my first instinct was to call the hospital dispatch, to beg them to send another ambulance. Maybe there was still time. Just as I raised my phone, the side door slammed open. Lauren was back. For a split second, I saw a savior. I rushed toward her, the words spilling out of me in a torrent. “Lauren, the situation is critical, the father said…” But she wasn’t listening. Her attention was on the plastic bag in her hand. A small, satisfied smile played on her lips as she passed the shrimp to Rick, watching intently as he placed it carefully on the passenger seat. Only when her precious cargo was secure did she deign to look at me. “Dr. Pierce, the child is in critical condition. Based on the father’s description, it’s almost certainly a femoral artery bleed. He’s likely in hypovolemic shock. We have ten minutes, tops.” I was on the verge of tears. To my horror, Lauren just chuckled. A small, condescending puff of air. “Maya, you haven’t changed a bit,” she said, patting my shoulder with mock sympathy. “Still so desperate to be the hero.” She gave me a look a seasoned general might give a terrified new recruit. “I told you, people exaggerate. Especially parents.” “No,” I said, my voice firm. “I don’t think this is an exaggeration. I think the reality is probably much worse.” Lauren just shook her head, a placid, infuriating calm on her face. “Well, if it is, then that’s just fate, isn’t it?” she said breezily. “You know what they say: life and death are preordained. If he doesn’t make it, I guess it was just his time to go. Who are we to argue with that?” I stared at her, my jaw slack with disbelief. The words, coming from the Head of Emergency Medicine, were so monstrous, so utterly devoid of humanity, that my blood ran cold. The sweat on my back felt like ice. But this wasn’t the time to argue philosophy. The ambulance engine finally roared to life. A tiny spark of hope rekindled within me. We were close. Five minutes, maybe less. I watched the seconds tick by on my watch, each one a lifetime. The iconic silhouette of the MegaWorld Fun Park’s roller coasters appeared in the distance. My heart hammered against my ribs. I closed my eyes, offering a silent prayer. Hang on, little boy. Please, just hang on. We’re here. But just as hope began to bloom, the ambulance slowed. And then, it stopped moving altogether. 04 “Rick, what’s going on? Why did we stop?” “Are you blind?” he grunted. “It’s a traffic jam.” I looked up and saw it. Of course. Memorial Day weekend. The main road to the amusement park was a parking lot. A solid, unmoving river of cars stretched out before us. I threw the door open and peered ahead. We were so close. I could see the main gate. Thinking of the child inside, waiting, bleeding, I turned to Lauren. “Dr. Pierce, he’s just up ahead. We can’t drive through this, but we can walk. Let’s get the gurney and…” Before I could finish, Lauren ignored me completely and called Rick out of the driver’s seat. And then, she said the words that shattered my entire understanding of medical ethics, of human decency itself. “Rick, my car is on empty. Grab the canister. Since we’re stuck here anyway, let’s use the time to siphon some gas. I need to fill up when I get home.” My hand, which had been gesturing toward the park, froze in mid-air. My whole body went rigid. I couldn’t process it. At this moment, with a child’s life extinguishing just a few hundred yards away, Lauren Pierce was worried about stealing gas from the hospital. Her mind wasn’t on her patient. It was on herself. It had always been on herself. She didn’t see the small life hanging in the balance. She didn’t see the family on the verge of being destroyed. A tremor of pure rage shot through me. I stood there, paralyzed by it. Rick, ever the loyal cousin, obediently retrieved a plastic canister from a storage compartment. From the looks of it, this wasn’t the first time it had been used for this purpose. “Lauren! What the hell are you doing?” I finally found my voice. “We have wasted forty minutes! That child has no more time! If he dies, his parents… how will they go on?” I was losing it, screaming at her, wanting to physically drag her toward the park entrance. But she stood her ground, immovable, a smirk playing on her lips as if she were enjoying my breakdown. Finally, I gave up on her. I turned back to the ambulance, deciding to go alone. I grabbed the trauma kit and the oxygen tank. The moment my fingers closed around the kit’s handle, a shadow fell over me. The world exploded in a flash of white-hot pain as something heavy slammed into my forehead. A warm, sticky liquid began to pour down my face. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Lauren’s voice was a venomous hiss. “Always have to be the star. The hero. You are the most pathetic, attention-seeking bitch I have ever met.” Before I could react, another crushing blow landed on my back. The pain was sickening, my legs turned to water. The world tilted, spinning into a dizzying vortex of black. As I fell, my fading vision caught a figure running toward us from the direction of the park. He was shouting, his voice a distant, desperate cry. “Help! Doctor! Please, help my son!” It was the father. He was here. And then, everything went dark. … When I came to, my head was throbbing with a dull, heavy ache. I was lying on the hot asphalt of the road. The dried blood on my face had formed a tight, cracking mask. A sharp pain radiated from my lower back. The street was no longer clogged. Cars moved in an orderly flow, the earlier chaos vanished as if it had been a dream. I struggled to my feet, my head swimming. A jolt, like an electric shock, shot through me. The boy. The child who needed me. Was that man his father? Had they found him? Was the boy okay? A thousand questions flooded my mind. My eyes darted around frantically, searching. And then a horrifying realization dawned on me. The ambulance, which should have been parked right beside me, was gone. 05 Had they left me here? Panic seized me. I fumbled for my watch, my hands shaking. The display showed that I’d only been unconscious for three minutes. Three minutes. For the child on the brink of death, each of those one hundred and eighty seconds was an eternity. If the father had found Lauren and they had gone to help, there was still hope. But if not… My mind spiraled. I was a desperate, frantic mess, scanning the street for any sign of the vehicle. I ran to a man walking by, grabbing his arm. My voice trembled. “Please, did you see an ambulance? Where did it go? There’s a child, he’s badly hurt, we have to find him!” The man recoiled, pulling his arm away as if I were diseased. “How should I know?” he snapped, glaring at me. “You’re the paramedic. You can’t even keep track of your own vehicle?” Ignoring his scorn, I stumbled toward another pedestrian. “Ma’am, please, the ambulance… a little boy’s life is at stake!” She just gave me a wide-eyed look and hurried away. Sweat poured down my face, mingling with the blood. My heart felt like a fist clenched tight in my chest. I weaved through the crowd, a ghost in a blood-stained uniform. Finally, a street vendor pointed down a side road. “Saw it pull in there a minute ago.” I ran. I ran with everything I had left, my only thought that the vehicle held the supplies, the equipment, the last chance that boy had. I rounded the corner, gasping for breath, and saw it. The ambulance. Through the back window, I could see Lauren’s form, bent over a small figure. A wave of relief washed over me, so powerful it almost buckled my knees. “Thank God,” I whispered. “They found him.” But as I got closer, the relief curdled into confusion, then into cold, hard dread. The boy Lauren was attending to… he had a few scrapes on his knees, maybe a bump on his head. He was crying, but he wasn’t dying. There wasn’t a drop of blood on him that wasn’t his own. This wasn’t the child from the fall. Overhearing their conversation, the truth hit me with the force of a physical blow. This was the son of Dr. Coleman, the Deputy Chief of Medicine at our hospital. I froze, the world narrowing to a single point of nauseating clarity. The hope that had flared just moments before was extinguished, leaving nothing but ash. Anger, despair, a profound sense of helplessness—it all crashed over me at once. I stood there, my mouth opening and closing, but no words came out. I had thought, for a moment, that I had misjudged her. That her humanity had finally won out. But this… this was worse than anything I could have imagined. Somewhere, not far from here, a little boy was dying, and she was putting a cartoon band-aid on a VIP’s son. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I wrenched open the ambulance door. “Lauren!” I yelled, my voice raw. “There is a child over there who is bleeding to death! We’ve been here for almost an hour! He’s not going to make it!” Without looking up, she waved a dismissive hand. “Can’t you see I’m busy? This is Dr. Coleman’s son. If something happens to him, do you want to be the one to explain it?” “His life is a life, too!” I screamed, my control shattering. “This is all because of you! He could have been saved by now!” Lauren shot me a venomous glare. “Don’t interfere, Maya. If the Chief gets angry, we’ll both be out of a job.” A woman who looked like the boy’s nanny chimed in. “Exactly. We need to take care of the child right in front of us.” I looked from their faces to the scraped knee, and I wanted to tear my hair out. The crowd that had gathered, drawn by the commotion, began to murmur. They didn’t know the context; they just saw a hysterical doctor and a calm one. “What’s wrong with her? She’s a doctor, she should be helping.” “Look, she doesn’t want to treat the kid just because it’s not a big injury. What kind of person is that?” “Someone should get her name. Report her to the hospital.” Phones came out. Cameras were pointed at me. I was being judged, condemned by a jury of strangers who had no idea what was happening. I was dizzy with anger and helplessness, tears stinging my eyes. But I couldn’t back down. If I gave up now, the boy had no one. “Lauren, I’m not asking you again,” I said, my voice low and shaking with fury. “Either we go to that child right now, or I’m calling the police. And when this blows up, we’re all going down with it.” 06 A flicker of panic crossed Lauren’s face. She knew I wasn’t bluffing. But just as she seemed to waver, a fresh wave of cars surged down the street, locking us in place. The holiday gridlock had returned with a vengeance. The ambulance was trapped. Lauren’s confidence instantly returned. “Well, look at that,” she said with a triumphant sneer. “Even if I wanted to go, I couldn’t. Now will you please shut up? Your whining is giving me a headache.” I stared through the windshield at the park entrance, less than five hundred yards away. It felt like it was on another planet. I could almost feel the boy’s life slipping away, and a wave of despair and guilt washed over me. Just then, a car door slammed nearby. Dr. Coleman, the Deputy Chief himself, had arrived. His eyes scanned the scene and landed on me, on the blood caked on my forehead. “Warren,” he said, his brow furrowed. “What happened to your head?” I instinctively touched the tender wound, my throat tight. “I… I fell, sir. But Dr. Coleman, I have an urgent situation to report…” Before I could continue, Lauren’s voice cut through the air, sharp and false. “That’s right! Dr. Coleman, you won’t believe it. She insisted on stopping to buy groceries on the way here, said she needed to make soup for her mother in the hospital. Then she tripped and cracked her head open. Utterly unprofessional!” She jabbed a finger into my back, her nail digging into my skin through my uniform. I spun around, met by the triumphant malice in her eyes. People in the crowd started whispering again. “So selfish. Thinking about her own family at a time like this…” “Totally irresponsible.” I gripped the handle of the trauma kit, my knuckles turning white. “Dr. Pierce, you were the one who insisted we treat your son’s scraped knee first, while the other child has been waiting for forty-five minutes!” “And what if he has?” Lauren suddenly snatched the clipboard with the dispatch report from my hands and slapped it against my chest. She leaned in, her voice a venomous whisper. “Dr. Coleman could have us both fired with one phone call. Is that what you want?” She lowered her voice even more. “Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing, trying to climb the ladder by impressing the brass. It’s pathetic.” “That’s enough!” Dr. Coleman’s voice boomed. He looked at me, his expression stern. “Warren, where is this other injured child you mentioned?” I fumbled for my phone. “He’s inside the park, sir, near the Ferris wheel. His father called, he said he fell and now he’s…” “He’s fine now!” Lauren snatched my phone out of my hand. “That’s not true!” I tried to grab it back, but she shoved me away. “Sir,” Lauren said, her voice a model of calm professionalism. “I already checked on that child myself. The parents took him home. It was a false alarm.” She said it with such conviction, but I knew she was lying through her teeth, desperate to cover her tracks. Suddenly, a voice cut through the crowd. “I saw him! I saw the kid! His insides were… they were coming out!” It was the delivery guy from earlier, the one who had pointed me toward the ambulance. He was clutching his helmet, his hand shaking. Lauren scoffed. “Oh, and who’s this? Some random busybody?” She raised an eyebrow, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “What’s your connection to Maya here? Is this some kind of scam to shake us down for money?” That was it. To be slandered, to be publicly humiliated while a child was dying… I snapped. I lunged forward and grabbed the front of her white coat. “Lauren! We are going over there. Now. It will take two minutes!” I turned to the Deputy Chief. “Sir, once we’re there, you’ll see the truth!” I grabbed the trauma kit and tried to pull her with me. The slap was so hard my ears rang. I tasted blood in my mouth. “A thief who steals medical supplies has some nerve,” she hissed. The next thing I knew, she had stomped on the latch of the trauma kit I’d dropped, popping it open. “You see, Dr. Coleman? She’s lying about everything. Her real goal was to steal these imported hemostats!” “You… you are insane!” A hot, coppery rage filled my throat. “You tried to steal medication earlier, Maya,” she said loudly for the benefit of the crowd. “I stopped you then, but I guess you just can’t help yourself.” As the onlookers gasped, I felt the buttons of my uniform pop as she yanked on my coat. At that exact moment, my phone, still in my pocket, began to vibrate violently. It was the father. With trembling hands, I answered it. The man’s scream, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony, tore through the speaker. “Doctor! Help my son! He… he’s not moving! His body… it’s getting cold!” Lauren’s eyes widened. She snatched the phone from my hand. “Sir, please calm down…” She spoke only a few words before her own voice died in her throat. Her pupils dilated, her face draining of all color. The hand holding the phone began to tremble violently. She was listening to the faint, gasping sounds from the other end, and a flicker of something incomprehensible crossed her face. “That voice…” she muttered to herself, her own voice barely a whisper. “It sounds so much like my husband…” She shook her head, as if to clear it. “No, it couldn’t be…”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384986”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The first time Chloe’s new boyfriend, Leo, set foot in our office, he made it his mission to mark his territory. And by territory, I mean my boss. His opening move? He grabbed Chloe’s phone, found my contact, and deleted it right in front of my face. He held up his own phone, a smug yet innocent look plastered on his face. “Sam, my man. From now on, if you need Chloe, just hit me up. I’ll pass the message along.” He winked. “I’m just, like, super insecure, you know? Don’t want any… misunderstandings between us.” I looked over at Chloe, expecting her to shut this down. She was the CEO, for God’s sake. Instead, she was gazing at Leo with a look of pure adoration, like he’d just discovered a cure for cancer. She turned to me, her voice syrupy sweet. “That’s actually a great idea. Sam, from now on, just do me a favor and look out for Leo, okay?” Cornered, I had no choice but to add Leo on my phone. The second he accepted the friend request, my phone blew up. [Hey Sam. This client you’re meeting tomorrow, Mr. Harrison. Man or woman?] [Where’s the meeting? And you better wear something super casual. Like, don’t even wash your hair. I don’t want you trying to steal my girl.] [I trust that you and Chloe are just friends, but you can’t betray me, bro. I’m counting on you as my brother now!] [Oh, and new daily task for you—remind Chloe to send me a voice memo saying ‘I love you’ every thirty minutes.] I stared at the messages, a disbelieving laugh escaping my lips. I silenced my phone, tossed it on the nightstand, and went to bed. The next morning, I woke up to the sight of dozens of missed calls. 1 My stomach lurched. I thought there must have been a major emergency at work. I immediately called back. The moment the call connected, Leo’s shriek ripped through my eardrum like a lightning strike. “Sam Taylor! What the hell were you doing last night? Why didn’t you answer my calls!” “Were you hiding something? Where did you sleep? Turn on your location services! I need to check!” “I’m warning you, if I find out you’re making a move on Chloe behind my back, I will skin you alive!” His hysterical tirade left me speechless. I was the COO of our company, not his and Chloe’s personal assistant. I fought to keep my voice even. “Leo, I have no obligation to report my personal schedule to you. If you have questions for Chloe, you can ask her yourself.” I added, “After work, my time is my own. What I do and where I am is my business, not yours.” Leo just scoffed, his voice dripping with menace. “You’re not answering because you’re guilty! You think I won’t just have Chloe fire you?” “Leo,” I couldn’t help but push back, “you call her your ‘girl,’ but you two aren’t even engaged, are you? If I make a professional mistake, I’ll accept the consequences. But firing me for ‘being guilty of something’ you imagined? I don’t think that’ll hold up.” He completely ignored my point. “Just tell me! Why didn’t you answer my calls? What were you doing?” I was already exhausted by this conversation. “I was sleeping,” I said, my patience wearing thin. “It was the middle of the night. What else would I be doing?” “Sleeping?” His voice suddenly became righteous, as if he’d caught me in a lie. “Were you sleeping alone? Where do you live? Did you secretly move into an apartment next to Chloe’s?” “I don’t care what you say. Send me your live location right now, or you’ll regret it!” I was done. I hung up and sent him my location pin just to shut him up. As expected, the barrage of calls and texts stopped instantly. Two minutes later, a new message popped up. His tone had completely changed. [Hey man, I’m sorry. I just get really paranoid. Chloe’s so amazing, I’m always afraid someone’s gonna try and take her from me. You’re not mad, are you?] [When you guys get to the meeting, can you send me a few pics of her? Just so I can see her pretty face.] I rolled my eyes so hard I think I saw my brain. Shaking off the deep sense of annoyance, I got ready and headed for the office. 2 Leo was some college kid Chloe had recently started dating. The moment he figured out she owned her own company, he came sprinting over to “stake his claim.” The problem was, the guy was either dumber than a box of rocks or he’d watched way too many cheesy rom-coms. He treated every man in the office as a rival, which meant that I—the guy who’d been Chloe’s classmate in college and co-founded this company with her from the ground up—was Public Enemy Number One. He watched me like a hawk, completely oblivious to the fact that I’d poured my soul into making money and had zero interest in office romance. At 9:30 AM, Chloe and I walked into the conference room at Mr. Harrison’s firm, ready to finalize the details of a major partnership. The meeting wasn’t until 10, but my phone, sitting on the table, started buzzing nonstop. The notification sounds were like nails on a chalkboard in the quiet room. Chloe shot my phone a dirty look, then put on her boss hat. “Phones on silent during work hours, Sam. Do I have to remind you of the basics?” I glanced at the screen. Of course, it was all from Leo. [Bro, you at the conference room yet? You seen Harrison? Send me a pic!] [And a full-body shot of you! I need to approve your outfit!] [You’re with Chloe, right? Why isn’t she answering my texts? Tell her to check her phone NOW!] A vein started throbbing in my temple. I took a deep breath and said to Chloe, as politely as I could, “Your boyfriend is looking for you.” The second she heard the word “boyfriend,” she snatched her phone, scanned the messages, and immediately stood up and walked out of the room. I was left there, completely stunned. Mr. Harrison was due to arrive any minute, and she was leaving to text her boyfriend? Sure enough, two minutes after she left, Mr. Harrison and his assistant walked in. His eyes fell on the empty chair beside me, and his brow furrowed. “Where is Ms. Vance?” Mr. Harrison was in his fifties, an old-school titan of the industry known for his emphasis on punctuality and professionalism. The displeasure on his face was impossible to miss. I quickly smoothed things over with a smile and a convenient excuse, then took the lead and started walking him through our proposal. Over the next thirty minutes, he was nodding along, and the atmosphere in the room felt great. Just then, Chloe strolled back in without a hint of urgency. She sat down beside me and asked how it was going. When I told her it was going well, shevisibly relaxed and then took over, wanting to dive into the fine print with Mr. Harrison. I used the opportunity to slip out for a glass of water. The moment I was in the breakroom, I pulled out my phone. 99+ notifications. Dozens of missed calls. I didn’t even need to look to know who it was. Before I could even open the app, a video call from Leo popped up. I declined. It popped up again. Declined. Again. After the third time, I knew he wouldn’t stop. I braced myself and answered. His roar blasted through the speaker. “Sam Taylor! You’re ignoring my calls again! What are you hiding!” I was about to lose it. “Leo, I told you I was in a meeting! This is a multi-million dollar contract. If we lose it, are you going to take responsibility?” He sneered. “Well, if I get into a fight with Chloe because of you, and it affects her work, are you going to take responsibility for that?” I was floored. I honestly couldn’t comprehend the twisted logic rattling around in his brain. Before I could respond, he became even more demanding. “Turn on your camera. Right now! I want to see where you are and who’s around you. Pan 360 degrees, nice and slow!” A wave of pure frustration washed over me. I gripped my phone, my knuckles white. “Leo, I’m in the middle of something. Can you please stop? If you need something, talk to Chloe. I’m her COO, not your couple’s counselor.” “Turn it on! That’s the only way I’ll believe you! Otherwise, you’re just lying!” My conscience was clear, so I figured, what the hell. I switched to the camera and pointed it at the conference room door I had just exited. “See? Happy now? I told you I was in a—” My words were cut off by a piercing scream. “Aaargh! You bastard, Sam! You’re trying to have a little office romance with Chloe, aren’t you? Not on my watch! As long as I’m around, you will never lay a hand on her!” That was it. My last shred of patience evaporated. I ended the call, and in one fluid motion, deleted and blocked his number. The sudden silence was bliss. Looking at my clean, quiet phone, I felt like I could finally breathe again. 3 When I returned to the conference room, Chloe and Mr. Harrison were getting along splendidly. It looked like they were just about to sign the contract. Mr. Harrison picked up the pen and smiled at Chloe. “You know, a lot of bigger firms were fighting for this project, some with higher bids. But we go way back, and I trust doing business with people I know. Besides,” he said, nodding in my direction, “your Mr. Taylor here is a rare talent. Sincere, professional, incredibly competent. An employee like that is hard to find.” I didn’t let the praise go to my head. I’d earned that respect with my work. Chloe looked relieved and started exchanging pleasantries with him. Just as Mr. Harrison’s pen was about to touch the signature line, the conference room door was thrown open with a loud bang. His assistant was trying desperately to hold Leo back, apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Harrison. This gentleman said he’s Ms. Vance’s boyfriend and insisted on ‘supervising the meeting.’ I couldn’t stop him…” Before she could finish, Leo shoved her aside and stormed right up to me. He swung his hand and slapped me hard across the face. CRACK! The sharp sound echoed through the silent room. Everyone froze. I held my hand to my stinging cheek, my eyes ice-cold as I stared at Leo. His face was streaked with tears, his eyes swollen and red. He had clearly cried his way over here. But he was acting like he was the one who had been wronged. Chloe rushed to his side. “Leo! What are you doing here?” Instead of answering, Leo’s eyes darted around the room, scrutinizing everyone present. He looked at Mr. Harrison, at the still-active PowerPoint presentation on the screen, at the documents scattered on the table—all clear evidence that this was nothing more than a standard business meeting. Realizing he’d just made a massive mistake, he instantly switched into ‘damsel in distress’ mode, grabbing Chloe’s arm. “I… you weren’t answering my messages,” he whimpered. “I was so worried something had happened to you.” He shot a timid, accusatory glance at me. “And Sam deleted me… he wouldn’t answer my texts, and he was so rude…” His voice trailed off, his eyes welling up again as he mumbled, “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to.” I was still reeling, fighting back a storm of rage, when Chloe grabbed my arm. Her tone was like steel. “You. Apologize to Leo.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Chloe, I’m the one who just got assaulted for no reason!” “So what?” she snapped, her brow furrowed in a look of profound, baffling righteousness. “You knew he’s sensitive and insecure. Why didn’t you just answer his messages? That’s a failure on your part! And I never told you to delete him. Who gave you the right?” If Mr. Harrison hadn’t been in the room, I would have thrown my entire portfolio right at their stupid faces. Clenching my jaw, I took out my phone and cast the screen to the large monitor at the front of the room. The hundreds of messages from Leo filled the display—a scrolling testament to his insanity, from interrogations about my location and outfit to demands that I act as their personal love-note courier. Leo fell silent, his eyes darting away. Chloe stared at the screen, momentarily stunned. “So, Chloe,” I said, my voice dangerously calm, “what you’re saying is, I should have abandoned this multi-million dollar contract to go play therapist for your boyfriend?” I paused for effect. “Tell me, who’s his partner here? You, or me?” Her face flushed crimson. She immediately tried to deflect. “Sam Taylor! Is that how you speak to me? Do you even want this job anymore?” She doubled down on her twisted logic. “This contract is important, but Leo’s feelings are more important! You’re a senior partner, my right-hand man. It should be your job to handle these things for me, both in and out of the office!” I had no words. There’s no arguing with a brick wall. Seeing Chloe’s attention was off him, Leo started his drama act again. He clutched her arm, his voice breaking. “Chloe, stop… It’s okay. I know Sam just can’t stand to see me happy. He probably has a thing for you and is just jealous that I’m with you, so he’s doing all this on purpose…” He turned to leave, the picture of a wounded soul. “I’ll go! I know nobody here cares about my feelings…” With a final sob, he ran out of the room. Chloe didn’t even glance at me, let alone our most important client. She just bolted after him. 4 The conference room fell silent. It was just me, Mr. Harrison, and his assistant. Mr. Harrison’s face was as dark as a thundercloud. He let out a cold, humorless laugh. “So, Ms. Vance values her boyfriend’s tantrum over a multi-million dollar contract. I see now what your company’s ‘sincere commitment’ looks like.” His tone had turned to ice, all the previous warmth gone. “We will need to re-evaluate your firm’s capabilities. That will be all for today. You can see yourselves out.” A wave of defeat washed over me. I was the only one who knew how many sleepless nights I’d spent on this proposal, how many trips I’d made to iron out every detail, how much personal effort I’d put into building a rapport with him. And now, all of it was destroyed by my love-struck boss and her pathologically insecure boyfriend. A flicker of ice formed in my own gaze. If Chloe was going to be this foolish, then she couldn’t blame me for what came next. As Mr. Harrison stood up to leave, I spoke. “Mr. Harrison, if you’ll just wait one moment.” He turned, his expression wary. I took a deep breath, reached into my briefcase, and pulled out a different folder. I walked over and handed it to him. “Sir, before you make a final decision, perhaps you’d be willing to take a look at this proposal instead.”

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On the first holiday morning, after days of overtime, I was dead asleep. At 2 a.m., an unknown number buzzed me awake. A woman’s sharp voice demanded, “Is this Leo? My Aiden came home yesterday with a full water bottle. Did he not drink?” It took me a second—Aiden, the new intern in the CEO’s office. I politely replied, “It was hectic before the holiday. I’ll remind him to drink water when we’re back.” Five minutes later, she called again. “Aiden’s eyes are dry. Remind him to do eye exercises.” Exhausted, I hung up quickly. It rang instantly. “How dare you hang up? Aiden must rinse with 90°F water after lunch!” she shrieked. I snapped. “We hired an intern, not a god! He’s 26, not 6. Chain him at home if you’re so worried!” Before sunrise, I was summoned to the office. A woman with red lipstick stormed over and slapped me. “My Aiden is CEO Byron Vance’s son,” she yelled. “It’s your privilege to serve him!” I froze. Because I’m Byron Vance. And I had no idea I was married—or had a 26-year-old son. 1 The sharp sting exploded across my cheek, and a firestorm of rage ignited in my chest, threatening to burn me to ash. I lifted my eyes and gave the woman a cold, deliberate once-over. Impressive. In my entire life, no one had ever dared to lay a hand on Byron Vance. I was intensely curious to see who, exactly, had the gall to impersonate me—and invent a wife and son for me out of thin air. My stare seemed to infuriate her further. “What are you looking at?” she screeched. “You’re a lowlife. You think you have the right to glare at me? I ought to gouge your eyes out right now!” My manager, Mr. Davies, rushed over and barked at me, “Leo! Are you mute? Apologize! Now!” He turned to the woman, his face instantly transforming into a mask of fawning servitude. “This is Mrs. Janine Vance, the CEO’s wife and young Mr. Aiden’s mother! If she’s not happy, you can kiss your job goodbye!” After chewing me out, he turned back to her, bowing slightly. “Mrs. Vance, please, calm down. This worthless new hire doesn’t know the rules! For his disrespect, I’ll personally make sure he pays dearly today!” Janine lifted her chin, a contemptuous snort escaping her nostrils. “Does this branch office not vet its hires anymore? You’ll let any riff-raff off the street in here.” “You’re absolutely right, ma’am.” Mr. Davies wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, practically groveling. “It’s my failure as a manager. I’m so sorry you had to endure this…” “That’s enough,” Janine said, clearly savoring the groveling. She glanced between us, her eyes holding the same detached interest one might have for an ant just before crushing it. “I’m not an unreasonable person,” she said, her gaze landing back on me. “For Mr. Davies’ sake, we’ll let this slide.” Her tone shifted, becoming imperious. “You. From now on, you will be personally responsible for my Aiden.” “You make sure he’s comfortable, and I’ll make sure you’re rewarded.” Mr. Davies immediately chimed in like a trained dog. “Did you hear that, Leo? This is the opportunity of a lifetime! A chance to personally attend to the Crown Prince! Your ancestors must be smiling down on you! Thank Mrs. Vance right now!” Janine nodded, satisfied. She pulled a stack of papers from her purse and began issuing her decrees. “My Aiden has a delicate stomach, so you’ll be cooking all his meals. The food out there is filthy. All ingredients must be certified organic, and his water must be from Fiji. Anything else gives him an upset stomach!” “Also!” she continued without taking a breath, “Aiden must get up and move for ten minutes every hour. You will give him a full-body massage, five minutes per set, with moderate pressure. And his white shirts must be hand-washed, never machine-dried, or he’ll break out in a rash…” She rattled on and on, while Mr. Davies stood by, nodding and bowing as if he were receiving holy scripture. The longer I listened, the colder my smile became. “Hah.” A single, sharp laugh echoed through the dead-silent office. Janine’s condescending expression froze. “What are you laughing at?” she demanded, her voice turning dangerously low. I slowly raised my head, locking my eyes on hers. “I came here to work,” I said, enunciating every word. “Not to babysit a mentally deficient man-child.” “Is he paralyzed? Does he need me to hold it for him when he pees? If he’s that incapable of basic functions, hire a nurse. The fact that you insist he work when he’s that handicapped… it’s a true inspiration, really. A testament to the human spirit.” The air went still. Mr. Davies’ face turned white, the hand he pointed at me trembling. “Leo! Are you… are you insane?” Janine was shaking with fury, jabbing a finger at my nose. “What did you say? You dare repeat that! Do you know how many people are on their knees, begging me for a chance to take care of my Aiden? I’m giving you an honor! A born servant like you was put on this earth to shine our shoes!” Her little speech was so absurd I had to laugh. “Ma’am, what century did you just crawl out of? And on your way out of the crypt, did the coffin lid happen to slam on your head? It would explain why you’re so spectacularly stupid.” “You—!” Janine clutched her chest, her ragged breaths echoing in the silence. Mr. Davies scrambled to her side. “Mrs. Vance, please! Don’t waste your anger on this trash!” She shoved him away, her face a mask of fury. “Fine! Just fine! You want to play tough? You’re fired! Get out! Now!” I shrugged nonchalantly. “Fine by me.” As I turned to leave, I deliberately slowed my pace, glanced back, and added with a small, knowing smile, “I’m just afraid you’ll be crying and begging me to come back later.” “Beg you?” Janine burst out laughing as if I’d told the joke of the century. “Who do you think you are? I said you’re fired, but I never said you could walk out of here!” Her eyes turned to ice. She shot a look at Mr. Davies. He immediately stepped in front of me, playing the loyal attack dog. “Security!” he bellowed toward the door. “Get in here! Block the exit! Don’t let this bastard escape!” Several guards rushed in, surrounding me. “You think you can just stir up trouble and walk away?” I scanned their faces, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. Behind me, Janine’s voice dripped with smug satisfaction. “Scared now? Get on your knees. Apologize properly. Three times, with your head to the floor. Or I’ll make sure you leave Vance Industries horizontally.” “Make me kneel?” I slowly turned back around, a low chuckle escaping my lips as I took in her triumphant, distorted face. “You and what army?” Mr. Davies shoved my shoulder hard. “Leo! What is that attitude? You think you can act like this after disrespecting Mrs. Vance? You’re out of control!” He shot Janine a placating smile. “A punk like you needs to be taught a lesson! Mrs. Vance is telling you to kneel for your own good, so you learn not to cross the wrong people in the future! She is the queen of this company! If you make her happy today, you’ll never have to worry about a job again!” A classic masterclass in manipulation. If I were any other employee, that combination of threats and promises might have been enough to make my legs buckle. Too bad for them. They still hadn’t figured it out. They were the ones who had crossed the wrong person. And that person was me. Byron Vance. I brushed Mr. Davies’ hand off my shoulder and dusted off a speck of non-existent lint. “Don’t try that with me,” I said calmly. “If you think I’m going to bend, you’re dreaming.” At my defiance, Janine’s eyes grew even more venomous. “So, you’ve chosen the hard way. A dog that doesn’t obey needs to be beaten. Once it’s broken, it’ll learn how to wag its tail.” Mr. Davies understood immediately. With a nod from him, the security guards lunged at me from all sides. I was outnumbered. There were too many of them, and I couldn’t fend them all off. In the chaos, a stun baton jabbed hard into the small of my back. A searing jolt of electricity and pain shot through my entire body. My knees buckled, but I dug my nails into my palms, forcing myself to stay upright. “Make him kneel!” Janine commanded. Two guards grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to the ground. I gritted my teeth against the agony, forcing the words out. “You… are… not… worthy!” In the struggle, I managed to pull my wallet from my pocket. With the last of my strength, I whipped out my ID and slapped it across Janine’s face. “Take a good look! See who the hell I really am!” The plastic card shattered her arrogant expression and clattered to the floor. Stunned, Janine bent down and picked it up. When she saw the name and photograph, her eyes widened for a second, then she exploded into a fit of piercing, manic laughter. “Hahahaha! Byron Vance? Your name is Byron Vance, too? You? With that pathetic look on your face? You dare impersonate my husband? You idiot!” I spit out a mouthful of blood and sneered, “I am the CEO of Vance Industries. The sole heir to the Vance family. The one and only Byron Vance.” The laughter died on her lips, her face turning cold. “So that’s your game! You got a fake ID from some back-alley printer and you think you can impersonate my husband? You must have a death wish!” She quickly dialed a number and put it on speaker. “Honey, I’m at your branch office. There’s some lunatic here with a fake ID claiming to be you. You need to get down here and handle this!” A deep, booming male voice immediately answered. “Outrageous! Don’t worry, darling. I’m on my way!” That voice… It was familiar. My stomach dropped, but for the life of me, I couldn’t place it. Before I could speak, Mr. Davies kicked me sharply behind the knee. “Leo! Have you lost your mind? Your name is Leo Shaw, not Mr. Vance! Apologize to Mrs. Vance right now, or when the real CEO gets here, this whole company will go down with you!” Pain shot through my leg, and I stumbled to the floor. But I forced my head up, my gaze like a knife. “I’ll say it one more time. I am Byron Vance. Headquarters is preparing for a merger, and I came here undercover to see how this branch really operates.” My words were met with even more scorn from Janine. “Spoken like true gutter trash. You can’t even spin a convincing lie! You’ve read too many fantasy novels, haven’t you? Started to think you’re the main character?” The smile vanished from her face. “If you’re going to be a con artist, you should pick an easier target. You don’t poke the bear. Today, I’m going to teach you what real power looks like.” She raised a hand, her voice chillingly cold. “Beat him. Beat him until he can’t stand.” “If he dies or ends up crippled, Vance Industries will cover it. Whoever hits him the hardest gets to be the new manager of this office!” The guards swarmed me, fists and feet raining down like hail. Pain and humiliation washed over me, but more than anything, I felt a sense of endless absurdity. Idiots! A bunch of complete idiots! How could anyone believe this charade? A true legacy family would never behave with such crude, theatrical foolishness. I fought back with everything I had left, roaring, “I dare you! Touch me again! I’m calling the police! Let them verify who I am!” Perhaps it was the raw fury in my eyes, but for a moment, they actually hesitated. All except Janine. Her laughter grew louder, more unhinged. “The police? Oh, they’ll come, alright. They’ll come to arrest you. I was going to have you thrown in jail for fraud anyway. But first, you’re going to pay the price for your arrogance.” She leaned in close, her eyes filled with malice. “You have a filthy mouth. I’m going to knock your teeth out, one by one. Let’s see you talk smart after that.” “You dare!” I snarled, my eyes blazing with a terrifying light. “For what you’ve done to me today, the Vance family will never let you go.” My voice was quiet, but it was heavy with absolute certainty. Janine just raised an eyebrow. “The Vance family? Too bad for you, that belongs to my husband. And you? You’re just a pathetic loser with delusions of grandeur.” A flicker of cruel delight crossed her face. She slowly lifted her sharp-heeled shoe and aimed it at my face. “Better luck in the next life.” Psycho! This woman is a complete psycho! How could she be so reckless? Was I actually going to die here? Just as I braced for the impact, the office door was kicked open with a tremendous crash. When I saw who was standing there, my eyes shot wide open in disbelief. It was him.

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The rookie mistake was not checking his pockets. Two plane tickets, shredded into pulp by the spin cycle in his suit pants. The moment I could make out the destination—”Maldives”—the Comments flickered into view, superimposed over the laundry room wall. 【There’s no way the side character thinks he’s taking her, right?】 【Fun fact: He needs pills to touch the side character. The main character is his own personal aphrodisiac.】 【Place your bets. How is she going to flip out on him this time?】 That’s when I finally focused on the names. His, yes. And another woman’s. But I didn’t flip out. I just waited for Ethan to come home, and offered him a placid smile. “I ruined the tickets in the wash. You’ll probably need to print out a new set for her.” 1 The washing machine chimed, its cycle complete, just as I was placing the last shirt on a hanger. Ethan’s custom suit trousers were usually empty, but today my fingertips brushed against the stiff corner of something left in the pocket. I pulled them out. Two plane tickets. First class to the Maldives. The departure date was next Wednesday—the same week he’d told me he had a business trip to Singapore. The passenger names were his and another woman’s. The cardstock felt like a branding iron against my skin. My fingers began to tremble. And then, as if summoned by the dread, translucent text began to scroll through the air in front of me, like subtitles in a movie I didn’t want to see. 【This isn’t the first time for her, is she really going to chase him down for answers again?】 【God, this woman is so annoying. Can’t she just learn her place?】 【When is she getting written out of the show?】 【Ethan, just divorce her already. You and Chloe would be so much better together…】 “What are you looking at?” Ethan’s voice came from behind me. I flinched, nearly stepping on the ruined tickets I’d dropped on the floor. He had just showered, his hair still dripping, beads of water tracing a path down his neck and into the loose collar of his bathrobe. His gaze fell to the tickets in my hand. His pupils contracted. A sharp, throbbing pain started in my temples. More Comments floated past. 【Come on, Ethan, think of an excuse!】 【Just say you bought them for a coworker. Easy.】 【Here we go. She’s about to lose it.】 “They were a prize from Chloe’s company raffle,” Ethan said, his voice terrifyingly calm as he reached for the tickets. “Her husband can’t go, so…” I pulled back, dodging his hand. “So she gave them to you? Are you two really that close?” The feed went wild. 【It’s just a plane ticket. What’s the big deal?】 【As a woman, even I don’t get her.】 【Dump her, Ethan! Just dump her!】 Ethan’s expression darkened. “Ava, do you have to do this?” “Do what?” My voice started to shake. “You’re the one who lied about a business trip, when you were really…” “Because I knew you’d overthink it!” he snapped, his volume jumping. He snatched the tickets from my grasp. “Chloe and I are just colleagues. Can you stop being so paranoid?” A chorus of cheers erupted in the Comments. 【That’s the way, Ethan!】 【That’s how you handle a woman like her.】 【Break up with her already…】 My nails dug into my palms, the sharp sting of pain the only thing keeping me upright. “Ethan, where were you last Friday night?” His face froze for a fraction of a second. “Working late.” “Really?” I pulled out my phone, bringing up a text thread with his colleague. “Should I show you the rest?” The feed exploded. 【Holy shit, the side character is investigating him?】 【That’s terrifying. What a control freak.】 【Run, Ethan, run!】 The color drained from Ethan’s face. He grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight I winced. “You’re spying on me?” “I just want the truth!” I struggled against him. “You always come home smelling like a perfume that isn’t mine, your phone is filled with locked photo albums, and now this—” “Enough!” He shoved me away, the tickets fluttering to the ground. “If you can’t trust me, then maybe we should just break up.” The Comments boiled over. 【He finally said it!】 【Attaboy, Ethan!】 【Get lost, side character!】 I stood frozen, watching his back as he slammed the door behind him. My vision blurred with tears. 2 I curled up on the sofa, the crumpled tickets still clutched in my hand. Outside, a torrential rain began to fall, the drops hammering against the glass like a thousand mocking voices. My head was splitting. My phone buzzed. A text from Ethan. Let’s talk when you’ve calmed down. It was followed by another. Delete the screenshots. Don’t do something you’ll regret. 【He’s still too kind…】 【She doesn’t deserve it.】 【Just block her already.】 The doorbell rang, a shrill, unexpected sound. Through the peephole, I saw Chloe. She was wearing a red dress, the color of fresh blood. “Ava, sweetie~” Her voice was syrupy sweet. “Ethan left his stomach medication at my place. He asked me to drop it by.” I opened the door and she pushed her way inside, the heel of her shoe landing squarely on one of the fallen tickets. “Oh, dear. Did you find these?” she feigned surprise, pulling a small bottle from her purse. “And it’s not just for his stomach, you know. Ethan’s been under so much stress lately. He needs a little something to help him sleep.” I stared at the unlabeled pill bottle, my mind flashing back to a memory of Ethan stirring a white powder into my coffee once. “You two…” My voice was a raw, unfamiliar croak. Chloe leaned in, her lips close to my ear. “Did you know,” she whispered, “that he has to take something… to get it up for you? Otherwise, he can’t perform.” She let out a soft giggle. “It’s different with me, though.” The feed scrolled furiously. 【Chloe is such a queen!】 【The look on the side character’s face is priceless.】 【Get her out of his life!】 I raised my hand to slap her, but she caught my wrist in a vice grip. “Did I hit a nerve?” Chloe tilted her head. “It’s a shame, really. Nothing you do will ever work.” “Ethan will only ever be mine.” 3 … When I opened my eyes, the biting scent of antiseptic flooded my senses. White ceiling tiles, a cold IV drip, and—Ethan, sitting by the hospital bed, holding my hand. He saw I was awake and his brow relaxed slightly, but his voice was still cold. “You’re awake?” I yanked my hand away, pressing myself against the headboard. “Don’t touch me.” My voice was hoarse, my throat burning as if I’d swallowed fire. Ethan’s expression tightened for a moment before smoothing over into a calm mask. “The doctor said you were emotionally unstable. You need to rest.” 【Here she goes with the drama again.】 【Ethan is being more than patient with her.】 【Just get discharged and break up already.】 I stared at him, my gaze unwavering. “Where is Chloe?” His eyes darted away for a second. “She just came by to drop off the medicine. You fainted, and she called the ambulance.” “Is that right?” I gave a cold laugh. “Then why was she wearing my necklace?” Ethan frowned. “What necklace?” I didn’t answer, just looked toward the door of the hospital room. Chloe was standing there, holding a fruit basket, a sweet smile plastered on her face. “Ava, sweetie, you’re awake!” Around her neck, gleaming under the fluorescent lights, was the diamond necklace Ethan had given me for my birthday. The Comments went into a frenzy. 【What’s wrong with Chloe wearing the necklace?】 【The side character is so petty.】 【Ethan, tell her to get lost!】 Ethan turned, his frown deepening. “Chloe, you should go.” Chloe’s lip trembled in a perfect pout, but she nodded obediently. “Okay, Ethan. Remember to eat something.” As she turned to leave, her fingertips brushed against the back of his hand, and she shot me a look of pure triumph. I closed my eyes, my nails digging into my palms again. “Ethan, let’s break up.” He shot to his feet, the chair screeching against the linoleum. “Ava, have you not had enough?” “Enough?” I opened my eyes, my voice chillingly calm. “The tickets to the Maldives, her wearing my necklace, you going to her apartment in the middle of the night—and you think I’m the one making a scene?” The feed scrolled faster and faster. 【Is she ever going to shut up?】 【Just agree to the breakup already!】 【End this, please!】 Ethan took a deep, steadying breath, as if physically restraining himself. “I told you, we’re just friends.” “Are you?” I picked up my phone and pressed play on a recording. “Ethan, sweetie, if Ava finds out about us, do you think she’ll go crazy?” Chloe’s sickly-sweet voice filled the silent room. “She won’t find out,” Ethan’s voice was low and cool. “And even if she does, there’s nothing she can do about it.” The recording stopped. The blood drained from Ethan’s face. The Comments froze for a full second, then erupted. 【HOLY SHIT! The side character recorded them!】 【Ethan is so busted!】 【This is getting good…】 I looked at him, my voice barely a whisper. “Now. Are you still going to tell me she’s just a friend?” His fist clenched and unclenched at his side. Finally, without another word, he turned and left the room. The sound of the door slamming shut made my eardrums ache. A final, gold-lettered message flashed in the air. 【SYSTEM ERROR…】

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I was supposed to be a ghost. The first love, the one enshrined in memory, the wife who died too young. Ten years after the fire, a System brought me back. My mission: to save him, the villain my husband had become. The only problem? I couldn’t remember a thing. Not him, not our life, not even my own name until the System gave it to me. So when I saw him from a distance, a man carved from shadow and ice, I didn’t get close. His security saw to that. As they threw me against the alley wall, the world spitting me out like something bitter, a series of comments flickered into existence before my eyes, a ghostly feed only I could see. 【Here we go again. I’ve lost count of how many have tried to ‘save’ the big bad wolf.】 【For a decade, the System has been terrified he’ll burn the world down. So it keeps sending these candidates, these replacements, to try and pacify him.】 【There have been girls who looked just like his dead wife, girls who had her exact personality, even one who came armed with all of her memories…】 【They all failed. Spectacularly.】 【So this one? This painfully average girl? How many days does she get?】 1 When the System dropped me into this life, the man whose moods dictated the stability of the entire world was thirty-four years old. And he had a son who was nearly ten. I woke from a long, dreamless sleep into a world of total unknowns. All I knew was my name—Nora. I was twenty-three. The System had just informed me of this. Beyond that, it gave me a litany of warnings, a thousand cautions about the man I was supposed to save. It urged me not to end up like the others who came before me, who had their lives extinguished the moment they entered his world. The System told me his name was Damian Shaw, a man who sat at the absolute apex of global wealth and power. He was brutal, vindictive, a caged animal pacing the confines of his own gilded world. The only shred of humanity he had left, it seemed, was reserved for his young son. I stared at my reflection in the mirror for a long time. “I don’t see anything special in me,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Nothing that would make a man like that even look my way.” The System was silent for a moment. When it spoke again, its tone was heavy with meaning. “You’re the last chance, Nora. If you can’t do this—” It cut itself off, the voice hardening with a strange resolve. “No. You can. You have to.” 2 The System’s warnings were not an exaggeration. The first time I managed to even get a glimpse of Damian Shaw, I was detected almost instantly. He was standing outside the gates of an expensive-looking private school, waiting for his son. He wore a tailored black coat, the collar turned up against the wind, his frame a stark silhouette against the pale afternoon sky. He never once glanced in my direction. I watched the sharp, cold line of his profile, and a strange, uncontrollable emotion bloomed in my chest. It was a grief so sharp, so sudden, it brought tears to my eyes. The feeling stunned me, rooting me to the spot. I didn’t even notice his security approaching until they were on me—two mountains in bespoke suits. A universe of pain erupted as they heaved me into the brick wall of a nearby alley. One of them, his face a mask of professional menace, leaned down. “You don’t look at people you’re not supposed to see,” he growled, the threat hanging in the cold air. He gave my pathetic, crumpled form on the ground a final, dismissive glance. “Next time, it won’t be this simple.” 3 At that exact moment, the sky began to bleed snow. I cradled my throbbing arm, leaning against the cold brick. From the mouth of the alley, I watched Damian greet his son. Even with the boy, his expression didn’t soften. He just stubbed out his cigarette, his movements precise and economical, and reached down to take the small hand offered to him. They turned and walked to a black car waiting at the curb. Maybe my stare was too intense, too desperate. Just before he got in, the boy turned his head and looked directly at me. I must have been a sorry sight, a mess of snow and blood and bruised dignity. And yet, instinctively, I managed a small, gentle smile for this beautiful, serious-looking boy. His gaze was as indifferent as his father’s. His eyes, a deep, quiet gray, assessed me calmly. He only looked for a second. A bodyguard stepped forward, pulling the car door open. It closed with a solid, final thud, sealing them inside. The car pulled away from the curb without a backward glance. 4 My heart plummeted, a sudden, sickening feeling of freefall. Before I could even begin to process the strange tide of emotions washing over me, the white text reappeared, scrolling rapidly in my vision. 【A new player has entered the game.】 【Ten years. I’ve lost count of how many there have been. Dozens? Hundreds?】 【The System is so damn scared of this guy. Terrified he’s gonna have one bad day and just delete the whole world.】 【So it keeps trying to shove people into his life.】 【But Damian only loves his dead wife.】 【That’s why the System keeps sending these ‘substitutes.’】 【Some look like her, some act like her, one even had a complete memory download…】 5 I stared at the frantic stream of text, my brow furrowed. I’d forgotten how to blink. “This guy,” as they called him, had to be Damian Shaw, the man holding the world hostage with his grief. And the failed players… that’s why the System had been so insistent on his danger. It had tried everything. Which begged the question: why did it think I, someone so painfully ordinary, could possibly succeed where all the others had failed? As if reading my mind, the feed’s commentary shifted to me. 【Honestly, though, it’s not some substitute player who’s been keeping him stable all these years.】 【It’s the son his wife left him.】 【She was gone, just like that. Nothing left of her but that boy.】 【That kid is Damian’s only remaining tether to this world.】 【If it weren’t for him, Damian probably would’ve destroyed everything, himself included, years ago. He would have followed his wife into the grave.】 【Which is why every single one of these players has failed.】 【His wife is his ghost, his sacred ground.】 【It’s the one pure thing left in his heart.】 【He will not let anyone defile her memory by wearing her face or claiming her place.】 【That’s why the fakes all die. Each one worse than the last.】 【So what about this one?】 【This plain, unprepared girl with absolutely nothing going for her?】 【How many days do you give her?】 A betting pool started. 【I give her until the next time she meets him.】 【That’s when she dies. I’m in.】 【I’ll take that bet.】 【Same.】 Then, a laughing emoji appeared. 【Dude, she took a pretty nasty fall just now.】 【And it’s snowing. Hard.】 【Who’s to say she even survives the night…?】 6 I lowered my gaze, ignoring the cascade of cruel text. I focused on the bloody scrape on my arm instead. But, to everyone’s surprise, my next interaction with the world of Damian Shaw came not from me, but from his son. He came to me. I have no idea how he found me. I only know that when I opened the door of my room in the cheap motel I could barely afford, he was standing there, a backpack slung over his shoulder, alone. He had his father’s face in miniature, the same serious, impassive expression. I froze in the doorway. He tilted his head back slightly to look up at me, his gaze fixed on my face. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice low and clear. It was a strange question. He had sought me out, only to ask who I was. “My name is Nora,” I answered, my voice steady despite my confusion. The instant the name left my lips, his brow tightened into a deep frown. 7 The white text in my vision never stopped. As I spoke, it erupted in a chorus of unified mockery. 【Has the System just given up?】 【It’s tried look-alikes.】 【It’s tried act-alikes.】 【This is the first time it’s been this blatant. Just dropped in a player with the exact same name.】 【The System really isn’t afraid of making him angry, is it?】 【It might as well just gift-wrap her, drop her on his desk, and say: ‘You wanted Nora? Here’s a Nora for you.’】 Unlike the boisterous feed, the boy in front of me was dead serious. “My name is Liam,” he said quietly. His gaze intensified, studying my face, waiting for a reaction I didn’t know how to give. Nora. Liam. His name felt… connected to mine somehow. And combined with what the feed had revealed… Perhaps Damian Shaw’s dead wife, his ghost, was named Nora. 8 But my mind was a perfect, silent blank. I couldn’t give Liam the reaction he was clearly looking for. I had nothing to give. The hopeful intensity in his eyes slowly cooled into a familiar indifference. Just then, a man in a tailored suit came hurrying down the hall from the elevators. He was a head taller than Liam, but he stopped before the boy and bowed his head respectfully. “Young master,” he said, his tone urgent. “The car is waiting downstairs. You’ll be late for school.” Liam’s dark lashes lowered for a moment. It looked like disappointment. He turned to leave, his movements sharp and decisive. But after a single step, he paused. He frowned again, looking not at me, but at the grimy glass of the hallway window opposite my door. “You should get those injuries looked at,” he said. I followed his gaze to the window and saw my reflection. The crude bandages wrapped around my arm and right leg. The System hadn’t given me any advantages, no magical starting funds. The little cash I had was barely enough for this motel room and cheap food. A hospital was a luxury I couldn’t imagine. Liam was already gone. My eyes lingered on the window, on the blurry, distorted image of my own face. 9 There was a mottled scar on my right cheek. The System said I died in a fire ten years ago. It drew its energy from the world it managed, but Damian Shaw was a man who repaid every debt, real or imagined, a thousand times over. His wife had died in an “accident” connected to the world’s original hero and heroine. So he had, without mercy, destroyed everyone involved. That hero and heroine, the world’s designated protagonists, had been dead for five years. With them gone, the world had fallen completely under Damian’s control. The System itself was barely surviving, starved for power. It had only managed to restore my body to about 80% of its original state. I was healthy, but my skin was a roadmap of faded and raised burn scars of varying sizes. I looked at the strange face in the glass. It was a plain face, made ugly by the scar. Choosing me, this version of me, to win over a man like Damian… I couldn’t see a single glimmer of hope. No wonder the feed was filled with nothing but laughter at my expense. 10 Hope or no hope, I still had a mission. I had to win him over. That was the purpose of my resurrection, and the only way I was allowed to keep living. But before I could even think about Damian Shaw, I had to solve the immediate problem of my own survival. After days of searching, I found a job as a night-shift stocker at a bookstore in the lobby of the building directly across from Shaw Corp headquarters. My shift ended at midnight. The tower opposite was still blazing with light. I sat on the steps outside the bookstore, opening a box of cold takeout. At 12:07 AM, Damian’s black Maybach swept past. The tinted windows were impenetrable, a wall of black glass. I knew he was in there. The white text was buzzing with commentary. It seemed they had a better view than I did, a camera inside the car itself, and they used it to continue their running critique of me. 【Looks like the System gave up and now the player has given up, too…】 【Every other candidate who came here was immediately scheming, trying to get in front of him, trying to find an angle.】 【Her? She’s casually getting a job and living her life.】 【Guess that first meeting with his security guards scared her straight, huh?】 【Am I really just supposed to sit here and watch her organize bookshelves every night?】 【If you’re this useless, you shouldn’t have taken the mission from the System in the first place…】 I dropped my gaze, tuning out the hostile words. That’s when I noticed a stray dog, tail wagging hopefully, nosing at my leg. I picked out the only two pieces of meat from my meal and gave them to him. We shared the rest of my cold dinner under the city lights. 11 I worked at the bookstore for nearly a month. My injuries had mostly healed. It was then that I saw Damian again, by accident. It was 11 PM, and my boss asked me to deliver a stack of specially ordered books to an office in the tower across the street. After clearing multiple security checkpoints, I finally set foot inside the monolithic building for the first time. I dropped off the books and was heading back to the elevators. The building was quiet at this hour, most of the floors dark. As I waited, I heard a faint sound from the end of the long, empty corridor. It sounded like someone trying to choke back a cry of extreme pain. The elevator was taking forever. I hesitated, then looked toward the end of the hall. The feed screamed at me not to get involved, to mind my own business. They were even giving me strategic advice: use this chance to sneak down to the parking garage and ambush Damian when he left for the night. But I could still hear that muffled, desperate sound. I stood there for a long moment, then turned and walked toward the sound. 12 I don’t think anyone could have expected who I found. Crouched on the floor of the starkly lit emergency stairwell landing, it was Damian Shaw. He was dressed in a crisp black shirt and trousers, his shoulders broad even when he was curled in on himself. It was a picture of profound, shocking vulnerability. The moment I pushed the heavy door open, his head snapped up. His eyes were alert, sharp with suspicion and pain. Sweat beaded on his temples. I had stumbled into something I was never meant to see. I froze, my hand still on the door. Trapped in his gaze, I forced myself to speak. “…Do you need me to call a doctor?” He just stared at me, his expression cold and unreadable. I instinctively raised a hand to my face, pressing the plain white mask I wore more securely against my skin. Because of the scar, I always wore one in public, afraid of frightening customers or children. The weight of his stare was immense. I wanted to back away, to disappear. But then I saw the vein throbbing at his temple, the bloodless press of his lips, and a strange, unwelcome wave of empathy washed over me. I took a step forward and pulled a small bottle of painkillers from my pocket. I’d never seen a doctor for the injuries his men had given me. When the pain was unbearable, I’d just chewed one of these and waited for it to pass. It seemed the cheap pills I kept in my bag finally had a use. 13 Under his relentless gaze, I placed a single pill on the cool concrete beside him. I turned to leave, but his hand shot out and clamped around my wrist. His grip was ice-cold, the chill seeping straight into my bones. I had no choice but to look down at him. Our eyes met, the distance between us suddenly gone. “Who are you?” he finally asked, his voice a raw rasp. The light was dim, but I saw something flicker in the depths of his black eyes, a ghost of a reflection that was there and then gone. He moved too fast for me to react. Before I could protest, his other hand came up and hooked the elastic of my mask, pulling it down. His dark pupils reflected the stark geography of the scar on my face. We were so close. I saw his eyes… tremble. Just for a fraction of a second. This face of mine. It was still a shock. I reached up, pulling the mask back into place. As I did, I saw his hand fall open slightly, as if from a sudden loss of strength. A silver chain spilled from his palm. It was what he had been clutching so tightly. A silver locket. I could just make out the faded, smiling face of a young woman etched onto its surface. I pulled my gaze away. I left the pill and walked away. This time, he didn’t stop me. At the door, I glanced back one last time. He was still sitting there, a figure of absolute black in the sterile white light. A monument to ruin. 14 The white text was criticizing me again. They called me an idiot, hopeless. 【I’m done…】 【She is officially the most useless player I have ever seen.】 【She just stumbled onto a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, a total stroke of luck, and she didn’t even know how to use it?】 【She just walked away?】 【Shouldn’t she have stayed? Comforted him? Shown some concern?】 【She finally gets a moment alone with him and she just LEAVES?】 【WHAT IS SHE EVEN DOING?】 Some of them were even more vulgar, suggesting I should have thrown myself into his arms, used the oldest tricks in the book to seduce him. They were convinced I was a lost cause anyway. A person like me could never complete the mission. They were practically begging for me to do something stupid, to provoke Damian and get myself killed so they could move on. They didn’t want to watch my story anymore. If I died, a new, more competent player would take my place. 15 The bookstore owner signed a long-term contract with a client in the Shaw Corp tower. I started volunteering for the delivery runs. Occasionally, I would catch a glimpse of Damian from a distance. He was always in black, not a hint of color on him, save for the occasional flash of a white shirt collar at his throat. He moved with a relentless purpose, a coterie of suited subordinates trailing in his wake, their heads bowed. In public, he was the cold, unapproachable king. There was no trace of the pale, vulnerable man from the stairwell. Sometimes, passing by the break rooms, I’d overhear employees gossiping. They said the terrifying CEO’s office was a black hole of color. No fresh flowers, no art, just oppressive shades of gray and black. The story of Damian’s dead wife was an open secret in the company. Maybe it was because his son was a frequent visitor. Or maybe it was because of the simple, plain wedding band he wore, a ring that was never, ever removed. They whispered that he was living like a monk, that he was keeping himself pure in her memory. I clutched a heavy stack of books to my chest and walked silently through the crowds of bright, successful people. For the first time, I began to seriously question whether agreeing to this mission had been a mistake. 16 I’d been in this world for over two months. Everything I learned pointed to one fact: Damian Shaw had loved his wife with a terrifying, all-consuming devotion. No wonder so many players had come and gone, all of them failures. The chances of my success were zero. Even the white text seemed to have accepted my incompetence. They barely bothered to insult me anymore. It felt like my very existence was a desecration of the love between Damian and his dead wife. I had no past. And it seemed I had no future, either. Should I even continue with this hopeless mission? I was lost in thought, the tall stack of books in my arms obscuring my view. I didn’t see the woman in the crisp white suit, a coffee cup in her hand, until I walked right into her. Coffee splashed across the books and, more damningly, all over the front of her pristine white jacket. I immediately started trying to wipe the books, apologizing profusely. The woman’s voice was sharp. She grabbed my arm. “Who let you in here?” I explained I was from the bookstore downstairs. She let out a cold laugh. “I wasn’t aware this company was in the habit of collaborating with some shabby little bookstore.” 17 More and more people were turning to stare. I kept my head down, repeating my apologies. “Your jacket… I can have it cleaned for you. Or, I can pay for a new one.” “Can you afford it?” she sneered, looking me up and down. Her fingernails were long and sharp. With a flick of her wrist, she hooked my mask and pulled it away from my face. It fluttered to the ground. My face was exposed to everyone. I heard a collective gasp from the onlookers behind me. “You…” The beautiful woman’s voice trailed off, her eyes wide. I closed my eyes for a brief second. Then I bent down, picked up the mask, and put it back on, hiding my shame. “I’m sorry,” I said, bowing my head again. “Whatever you think is fair, I’ll accept it.” The entire floor was silent. And in that silence, an elevator chimed, a crisp, clear ding. The doors slid open. A man stepped out. His tall frame cast a long shadow that fell right at my feet. 18 “I’m the one who signed the contract with their bookstore.” Damian’s voice was low and cool, devoid of any warmth. The moment he spoke, every head in the vicinity bowed. The white text reacted even faster than I did. My vision was flooded, a blizzard of white. This time, the message was simple and uniform. Question marks. A screen full of question marks. 【Did I miss an episode?】 【I’ve been watching this whole time, I haven’t been gone, can someone PLEASE tell me what is happening right now?】 【Damian… bro… why did you suddenly show up?】 【Wait… I’ve had my eyes on this girl 24/7. Is it possible she did something I don’t know about?】 I slowly looked up. Damian’s polished black shoes were stopped right in front of me. A cool touch on my wrist. Damian had taken hold of it. His grip was firm, a silent command that allowed for no resistance. I didn’t dare try to pull away. I couldn’t have, even if I wanted to. My hand went limp, and the stack of books I was holding tumbled to the floor. I turned my head and met his gaze. He was looking down, his dark eyes fixed on mine, seeing something deep inside me. But just as I tried to read the emotion there, he subtly shifted his gaze away. “Same as always,” he murmured, his words meant only for me. “No improvement at all.” Despite the criticism, the hand holding my wrist didn’t loosen in the slightest. 19 With Damian’s arrival, the entire situation inverted itself. The System, the feed—they had all described his terrifying nature to me. But this was the first time I had witnessed his cold, absolute power firsthand. He didn’t listen to a single word of the woman’s stammered explanation. He simply raised a hand, a slight, dismissive gesture. Two of his security guards appeared as if from nowhere and dragged the woman away. No one dared to object. No one even dared to look up. The man in front of me was a dangerous enigma. I watched the woman disappear down the hall, then slowly looked up at Damian. A strange, inexplicable smile was playing on his lips. It was directed at me. His thumb began to gently stroke the inside of my wrist. He leaned in slightly. “I just took care of that for you,” he said, his voice a low murmur. He then asked, his tone deceptively casual, “How are you going to thank me?”

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Audrey and I grew up in the same manicured suburban world. She was in love with the boy next door, the polished and polite Ethan. I was in love with the boy downstairs, the cold and commanding Rhys. We were on our own separate, fruitless quests until the day we discovered that both Ethan and Rhys were in love with the new girl, Tessa. I held on for a while, then let go. Audrey, however, said she was going to keep trying. I yelled at her, told her she was a fool, and then, for my own sanity, I left the country for grad school. Seven years later, I flew home. Audrey picked me up from the airport. I smiled and asked her how things were going with Ethan. She took a sip of her wine, paused for a long moment, and then said, very quietly, “Sloane, I’ve decided to give up on Ethan.” 1 Honestly, I never thought I’d hear those words come out of Audrey’s mouth. I can still remember the day Rhys and I imploded. I had pleaded with her, my own heartbreak still raw. “Audrey, just let it go. They’re completely under her spell. In their eyes, Tessa is this delicate, helpless little thing, and we’re the villains.” “It’s just a guy,” I’d pushed. “Come with me. Get out of here. A change of scenery will do you good.” I remember how she just smiled at me. She was beautiful. She’d always been the perfect one—top of our class, homecoming queen, with a personality so genuinely kind it was almost infuriating. I could never understand what kind of spell Tessa had cast on Ethan, what made him choose a girl who was so obviously a pale imitation of what he could have had with Audrey. She shook her head gently. “My feelings for Ethan are about me, Sloane,” she’d said. “They don’t depend on him.” It was the kind of line that would sound cheesy coming from anyone else, but from Audrey, it just made your heart ache for her. I sighed, a mix of frustration and pity. “Fine. Just… try not to regret this later.” After that, I left. Audrey must have known I couldn’t stand to hear their names, because she never mentioned Ethan or Rhys in our calls. But our circle of mutual friends was a tangled web, and gossip was unavoidable. Little pieces of their story found their way to me across the ocean. I heard that Tessa, after stringing both of them along, finally chose Rhys. I heard that Ethan got blackout drunk, and Audrey stayed with him all night. I heard that Audrey followed Ethan to the same university. I heard that Audrey and Ethan were finally together. … Eventually, Ethan posted it on Instagram, making it official. It was a picture of Audrey. They were in a restaurant, the city lights glittering behind them like a thousand tiny stars. She was smiling at the camera, her eyes so full of soft, genuine love it felt like you could feel it through the screen. She was stunning. Their hands were tightly clasped on the table. At the time, I was truly happy for her. She had loved him since we were kids. After all those years, it felt like she had finally earned her happy ending. So I commented with a single word: Congratulations. After that, I got buried in my thesis, and my contact with everyone back home dwindled. Until today. I’m back, Audrey’s here to pick me up, and we’re sitting in a quiet wine bar. I’d asked about her and Ethan. I expected a blush, a happy sigh. I never, ever expected her to be so calm, her voice so light, as she told me, “Sloane, I’ve decided to give up on Ethan.” I stared at her for a second. She was looking down into her glass, her head bowed. The dim, intimate lighting of the bar cast a glow from behind her, obscuring her expression. All I could see was the sweep of her lashes—long, dark, like the fanned wings of a bird about to take flight. Her tone was so casual, as if she were talking about the weather. It took me a moment to find my voice. “But… you’re engaged, aren’t you?” A small, brittle laugh escaped her. Audrey was always so gentle, her interactions with the world were defined by a soft warmth. This was the first time I’d ever seen such a cold, cynical look on her face. She lifted her eyes to meet mine, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “People get divorced, Sloane,” she said, her voice still impossibly light. “An engagement is even easier to walk away from.” I was silent. I didn’t know what to say. Audrey and I were polar opposites. She was the quiet, gentle soul; I was the outspoken, impulsive one. When we were little, our parents used to joke about swapping daughters. My mom wished I had a fraction of Audrey’s grace, and her mom wished she had a spark of my fire. That all stopped after I pinned the neighborhood bully to the ground and made him cry for his mommy. Back then, I was the kid who was always covered in dirt, a little tornado in pigtails. And Audrey would be right there behind me in her pristine dress and patent leather shoes, her hair in a perfect princess braid, quietly holding my backpack. She was my lookout when I was about to pummel some kid for pulling her hair, her voice a tense whisper: “Sloane, a teacher’s coming!” We were inseparable from the first day of kindergarten. Our friendship was ironclad—though it faced its first real test when we hit that awkward, confusing age of first crushes. I was secretly into Rhys, she was secretly into Ethan, and for a horrible few weeks, we each suspected the other was in love with the same boy. Fueled by a diet of 90s teen dramas, we both subscribed to the sacred rule: you don’t go after your best friend’s crush. We danced around it, hiding our feelings awkwardly, until I couldn’t take the tension anymore. I confronted her directly. She refused to say. So I went first. “I like Rhys.” She just blinked at me, her brain trying to catch up. “What? Wait. You like… Rhys?” I narrowed my eyes. “So who do you like?” A blush crept up her neck, and she looked down, mumbling into her chest. “Ethan.” “Ugh,” I groaned. “You like that pretty boy? He’s always got that fake smile plastered on his face. What’s the point of being handsome if you’re that boring?” She shot me a glare, firing right back. “And Rhys? He walks around like everyone owes him money. It’s so childish.” We went back and forth, each defending our chosen champion, until we both just dissolved into laughter. She sighed, a real, happy sigh. “This is great.” And it was. It really was. Back then, liking someone was so simple. I fell for Rhys because the pack of neighborhood kids I’d been terrorizing for years finally decided to stage a coup. They cornered me, ready for revenge, when Rhys, who had just moved in, took them all on, one against ten. He dusted off his hands and sneered, “A bunch of guys ganging up on one girl? Pathetic.” Then he turned to me and held out his hand. “Don’t worry. What’s your name?” I instantly morphed into a timid little lamb, hiding the wiffle ball bat I’d been holding behind my back. “Sloane,” I whispered shyly. He grinned, took my hand, and walked me home. “Cool. I just moved in downstairs. I’ve got your back from now on.” I put on my best damsel-in-distress act and nodded sweetly under my mother’s baffled gaze. Audrey’s crush on Ethan was even simpler. He was a year older, a grade ahead of us. He was brilliant, the one who always gave the student address at school assemblies. Audrey was a straight-A student, too. I figured it was a meeting of the minds, a mutual admiration between honor students. Because we all lived so close, the four of us became a unit. We were the golden kids, the ones everyone knew. On the night of my sixteenth birthday, we celebrated on the beach, and I made a wish with all the sincerity a sixteen-year-old could muster: “I hope the four of us stay like this forever.” A month later, we started our sophomore year of high school and met Tessa. 2 Tessa. The clumsy, quiet work-study student. The first week of school, she managed to spill a cup of scalding hot coffee all over my arm. I hissed, sucking in a sharp breath as the skin instantly blistered. But before I could even react, she was the one who cried out, her face tilted up, eyes already brimming with tears. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—” She looked so pathetic that I swallowed the angry words on the tip of my tongue. I just stared at the two huge, angry red welts forming on my skin, the stinging pain making me wince. Rhys, who was beside me, took one look at my arm and then shot her a death glare. “Don’t you have eyes?” he said, his voice dripping with ice. She flinched and stared at the floor, her tears now falling in silent, fat drops onto the linoleum. The sight of it was irritating. “Forget it,” I said. “It’s fine. It was an accident.” That was how we met. To be honest, I never gave Tessa a second thought. We were in the same homeroom, but she had all the presence of a ghost. Northwood Academy was one of two things: a place for the exceptionally brilliant scholarship kids or a playground for the children of the city’s elite. Tessa didn’t seem to fit into the first category, and judging by her worn-out clothes and the perpetual anxiety in her posture, she definitely wasn’t one of the latter. Someone once wondered aloud if maybe her dad was a teacher at the school. No one cared enough to find out. This wasn’t some TV show; the rich kids and the smart kids were too busy competing for Ivy League spots to bother with bullying some nobody. People like Tessa weren’t targeted; they were simply ignored. It’s a cruel kind of reality. She and a quiet, overweight boy sat in the back corner, blending into the wallpaper. The first time I really saw her was when she got into an argument. Her deskmate, the quiet boy, was standing in the aisle after class, blocking the way. The guy behind him, Greg, waited a beat before sighing loudly. “Some people shouldn’t be allowed to block traffic,” he muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. Tessa, who was normally silent, shot to her feet. “You can’t talk about people’s bodies like that,” she said, her face bright red. I knew Greg. He was from a wealthy family, arrogant and mouthy, but not malicious. Being called out in public like that wounded his pride. He sneered at Tessa. “Excuse me? He’s been standing there like a statue for five minutes. And you’re his knight in shining armor? How touching.” He smirked. “You two are a perfect match.” Tessa looked like she’d been slapped. She stood there, crimson-faced, unable to form a single comeback. Her deskmate, however, was quick to distance himself. “I don’t even like her,” he mumbled. A few people snickered. Tessa just stood there, mortified. I frowned. Greg was being an asshole, but Tessa jumping in to defend someone who clearly didn’t deserve it was just as stupid. Still, it had gone on long enough. “Greg,” I called out, my voice sharp. “Are you leaving or not? If you’re late for next period, I’m putting your name down for a week of cafeteria duty.” He threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, Madam President. I’m going.” He squeezed past Tessa and her deskmate without another word. Tessa looked over at me. We were too far apart for me to read her expression, but I could feel her eyes on me as she stood there, frozen. I just shrugged and turned away. Behind me, I heard Rhys let out a quiet, dismissive sound. “Idiot.” After that day, Tessa seemed to shrink even further into herself. Every time I look back on this, I want to go back in time and slap some sense into my sixteen-year-old self. Maybe it was pity, or maybe I was just having a moment of profound stupidity. I’m not one to get involved, but I’ve always had what Audrey once called a “misguided sense of heroic compassion.” That year, for our school’s Founders’ Day celebration, every student had to participate in a performance. My grades were average, but I excelled in these kinds of “extracurriculars.” I wrote and directed a one-act play, which conveniently took care of the performance requirement for a dozen of my more introverted classmates. As class president, I was in charge of collecting everyone’s sign-ups. The deadline was approaching, and the only person who hadn’t signed up was Tessa. When I went to her desk, she looked deeply uncomfortable, refusing to meet my eyes as if she were ashamed. I got it immediately. Trying to sound casual, to spare her dignity, I said, “Hey, you know, my play is missing a piece of scenery. A rock. All you have to do is sit on stage. You in?” She gave a small, grateful nod. I never could have imagined that this stupid play, this throwaway role, would be the beginning of everything between her and Rhys. The part of the rock was literally created so she wouldn’t be embarrassed, but she took it so seriously. She’d put on the lumpy, grey costume and lie on the stage, perfectly still for the entire rehearsal. It was, in its own way, very dedicated. Once, after we finished a run-through, she must have gotten a cramp in her leg. She staggered when she tried to stand up. Rhys, without a word, tossed her a bottle of water. “You’re a rock,” he said, his voice flat. “It’s just a rehearsal, you know you can sit down, right? You’re an idiot.” I glanced over at Tessa, surprised. It was an insult, but for Rhys—a guy who wouldn’t waste a single glance on someone he truly thought was stupid—to even speak to her, let alone give her water, was something else. It was almost… concerned. I’d already told her twice that she didn’t need to be so method about it, that she just needed to be still on the actual performance night. But she insisted on being the most professional rock she could be. She reacted to Rhys’s comment the same way. She picked up the water bottle he’d thrown, her face flushing as she mumbled, “I… I didn’t want to mess up the rehearsal for everyone. It’s better to be… professional.” Rhys didn’t say anything else. On the night of the performance, during a scene between me and Rhys, he missed his mark and accidentally stepped on her hand. I heard her let out a tiny, sharp hiss of pain, but she didn’t move a muscle. For the rest of the play, Rhys was off. Distracted. His mind was somewhere else entirely. After the show, I had to stay for the closing ceremonies. By the time I made it backstage, the area was mostly empty. And in a deserted corner, I saw them. The tall, handsome boy standing over the small, timid girl. He was frowning, his voice impatient but somehow soft. “Let me see your hand.” Tessa shyly held it out. Rhys gently, carefully, placed a bandage over her knuckles. He smoothed it down, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Idiot,” he muttered again, so quietly it was almost a whisper. And Tessa, sitting before him, looked up at him through her lashes and gave him a small, adoring, grateful smile. I stood there, hidden by the shadows in the wings, and just stared.

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