Category: English

Eleven years. We’d been together for eleven years when Ethan Hayes promised me the wedding of the century. But three days before I was supposed to walk down the aisle, an anonymous email landed in my inbox. It was a photo: Ethan and another woman, beaming, holding up a marriage certificate from City Hall. Her smile was radiant. The way Ethan looked at her was pure adoration. The caption was a single, chilling line: “I’m coming home.” I took the photo to Ethan. His response was a casual shrug. “It’s real,” he said, as if discussing the weather. “Sienna decided she never wants to get married for real, but she wanted to know what it felt like to get the license. I was just helping her out.” My mind flashed back to the day he proposed. I remembered the giddy way I’d blasted the news to hundreds of friends, the absolute fool I must have looked. “If you have a problem with it,” he added, his voice cool, “we can just cancel the wedding. It’s not like I have to marry you.” “I’ll marry you,” I said. The wedding would go on as planned. But it would be his one-man show. 1 “Good. You get ready, then,” Ethan said, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a smirk. He knew he’d won. He’d always been sure that no matter what, I’d never leave him. “Sienna’s flight gets in today. I’m going to pick her up, and we’re having a welcome home party for her tonight. You can go to the final dress fitting by yourself.” And why wouldn’t he be sure? For eleven years, I was the one doing the chasing. I gave up my first-choice university for him, passed on my dream job to follow his. I even missed my parents’ last moments because I was on another continent with him. He was used to it—to me sacrificing everything for him. So even after he legally married Sienna, he expected me to walk down that aisle without a second thought. “Oh, and you need to be at the party tonight,” he said, adjusting his cuffs in the reflection of the floor-length mirror, glancing at me. “Sienna specifically mentioned she hasn’t seen you in ages and wants to catch up. I’ll text you the address. Just head over right after your fitting.” Ethan and Sienna. They were the golden couple, the prom king and queen everyone assumed would end up together. When we were kids playing house, they were the prince and princess; I was the maid who served them. He was the sun in my universe, brilliant and untouchable. If Sienna hadn’t moved abroad all those years ago, I probably never would have had a chance. And Sienna was so thoughtful, wasn’t she? Sending me that little email before she came back. But this time, for the first time, I didn’t just roll over. “I can’t make it tonight,” I said. “I have plans.” Ethan’s smile vanished. “You have plans?” he scoffed. “What could you possibly have plans for?” “Packing,” I said under my breath. To get the hell out of here. He cut me off before I could finish. “Tessa, for God’s sake, can you not be dramatic?” His voice was sharp. “You can’t even be bothered to come up with a good lie. You have to be there tonight. I already promised Sienna. If she can be mature enough to see you, the least you can do is not be so petty.” 2 She could be mature enough to see me. Wasn’t that only because I was the one being gracious? But there was no point in arguing. Ethan wouldn’t listen. He left, and I didn’t say another word. The silence in the apartment was deafening as I tried to figure out how I was going to tell my grandfather that the wedding was off. I dialed his number. He picked up on the second ring. “Tessa-girl.” “Grandpa,” I started, my voice tight. “That little start-up you said you’d give me… is the offer still on the table?” There was a brief pause. “Tessa? You’re not getting married?” “No.” I braced myself for the questions, the disappointment. But all he said was, “Alright. A promise is a promise. I’ll be waiting for you when you get home.” After hanging up, I called the bridal shop to cancel my fitting, then I started to pack. The apartment belonged to Ethan. I’d moved in a year ago, right after his grand proposal. That period had been the happiest of my life. “Tessa,” he’d said, down on one knee. “I can charge forward without fear because I know you’re always behind me. It’s been ten years. I want to give us a real home. Will you marry me?” Of course, I said yes. I moved in the next day, pouring my heart into every detail, turning this empty space into our home. I watched it fill with warmth and life, and my heart swelled with a satisfaction I’d never known. But looking around now, I realized almost nothing in it was mine. It was all for him. And it was all useless now. I grabbed a handful of large trash bags. Into them went the decorative pieces I’d bought for his study, the matching “his and hers” items he’d never used, the celebratory banners for the wedding in three days, and our engagement photos, which he’d insisted on keeping hidden in the back of the closet. I was halfway through when the doorbell rang. Two people in professional black uniforms stood at the door, clipboards in hand. “Good afternoon, are you Ms. Sienna Laurent?” A bitter smile touched my lips. “I’m not. If you’re looking for her, you might want to try again in a few days.” Once I was gone, this would be their home. Or maybe they’d find it tainted by my presence and move somewhere else. Not my problem anymore. “Is there anyone else home?” one of them asked. “We contacted Ms. Laurent through the homeowner’s group chat. We’re here for the annual fire safety inspection.” “The homeowner’s group chat?” 3 I had lived here for a year and had never heard of any homeowner’s group chat. And why would Sienna be in it? “Yes, ma’am. Our records are based on the property deed. Apartment 1201 is registered to Mr. Ethan Hayes and Ms. Sienna Laurent. Are you a friend of theirs, or…?” Their eyes shifted, their professional smiles tightening. I was standing there in sweatpants and an old t-shirt, looking nothing like a guest. But I couldn’t spare a single thought for what they were thinking. It felt like the top of my skull had been peeled back and my veins filled with cement. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. I thought I was living in Ethan’s home. I thought I was building our future love nest. But the truth? I was a guest in the home he co-owned with Sienna. The absurdity of it was suffocating. “I’m sorry, this isn’t her home. Please leave,” I snapped, pushing them out and slamming the door. The moment it clicked shut, my strength gave out. I slid down the door, burying my face in my arms, my body trembling. I’d been with him since I was eighteen, following him across the country, across the world, for a decade. A year ago, he proposed, and we finally settled down. And only today did I learn the truth. On the very day he proposed, the day I was ecstatically telling everyone I was getting married, he was at City Hall, signing a marriage certificate with Sienna. The home I’d lived in for a year had both their names on the deed. They were the legally married couple. So what did that make me? The girlfriend of eleven years. What the hell was I? A wave of fury washed over me. I tore through the apartment, ripping open drawers, throwing things aside until I found it in his study: the dark red folder containing the deed. Just then, my phone began to scream, ringing over and over. After what felt like an eternity, my numb fingers finally answered. “Where have you been? I told you to come to the party. Where are you?” Ethan’s voice was impatient. Then another, brighter voice chimed in. “Tessa! I just landed! I’ve missed you so much, you have to come say hi!” The names on the deed, printed in crisp, official lettering, blurred and merged with the voices in my ear. They owned my sight and my hearing. A sharp pain lanced through my eyes, making my vision swim. After the call ended, a dozen more texts from Ethan came through, each one more demanding than the last. Numbly, I put everything back in its place, smoothing over the chaos I’d created. I changed my clothes and walked out the door. If they wanted to see me so badly, then I would go. 4 The private room was roaring with noise when I pushed the door open. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” A crowd of their friends was clapping and cheering. No one even noticed me. Ethan chuckled, a look of fond exasperation on his face, and wrapped an arm around Sienna’s shoulders. He leaned in and gave her a deep, lingering kiss right on the lips. Sienna played the part of the blushing recipient perfectly, and the room erupted. I thought watching this would shatter me. I thought I’d be sick with jealousy, that I’d rush forward and tear them apart. Instead, I found myself raising my phone, coolly framing the shot. I even took a moment to find the best angle, the one that captured the full, cloying intimacy of the moment. Suddenly, Sienna’s head whipped around. Her eyes widened in panic as she saw me, and she shoved Ethan away. “Tessa! You’re here! Don’t get the wrong idea, we were just playing a game. I lost a dare, so…” “Ethan, hurry up and explain it to her!” she urged, tugging at his sleeve. Ethan, a smear of red lipstick on his lips, looked at me, his expression flat. “Sienna lost a game. I was just helping her out.” There it was again. Just helping her out. Helping her get a marriage license, helping her with a kiss. What was next? Helping her into bed? Helping her have a baby? I forced a smile. “I get it. It’s fine.” Ethan frowned, seemingly thrown off by my calm demeanor. Before he could say anything else, Sienna rushed over and grabbed my arm. “Come on, sit! It’s been years, we have so much to catch up on.” Whether it was intentional or not, she steered me into the seat directly between her and Ethan. Every time she asked me a question, she would lean across me to get Ethan’s opinion, and he would answer her patiently every time. The looks on the faces of everyone else in the room were telling. I was an obstacle, a roadblock between the two of them. My very presence was an inconvenience. 5 “Sienna, you didn’t come back all of a sudden because you heard Ethan was getting married, did you? Here to crash the wedding?” someone finally asked, their tone laced with amusement. Sienna’s sweet voice was playfully chiding. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s nothing going on between me and Ethan!” “Oh, come on,” another person chimed in. “Everyone knows you two are legally married. That social media post went viral in our circle!” “Exactly! And we all know Ethan’s been in love with you forever. If you just said the word, no one else would even stand a chance. Right, Ethan?” They were shameless, their words deliberately provocative. These were the people who had grown up rooting for them as a couple, who had never accepted me. I remembered the one and only time I’d attended a gathering with them as Ethan’s girlfriend. They’d asked me to my face what made me think I was good enough for him, how I had the nerve to even pursue him. I’d caused a huge scene that night, and Ethan had never taken me to one of their events again. But this time, I felt nothing. I smiled along with everyone else and looked at Sienna. “He’s just waiting for you to say yes,” I said, my voice even. “Give him the word, and you can be the bride in three days.” Everyone stared at me like I had lost my mind. Even Sienna couldn’t hide the flash of surprise—and excitement—in her eyes. But Ethan’s face darkened. “Tessa!” he snarled. “What the hell are you talking about?” “I’m not talking nonsense,” I said calmly, my expression deadly serious. He shot up from the sofa, grabbed my wrist, and dragged me out of the room. “Tessa, are you insane?” 6 Insane? Maybe I was, once. But I was cured now. Before I could answer, my phone rang. It was my grandfather. I shook Ethan’s hand off and answered. “Tessa-girl, did you book your flight yet? What day are you coming home?” “I got it, Grandpa. The day after tomorrow, in the evening.” We chatted for another minute before I hung up. Ethan’s sharp eyes were fixed on me. “What flight? Are you going somewhere?” “No,” I lied smoothly. “Grandpa’s coming for the wedding. He was just asking if I’d booked his ticket.” He accepted it without question, though his brow remained furrowed. “Just… don’t cause any more trouble tonight, okay? I’ll talk to my parents. I’ll try to get them to come to the wedding.” His tone was that of a king bestowing a great favor. I felt none of the old excitement or gratitude I would have a week ago. All I felt was a hollow, bitter amusement. My good behavior, my silence about him and Sienna, was the price for his parents’ attendance at our wedding. The Hayes family came from a long line of academics. His parents were both professors; Ethan was a prestigious researcher. My family was in business. They’d always looked down on me, on my “new money” background. For years, I had showered them with gifts, spent more time with his parents than I had with my own. None of it mattered. In their eyes, I would never be one of them. Now that I was finally giving up, they wouldn’t have to pretend to appreciate my efforts anymore. “Okay,” I said. “Well, I’m heading home. You guys have fun.” “I’ll drive you.” For some reason, he was suddenly patient with me. In the past, I’d have to beg for a ride days in advance, and even then, he’d likely forget. He pulled up to the front of my building, got out, and opened my door, holding a hand over the frame so I wouldn’t hit my head. I was silent the whole way, but as the car’s headlights cut through the darkness, a flicker of warmth sparked in my chest. Maybe… maybe he did care about me, just a little. Even a tiny bit was something. But then my phone buzzed with a new message. It was a screenshot of a social media post from a year ago. 7 Two profile pictures, side by side. On the exact same day that Ethan proposed to me, he and Sienna had both posted photos of their marriage certificate. Sienna’s caption: “With you, my life is complete!” Ethan’s caption: “Whatever you want, it’s yours.” The comments below were a flood of congratulations. I had never seen this post. In all our years together, Ethan had never once posted a single thing about me. We had the same circle of friends. Did that mean while I was joyfully telling the world about our engagement, they were all seeing this? I had been a clown, performing for an audience that was in on the joke. The warmth in my chest turned to ice water. Sharp, painful, and cold. At that exact moment, a bucket of actual ice water drenched me from head to toe. Someone screamed. “She’s the homewrecker! Get her! Tear her apart!” A storm of pain and confusion engulfed me. I was surrounded. Garbage, smelling sour and rotten, rained down on me from all directions. They were yelling, shouting about “teaching the mistress a lesson.” I couldn’t fight back; I couldn’t even see where it was coming from. The world dissolved into a nightmare of snarling faces and grasping hands, demons dragging me down into hell. “Stop!” After what felt like a century, I finally heard Ethan’s voice. The taut string in my mind snapped. Everything went black. When I opened my eyes, I was staring at the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room. The shame of the attack washed over me again, and I gasped for breath, turning my head to look at Ethan. He was disheveled, his usual pristine appearance gone. His lips moved. “I’m sorry.” I didn’t know if he was apologizing because his fiancée had been mistaken for a mistress and beaten in the street, or because he’d let me live in the home he shared with another woman. But the tears came anyway, hot and unstoppable, streaming from the corners of my eyes into my hair. Ethan tried to wipe them away, but they just kept coming. 8 At first, he was composed, but soon he became flustered, his movements clumsy. “Please don’t cry, Tessa. Okay?” His voice was strained with a helpless frustration. “I know this was unfair to you. I’ll find a way to make it up to you.” I covered my eyes with my hand, my voice thick with congestion. “Make it up to me? How?” “We’ll make the wedding even bigger. A grander celebration. Would that be enough?” The flood of tears stopped as if a faucet had been turned off. I almost laughed. When I finally spoke, my voice was flat. “Ethan. Let’s cancel the wedding.” “Don’t say things you don’t mean,” he snapped, his tone hardening. In his mind, I was just throwing a tantrum. “I’m being—” Serious. Before I could finish, his phone rang. It was a different ringtone than his usual one. I couldn’t hear what was said, but his expression grew conflicted. He glanced at me. “You guys watch her. I have something here. I can’t leave right now.” He hung up and pressed his lips together. “Stop overthinking things. Just get some rest. I’ll stay here with you.” And he did. He answered three more calls, but he didn’t leave my room. He brought me water, adjusted my pillows, surprisingly attentive. But my mind was a chaotic mess. I couldn’t appreciate this rare display of care. I was just drifting off to sleep when my phone vibrated insistently on the nightstand. A text from an unknown number. “You think he’s staying because he’s worried about you? Because he cares? Take a look at this.” Attached were several screenshots of a group chat. The building’s homeowner chat. Someone had posted a photo of me, beaten and covered in garbage, with the words ‘HOMERWRECKER’ scrawled across it in red. Someone else had tagged Sienna. “Your husband is cheating on you. This is the other woman.” 9 Sienna hadn’t replied with words. Just a single, perfect broken-heart emoji. The chat exploded into a vicious tirade against me. I never knew words could inflict so much pain. Finally, Ethan, apparently pricked by some last shred of conscience, had typed: “She is not the other woman.” But his weak defense only fueled the fire. The insults grew harsher, and they started planning to “teach me another lesson.” Someone asked him directly: If I wasn’t the other woman, then what was Sienna? The argument escalated until they cornered him, demanding to know who his real wife was: Sienna, or me. The final screenshot was his answer. “The one whose name is on the deed, of course.” A deep, shuddering cold seized me. My entire body trembled. No wonder he had been so insistent on driving me home. No wonder he’d stayed with me even after Sienna’s calls. This entire nightmare… it all started with him. Eleven years of devotion, and in return, he personally pointed the finger and branded me the mistress. I thought I was past caring. I thought nothing he did could touch me anymore. But in that moment, a fire ignited in my chest, a wild, consuming rage that wanted to burn everything to the ground. Just then, Ethan walked back into the room. I stared at him, my eyes burning. “Ethan…” “Tessa, Sienna has alcohol poisoning. She’s getting her stomach pumped. I have to go check on her. You be good and get some rest.” “Ethan, don’t you dare leave.” Maybe he didn’t notice the raw fury in my voice. Or maybe he just didn’t care. He scowled, his voice dropping to an icy chill. “What more do you want? I’ve been here with you for hours. Isn’t that enough? Sienna’s condition is serious. I don’t have time for your games.” Without waiting for a reply, he strode out of the room. The door clicked shut, a final, definitive sound. It was the story of my life: always chasing after him, only to have him shut the door in my face, leaving me in the dark. The fire in my chest was instantly extinguished, leaving behind only cold ash. I let out a quiet, mirthless laugh, lay back down, and pulled the covers up to my chin. Soon. It would all be over soon. 10 Ethan was gone. He didn’t come back the next day. But I expected nothing, and the solitude was a relief. A little while later, a message from Sienna popped up on my phone. “Want to make a bet on whether your wedding will actually happen?” I smiled and typed back a quick reply. “No need to bet. The wedding will be a very lively affair.” “Good. I can’t wait to watch the show.” I turned off my phone and ignored her. After getting the official discharge papers from the doctor, I went straight to the police station and filed a report. No matter what Ethan had said, those people had no right to attack me. I didn’t go back to the apartment. I checked into a hotel. By the time I boarded the flight home, I still hadn’t heard from Ethan again. It was evening when the plane landed. The moment I turned my phone on, it rang. It was him. “Tessa, you’re out of the hospital and back home, right?” I wasn’t surprised he knew I’d been discharged. And I knew this wasn’t a call of concern. Based on how obsessed I’d always been with our wedding, he was absolutely certain that as long as I could walk, I would be at that altar on time. He had no doubts about that. I gave him a few vague answers and hung up. Looking up, I saw my grandfather waiting for me. His hair was whiter than I remembered, his frame a little more stooped. A lump formed in my throat. “Grandpa…” “Hey now,” he said, his voice cheerful, but his eyes were misty. “No tears. I’m here to take you home. This is a happy day!” When my parents died in the car crash, I was stuck overseas with Ethan. By the time we got back, they were already buried. I couldn’t forgive myself, but my grandfather never blamed me. He comforted me for months, encouraging me to go and find my own happiness. Looking back now, I saw how unbelievably selfish I had been. October 20th. An auspicious day for a wedding. I had consulted with several experts to pick the perfect date. When I’d asked Ethan for his opinion, he’d just said, “Whatever you want.” At the time, those words filled me with hope. I never would have dreamed that for our relationship, the wedding would be the end. The night before the ceremony, I stayed up all night, cozy in my hotel bed, and binged three movies. As dawn broke, I switched my phone to silent, found the most comfortable position I could, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Today’s wedding was destined to be Ethan’s one-man show. I wondered what his face would look like when he realized I was gone.

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My five-dollar Uber Pool pulled up, and it was a Rolls-Royce. The girl next to me on the curb tilted her head, her smile bright and breezy. “Oh my god, so random! This is my boyfriend’s car.” Before I could respond, the man getting out of the driver’s seat stole my breath. He was immaculate in a tailored suit, his aura cool and commanding. He gently helped the girl into the passenger seat with a tenderness that made my stomach clench. Then, the man’s assistant, who had been trailing him, caught my eye. He looked terrified. “Ma’am…” he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. “Where… where are you headed?” I waved a dismissive hand, swallowing the words that were on the tip of my tongue: *“To the hospital, for my prenatal appointment.”* When I finally spoke, I could hear the slight tremble in my own voice. “The airport. Just take me to JFK.” * 1 My voice was so soft, I wasn’t sure anyone heard it. In the front seat, the girl was already gushing, pulling on the driver’s hand. “See? This is much better. I told you not to make a special trip just for me. Wasting gas is just silly, and besides, five bucks is enough for a coffee from a street cart. Plus—” She spun around in her seat, grinning at me. “I bet you’ve never been in a car like this before, right? It’s like a little peek into how the other half lives, lol.” I managed a weak smile, my eyes fixed on the rearview mirror, on him. On Ethan. His handsome features were as composed as ever, his expression unreadable. He gave a noncommittal “Mm,” his long, elegant fingers scrolling through something on his phone. He looked like a man closing a multi-million-dollar deal. Meanwhile, my own phone screen was lighting up with a series of texts from him. *Summer is very innocent. Don’t scare her.* *Don’t worry. This doesn’t change your position as Mrs. Vance. And because of that, I don’t want the family knowing about Summer’s existence.* *Your parents’ company is still dependent on my family’s backing. You’re not going to do anything irrational, are you, Lila?* I turned the screen off. Snapped my phone shut. When I looked up, my eyes met Ethan’s in the mirror. He was calm, tapping a rhythmic, impatient beat on the steering wheel with his perfectly manicured fingers. His voice, when he spoke, was cold as ice. “The passenger in the back, please fasten your seatbelt.” I didn’t say a word. I just stared at the pink, glittery sticker on the dashboard in front of the passenger seat. ♡ Summer’s Seat ♡ I let the bitter tide of acid rise in my throat, threatening to drown me. A few minutes later, my composure returned. I bought a one-way ticket to Fiji. 2 The entire way, Summer chattered on about her day at the office. When she got excited, she’d slap Ethan’s arm playfully. And Ethan, my cold, distant husband, didn’t flinch. He didn’t show a single ounce of impatience. In fact, the corner of his mouth was turned up in a faint, amused smile. I watched them like a ghost, an outsider in my own life. I couldn’t help but remember that with me, Ethan was always all business. Even planning our wedding felt like negotiating a corporate merger. We weren’t a husband and wife; we were two parties in a contract. Except… in bed. There, he became a different person. A predator. He would pin me down with hungry eyes, taking everything from me with a ferocity that was both terrifying and addictive. “Hey, you want a chip?” Summer’s sweet voice pulled me from my thoughts. I looked at her young, flawless face. The word *mistress* was on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it. “No, thank you.” “Oh, okay,” she said, then turned to offer the bag to Ethan. Realizing he was driving, she did something else. She put a potato chip between her own lips and leaned over, offering it to him. Ethan’s eyes flickered to the rearview mirror for a fraction of a second. His knuckles went white on the steering wheel. But he couldn’t resist her. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He leaned in and gently took the other half of the chip from her mouth with his own. I whipped my head around to stare out the window. I could hear Summer giggling, a little embarrassed. “Hehe, don’t mind us. We’re still in the honeymoon phase. Honestly, I didn’t even want to date before I was twenty-five, but he’s just… so good to me. He’s always secretly looking out for me at work so I don’t get bullied, and he comes whenever I call. It’s almost embarrassing. Today, for instance, I just had some bad period cramps, and he got so worried he dropped a huge meeting just to take me to the doctor…” “That’s nice,” I interrupted, my voice flat. “Hope you two live happily ever after.” Fighting back the wave of nausea and grief, I grabbed my phone and my purse. “I’m getting out here.” Summer looked surprised. “But you’re not at the hospital yet. I thought you were going to the same place as me?” I forced a smile. “Change of plans. My boyfriend just texted. He’s picking me up here.” 3 I didn’t expect him to follow me. Ethan got out of the car, towering over me on the sidewalk. “What was that about?” he demanded, his voice a low growl. I was genuinely confused. “What?” “‘Happily ever after.’ What the hell did you mean by that?” He glanced around, then grabbed my wrist, his face a mask of fury. “You know my parents will only ever accept you as their daughter-in-law. Are you saying that to mess with me?” I struggled, but his grip was like iron. His anger escalated. “Lila, this ‘boyfriend’ of yours is a lie, isn’t it? Because if there really is some other guy—” “You know what I’m capable of.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “What does it have to do with you? The first time we met, you said this was all for show, that we would lead separate lives…” “That was different.” Ethan was vibrating with a barely controlled rage. He looked like a caged animal. “Your family’s company was on the verge of collapse. You exist to serve a purpose in this transaction, and that means absolute obedience to me.” He sneered. “Or what, are you lonely? Do you need me to come home and take care of your needs?” As he spoke, his hand slid to my waist and he leaned in, his face just inches from mine— “What are you two doing?!” Summer was standing there, her eyes wide and red with tears. “You… you two…” She covered her mouth, her horrified gaze fixed on Ethan’s hand on my waist. The next second, she lunged. Her hand connected with my cheek in a stinging slap. 4 She looked so small and delicate, but the force of the blow sent me stumbling back. I instinctively clutched my stomach. “You are so shameless!” Summer shrieked, tears streaming down her face as she pointed a trembling finger at me. “No wonder you were being so weird and sarcastic in the car! You were trying to get with my boyfriend!” She was shaking with rage, planting herself in front of Ethan like a tiny bodyguard. “Just because you’re pretty, you think you can just seduce other people’s boyfriends? What are you, a public bus? You’re disgusting!” A moment ago, I had felt a sliver of pity for her. She was a victim in this too, kept in the dark. But now, seeing her witness Ethan’s aggression and still direct all her fury at me, something inside me turned to ice. My face went cold. “Did you know,” I said, my voice dangerously calm, “that your precious boyfriend is already married? “I’m his—” While she was still processing, I stepped forward and raised my hand to return the favor. But Ethan caught my wrist. He rubbed his temples, his voice laced with pure exasperation. “Enough! Look at yourself, Lila. Is this how the wife of a Vance is supposed to behave?” In that single, crystal-clear moment, the years of desperate, suffocating love I had felt for Ethan Vance vanished. It just… evaporated. 5 Summer was only stunned for a moment. She didn’t have the breakdown I expected. She just gently tugged on Ethan’s sleeve, her voice a pathetic whimper. “Is it her? Is she the one?” “You told me… you said it was just a family arrangement… that you hated your wife… you said you never even talk to her…” Her big, watery eyes looked up at Ethan, pleading for reassurance. But Ethan wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was fixed on my face, which I knew was rapidly losing its color. He looked… uneasy. After a long pause, he sighed, patting Summer’s arm dismissively. “The hospital is about a mile from here. I’ll call you a car.” Without another glance at her, he turned and grabbed my arm. “We’re going home,” he said coldly. “There’s a family dinner tonight.” I didn’t move. Ethan’s eyes flickered to the red mark on my cheek. He started to raise his hand, as if to touch it, then let it drop. He turned away, throwing the words over his shoulder. “Twenty million in venture capital for your parents’ company.” “It’s your choice.” I watched his tall, imposing figure walk away, and a profound sense of exhaustion washed over me. All those years of loving him, even marrying him… what had it gotten me? I bit my lip until I tasted blood. And I followed him. But as I walked, a new thought took root in my mind: *If I ran, would my parents ever forgive me?* 6 In the car, I didn’t try to fill the silence like I used to, desperately searching for topics to engage him. I just sat quietly in the back seat. I sent a text to an old college friend: *Something came up, can’t make it today. So sorry to waste your time.* He was a doctor and must have been busy. It was half an hour before he replied. *No problem. If it’s hard for you to get out, I can always make a house call.* I suddenly remembered Ethan’s snarling face, hissing about a “mystery man.” A shiver went down my spine. I quickly typed back: *No rush! We’ll reschedule soon.* After getting his reply, I turned off my phone and followed Ethan into the family mansion. I don’t know why, but my newfound silence seemed to annoy him more than my old clinginess. I thought about it. I probably ruined his day with Summer. For the first time ever, I tried to be the understanding wife. “It’s okay,” I said, my voice neutral. “You can find an excuse to leave early tonight.” I didn’t look at his stunned expression. I was too busy looking at my plane ticket on my phone and booking a hotel. “After all,” I added, “you’re the expert at soothing upset girls. A few flowers and a designer handbag should do the trick.” Ethan looked like he wanted to say something, but he just clenched his jaw. His face was thunderous. Finally, he let out a cold, humorless laugh. “What’s this? A new strategy?” “Let me guess. You encourage me to go see Summer, then you have a PI follow me, and then you cry to the whole family about what a terrible husband I am?” “How utterly predictable.” I blinked. Then I smiled a real, genuine smile. He wasn’t wrong. That was exactly the kind of desperate, crazy thing I would have done a week ago to try and keep him. But not anymore. I could only imagine how happy he’d be when he finally realized I was gone for good. 7 At dinner, my parents and Ethan’s parents were chatting warmly. Wine flowed, laughter filled the room. At the head of the table, Ethan and I ate in silence. It had always been like this. My mother and my mother-in-law were best friends from college. They’d made a pact that their children would marry. Life got in the way, and they lost touch for years. When they reconnected, my family’s business was on the brink of bankruptcy. Ethan’s mother, horrified, brought me into their home overnight and insisted on honoring their old promise. His father funneled a few major investments into our company and saved us. “Did Ethan do something to you again?” my mom whispered, pulling me into a powder room. I was confused. “What?” She sighed. “Lila, he doesn’t just offer twenty million dollars for no reason. Since he took over the company, has he ever been that generous with us? Never.” She stroked my hair, her eyes full of a pain I didn’t understand. “Did he hurt you?” “Oh, honey, why did you have to fall for him? There are so many good men in the world. If you wanted to…” “If I wanted a divorce,” I interrupted her softly, “would you and Dad be mad at me?” The happy chatter from the dining room seemed a world away. My mom’s eyes filled with tears. “Money?” she whispered, her voice thick. “What does money matter if our family isn’t okay? The only reason we even kept the business going was because you loved him, and we wanted to give you some kind of leverage, something to stand on. Honey, we would have sold it and retired years ago.” My cheek, the one Summer had slapped, started to burn. I leaned against my mother’s shoulder. “What if I told you… what if I told you I was pregnant with his child, and I was planning on raising it alone, never getting married again? Would you be mad at me then?” 8 After dinner, I didn’t stay the night with Ethan, despite my in-laws’ not-so-subtle encouragement. I chose to go home with my parents. Ethan was standing at the door, his expression unreadable. “Wait.” His voice stopped all of us. “I need to talk to you, so—” He never finished the sentence. His assistant came running up the long driveway, out of breath. “Mr. Vance, it’s Summer… she never went to the hospital this afternoon… she must have passed out from the pain at some point. Her neighbor just found her and she’s on her way to the ER now…” The assistant finally registered the audience standing in the grand entryway. He immediately fell silent, bowing his head in shame. Ethan’s father was the first to explode. “Who the hell is Summer? Why are you bothering us with this nonsense! Give her some money and get rid of her!” “Get the car,” Ethan said, his voice flat, as if he hadn’t heard a word. “I said, get the car. Are you deaf?” He ignored the shocked protests of his parents. He ignored the stony faces of my parents. He threw a single glance at me. “We’ll talk later,” he said, before striding off into the night. I didn’t care. I told my parents to focus on stabilizing the company. That night, I packed a single bag, and I left. I went to the airport, alone. I left in such a hurry, I forgot the one thing that mattered. I left the positive pregnancy report from my doctor sitting on the nightstand in my empty bedroom.

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1 My father was forcing me into a strategic marriage, so I made a frantic call to my girlfriend, Claire. Her voice was cold steel over the phone. “Another one of your schemes to get me to meet your parents? Seriously, Nate, it’s getting pathetic.” “I’ve told you a hundred times, Leo has no one right now. Until he finds a new girlfriend and gets back on his feet, I am not thinking about marriage.” “I’m busy with work. I have to go.” The line went dead. The light in my eyes dimmed, fading to gray. I looked up at my father and nodded. “I lost the bet. I’ll do it. I’ll accept the marriage.” … “I’ll pick you up in three days,” he said, then left. I sat alone in the corner of a quiet bar, drinking myself into a stupor, when I saw two familiar figures walk by the window. Claire and Leo, hand in hand, strolling through the park across the street, their laughter carrying on the crisp autumn wind as they kicked through piles of fallen leaves. They looked so blissfully, disgustingly happy. A fire ignited in my gut. I couldn’t stop myself. I stormed out of the bar. When her eyes met my furious gaze, a flash of guilt crossed Claire’s face. She snatched her hand away from his, but then immediately went on the offensive. “What are you doing here? Are you following me?” “You told me you were busy with work,” I shot back, my fists clenched at my sides. Before Claire could answer, Leo jumped in. “Nate, don’t blame Claire. She only lied because she was afraid you’d get jealous and overthink things.” “Shut up!” It was the first time I had ever raised my voice like that. “Claire,” I said, my voice shaking with a rage I could no longer contain. “Your precious ‘adopted brother’ is twenty-four years old. He is a grown man. Can he not function on his own? Does he need you to hold his hand every single day?” “What does his breakup have to do with us getting married? He gets dumped, so now he gets to hold your hand whenever he wants?” “Anyone who saw you two would think you’re the couple!” “Have you ever once stopped to think about how I feel?” I stared into her eyes, searching for something, anything. She looked surprised at first, but then her expression smoothed over into an unnerving calm. “Are you done?” she asked, her tone flat. I just stood there, speechless. Her placid demeanor was a wall of ice, completely shutting out the inferno of my emotions. “Claire,” Leo said, his voice trembling as his eyes welled up with tears. “Maybe… maybe I should just apologize to Nate. And you should stop coming to see me. I can take care of myself.” It was his go-to move. Every time Claire and I fought over him, he’d pull this pathetic, “I might as well just die” routine. “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s not your fault,” Claire said, her voice instantly softening for him. She shot me a glare. “We’re going to the movies.” She turned to leave, pulling him along. But after a few steps, she stopped. For a fleeting second, I thought she was going to apologize. I was wrong. “Nathaniel,” she said, not even bothering to look at me. “People get divorced from marriages all the time. We’re not even married. You’re overstepping.” A bucket of ice water crashed over me. I watched her walk away, my nails digging so deep into my palms that I felt the sting of blood. The pain was a dull throb that spread through my entire body. But this time, I didn’t chase after her. I didn’t beg. I just turned and walked away. “Seven years, Claire,” I muttered to the empty air. “I’ve wasted seven years of my life. I’m not wasting another second.” I had just gotten home when a text from her came through. 【Not coming home tonight.】 【Leo wants to see the meteor shower. I’m staying with him.】 At the same time, a new post appeared on Leo’s social media. 【Who else has no one to go to the movies with?】 【Who else has a sweet older sister to wait for shooting stars with in the dark?】 The post was accompanied by a picture of their two movie ticket stubs and another of their shadows making a heart shape. It felt like a deliberate, calculated mockery. After all, I had been the one to suggest we go see a movie tonight. I was the one who told her about the meteor shower. Fueled by whiskey and rage, I smashed the framed photo of us in the living room. I took the scrapbook where I’d documented our entire relationship and shredded it with a pair of scissors. Finally, I dug out the box of her old love letters and set them on fire in the fireplace. As the flames licked at the paper, memories flickered before my eyes. Claire and I met our freshman year of college. It wasn’t some grand, dramatic romance; our eyes met, we clicked, and that was it. We were together for seven years, through college and into our careers. All our friends called us the perfect couple. But the day I proposed, the day she said yes, her adopted brother, Leo, came back into town. He showed up on our doorstep, sobbing about how his girlfriend had broken his heart, how Claire was the only important woman he had left in his life. If she got married, he didn’t know how he could possibly go on living. So, Claire called off the wedding, saying she needed to help him heal from his “psychological trauma.” I thought it would be a temporary delay. But soon, she refused to even talk about meeting my parents. Her entire world began to revolve around Leo. On our anniversary, one phone call from him was enough to make her cancel our plans. She completely forgot my birthday but threw him a massive, extravagant party for his. She, who had never cooked a day in her life, was suddenly spending hours in the kitchen trying new recipes for him. The only time I ever saw her get angry at Leo was when he deliberately tampered with my car’s brakes. I crashed into a median and ended up in the hospital with a concussion and a split forehead. That day, Claire swore to me she would teach him a lesson and finally set some boundaries. By the next morning, her resolve had vanished. She showed up at the hospital with a thermos of soup. “Leo’s just depressed from the breakup,” she’d said. “He was scared you were going to take me away from him. He did a stupid thing, but he never thought it would be this serious.” “He cried all night. He was so upset he almost tried to kill himself. He’s already apologized, Nate. Just let it go, okay?” That should have been it. That should have been the moment I understood where I stood. But I clung to a sliver of hope that she would change. In the year since, Leo has systematically stolen every part of my life. The last letter turned to ash, and so did my love. Outside, meteors streaked across the sky. I called a realtor and put the house up for sale. Then I curled up on the sofa and spent the night alone. When I woke up, there was a blanket draped over me. The living room had been cleaned up, the broken glass swept away. A moment later, Claire walked out of the kitchen with a plate. “I made your favorite,” she said. “Chocolate chip pancakes.” I didn’t move. “Leo is very fragile right now,” she continued, as if that explained everything. “I had to defend him yesterday when we were out. You, on the other hand, you’re strong enough to handle it.” Not a word of apology. Just a calm statement of fact, as if I deserved her cruelty. “You forgot,” I said, my voice raspy. “I hate chocolate chip pancakes.” Claire froze, a flicker of confusion in her eyes. Then, it dawned on her. Chocolate chip pancakes were Leo’s favorite. She had made them out of habit. It wasn’t the first time. It seemed that whatever I disliked, Leo loved. And as for my own preferences, she had forgotten them completely. “It’s just breakfast, Nate. Don’t be so difficult,” she snapped, her patience gone. She was never like this before. But somewhere along the way, she had given all her tenderness to Leo, and saved all her anger for me. Her excuse? I was the person closest to her. “Just say it,” I said, taking a deep breath. “What does Leo want now?” It was a pattern. Any time she showed me a sliver of warmth, it was because Leo needed something from me. “It’s nothing major,” she said, forcing her tone to be patient again. “He… wants us to have a fake wedding.” “His therapist thinks it will help with his recovery. Give him some closure.” I stared at her. I couldn’t believe it. She would stage a fake wedding with him but wouldn’t even meet my parents. After a long silence, I nodded. “We’re done.” “Do whatever you want.” A look of pure shock crossed her face, and then she shot to her feet. “Nathaniel!” she seethed. “This wasn’t a discussion. It was a notification!” “Don’t you dare threaten me with a breakup! I am going to have this wedding with Leo, with or without your approval!” She glared down at me like I was a prisoner in the dock. There was no point in arguing. My silence seemed to fuel her arrogance. “And we’ll be using our house as the venue.” “Don’t worry,” she added, as if it were a comfort. “It’s just for show. Nothing real will happen.” She was going to marry another man. In the house I paid for. The humiliation was a physical weight. But I was too tired, too empty, to fight anymore. Bzz. Bzz. Her phone buzzed. It was Leo. “Claire,” he whimpered into the phone. “My head hurts.” His voice was like a needy puppy’s. I remember her saying how much she hated men who acted like that. But now, her face was a mask of concern. “Oh, Leo, you just hang on. I’m on my way.” Her voice was softer than silk. She hung up and rushed out the door without another glance at me. A little while later, Claire’s profile picture on social media, which had been a photo of us, was replaced by a picture of her and Leo, shoulders touching as they watched the meteor shower. He changed his, too. And they both updated their bios to the same quote: 【In the cold, falling leaves of autumn, you are the sunshine that came into my life.】 I was the clown living in their shadow. A wave of shame washed over me. I stormed into the bedroom to pack my things when a call came from Claire’s mother. “Nate, honey,” she said. “Can you come down to the office? There’s a deal that only you can handle.” I agreed. For one, her mother had always been decent to me, and I wanted to say a proper goodbye. For two, I needed to retrieve my grandfather’s heirloom. When I got to the company, she immediately handed me a yogurt. “Your favorite,” she said with a warm smile. “Mango.” A small warmth spread through my chest. “Oh, and Claire told me you two have set a wedding date for next week! We should have your parents fly in early so our families can finally have dinner together,” she continued happily. I froze. Claire had lied to her mother, planning to just spring the truth on her after the fact. I was about to tell her what was really going on when she added, “And even after you two are married, you must promise me you’ll continue to take good care of Leo. He needs it.” The words died in my throat. I was an outsider. I always would be. I silently finished the work, then went to Claire’s office. Before my grandfather passed away, he gave me a small, silver locket. He said it would protect me. I’d worn it my entire life. When Claire complained about the “bad energy” in her new office, I’d given it to her to keep on her desk. It was time to take it back. I opened her desk drawer where she kept it, but the locket was gone. As I stood there, confused, the office door opened. Leo walked in. And there, hanging from a chain around his neck, was my grandfather’s locket. I couldn’t believe it. She had just given away my family’s most precious heirloom. “That’s mine,” I said, my voice low and tight. “Give it back.” “Alright,” Leo said with a smirk. He took it off, and made a show of tossing it to me. But instead, he let it slip through his fingers, and it smashed on the hard tile floor. Crack. The locket broke apart. Rage, pure and white-hot, flooded my vision. I launched myself at him, tackling him to the ground. He didn’t even fight back. He just started screaming for Claire, who was down the hall. “Nathaniel!” she shrieked. “Get off of him!” She and a few other employees rushed in, pulled me off him, and then she slapped me. Hard. “Are you insane?” she screamed, her eyes blazing. “Why would you attack him?” My cheek was numb. I pointed at the shattered pieces on the floor. “Why did you give him my locket?” Claire flinched.

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The childhood friend of my boyfriend, Daniel, was a celebrated screenwriter who’d been silent for years. She was desperate for a hit to reclaim her throne. So Daniel, my boyfriend and my therapist, handed her the story of my family’s slaughter as raw material. He didn’t tell me the movie was coming out. But I went anyway. On the massive screen, my family—the victims—were twisted into villains who deserved to die. The monster who murdered them was whitewashed into a sympathetic soul, a man forced into a corner by life. Watching the nightmare from my past tear through the screen, I had to dig my nails into my palm until they drew blood just to keep from passing out. When the film ended, the screenwriter, Sabrina, was ushered onto the stage, a star surrounded by her constellation. She smiled, tucking her arm into Daniel’s, and introduced him to the world. “This is the city’s most brilliant psychotherapist,” she announced, her voice ringing with triumph. “And the muse for my film.” The theater erupted in thunderous applause. The host praised them, a perfect match of talent and beauty. Then, through the roar of the crowd, as Daniel’s shocked eyes found mine, I slowly raised my hand. “I have a question,” I called out, my voice surprisingly steady. “For the muse.” 1 Daniel’s expression froze. He clearly never expected me to be here. I recognized the panic in his eyes; how could I not? Two days ago, we were supposed to leave for a trip to the Caribbean. The day before our flight, he’d told me there was a last-minute emergency at the clinic. He’d apologized, his voice a soft caress. “Willow, just give me one day. That’s all I need.” “You go on ahead,” he’d said. “I’ll handle this and be on the next flight out.” I believed him. Then my best friend sent me a video clip: Daniel and Sabrina on the red carpet at the premiere. Standing close. Looking like lovers. I forgot all about the trip. I rushed to the theater, only to watch my family be desecrated on screen. And it all clicked into place. There was no emergency. He just wanted me out of the way. Now, his gaze met mine for a split second before he flinched away, unable to hold it. So, he could feel fear. Fear of me knowing. Fear of facing my anger. But he did it anyway. For Sabrina. A bitter smile touched my lips. “Dr. Archer,” I said, my voice carrying across the quieted room. “I’m simply curious. This true story you provided to Ms. Vance for creative inspiration—where exactly did it come from?” I wanted to hear his explanation. I wanted to give him one last chance. Daniel’s face was a blank mask for a moment. Then, his voice came out, cool and distant. “It was based on the experience of an old friend.” I stared at him for a few seconds before a low, hollow laugh escaped me. Daniel, I’ve always been too soft. Thank God you’re more decisive than I am. What a fool I was. I already knew the answer, but I still wanted to hear how he would lie to my face. Daniel saw the tears welling in my eyes, and a flicker of concern crossed his face. “I…” But Sabrina’s voice, sharp and cutting, sliced through his hesitation. “That’s an excellent question,” she said, turning her smile on me. “It seems you’re a true fan of our film. Why don’t I share the story of how Daniel and I created it?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “The subject matter of the film was so heavy that I struggled for the longest time to even start writing,” she began. “Then I met Daniel.” Her gaze shifted to him, her adoration so thick it was suffocating. “As a top-tier psychotherapist, he dissected the authentic inner world of individuals with post-traumatic stress disorder for me. We spent hours discussing the complexities of human nature, the blurred lines between crime and punishment.” She paused for effect. “He stayed up with me through countless nights. It’s safe to say that without him, this film would have no soul.” Finished, she looked at Daniel with pure devotion. He glanced at me, then looked away as if my gaze had physically burned him. But he still gave a stiff nod, playing his part. The audience burst into another round of applause, mixed with envious sighs. “My God, they’re soulmates!” someone whispered loudly. I just watched his face, a self-deprecating smile on my lips. I’d known Daniel for six years, loved him for four. And now, I was just an “old friend.” The scars I had once revealed to him in trust had become anecdotes he shared with Sabrina. He had used my wounds to court another woman. When the applause died down, my composure returned. “Exploring human nature, dissecting the psyche. It all sounds so noble,” I said, my voice clear and cold. “But for a licensed therapist to provide a patient’s private history as creative material for someone else—” I let the silence hang in the air for a beat. “Doesn’t that violate your professional code of ethics?” As my words landed, the faces in the audience, which had been glowing with romantic fantasy just a moment before, shifted. They were right. Divulging a patient’s confidential information was the cardinal sin for a therapist. The reporters in the room snapped to attention, their cameras and microphones swiveling toward the stage like a firing squad taking aim at Daniel. “Dr. Archer, is what this woman saying true?” “Did you, in fact, leak a patient’s private history to Ms. Vance to be used as source material for her screenplay?” Panic flashed across Daniel’s face. He waved his hands dismissively, his voice cracking. “No! That’s not it! You’ve all misunderstood. This wasn’t a patient’s story!” Sabrina immediately jumped to his defense, her tone laced with indignation. “Our film is based on a real social event, not a patient’s private life. This woman must be mistaken.” “Oh? A real event?” I smiled. “Then perhaps, Ms. Vance, you can tell us all how you learned about this so-called real event?” Back then, a series of procedural errors by the investigators nearly let the killer walk free. Because of the scandal, the case was buried, sealed from the public record. It was never reported. Sabrina couldn’t have known about it from any source other than Daniel. Her expression faltered, and she fell silent. She couldn’t admit she heard it from Daniel; that would confirm he’d betrayed a confidence. All she could do was glare at me, her eyes filled with venom. The air grew thick with tension. Sabrina shot a desperate, pleading look at Daniel. He stared at me for a long, heavy moment, as if making a final, terrible decision. “The person involved is an old friend of mine,” he began, his voice heavy with feigned reluctance. “She wishes to remain anonymous, so I didn’t want to say more.” “But since this woman is so insistent, I’ll clarify the situation.” My heart sank. His instinct, his choice, was to protect Sabrina. I had already lost. Utterly. “My friend,” he continued, “has always understood the terrible mistakes her parents made. For years, she’s lived under a crushing weight of guilt, which led to a severe battle with depression.” “She came to me and confided everything. She begged me to find a way to make the story public, as a warning to the world. It was, in her words, her way of atoning for what happened, a penance for the victims.” He paused, his voice rising with a self-righteous fire. “So, you see, this wasn’t a leak.” “Sabrina and I were simply helping a poor, tormented girl complete her journey of self-redemption.” I stared at him, speechless. A sharp, violent pain seized my chest, stealing my breath. After my parents were murdered, I got sick. Depression. Living was more painful than dying. I’d swallowed pills. I’d cut my wrists. I’d stood on the edge of rooftops more times than I could count. Every time, someone pulled me back. After one stomach pump, a doctor who couldn’t bear to watch anymore referred me to Daniel. He told me I was a survivor, not a sinner. He was like a gift, a light in my life. With him by my side, I slowly began to heal. And now, his face was as grotesque and hateful as the killer’s had been that day. I fought back tears, my voice trembling. “Daniel, you truly have no heart.” “How noble. You’ve painted yourself as some kind of hero.” A fractured laugh escaped me, and I asked, my voice raw, “But when you lie awake at night, after twisting the truth and turning black into white, does your conscience ever bother you?” A murmur rippled through the crowd. “What does she mean? Is she saying the movie is a deliberate attempt to whitewash a killer?” “I have to admit, the portrayal of the criminal in the film did feel… off.” “Yeah, and the victims were such stereotypes. It felt like a classic case of victim-blaming…” Hearing the whispers, Sabrina’s face paled. She tightened her grip on Daniel’s arm. At the sight of her distress, Daniel’s expression darkened. “Willow! Do you have to make a scene here?” “Your parents’ case was years ago! Why can’t you just let it go? Why do you insist on tormenting their memory even after they’re gone?” My head snapped up. He looked at me with disappointment, with anger, even with a hint of resentment. Gone was the tenderness, the empathy. I felt a wave of dizziness. For years, he had been my salvation. He would whisper to me in that soothing, hypnotic voice: “Willow, don’t be afraid. I’m here.” “Willow, look, the sun’s coming up. Let’s go outside. I’ll read you some poetry.” I numbly raised a hand to my cheek. The unshed tears I had held back for so long were finally streaming down my face. When Daniel saw them, he froze for a second, a look of regret crossing his features. He instinctively started to raise his hand, as he had a thousand times before, to wipe my tears away. But he stopped. We were too far apart. He was on the brightly lit stage, the center of attention. I was in the dark, isolated and alone. He let his hand fall awkwardly to his side. Across the chasm of bodies and noise between us, his lips moved. I couldn’t hear the sound, but I could read the words clearly: “Willow, stop this. Let’s go home and talk.” Home? After he and Sabrina had nailed my entire family to a public pillar of shame, what home did we have left? I gave a contemptuous smirk and began walking toward the stage, step by step, until I was standing right in front of him. “My parents were slandered as criminals who got what they deserved. You’re the ones who won’t let them rest in peace! Daniel, if this were you, could you let it go?” His mouth opened, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Willow,” he croaked, “I’m doing this for your own good. Your parents’ story needs more attention. It needs a version of the truth to be out there.” The absurdity of it was breathtaking. A short, sharp laugh escaped my throat. “The truth?” “You mean the ‘truth’ that glorifies a murderer and tramples on his victims?” “Or the ‘truth’ where my father is painted as an exploitative monster, my mother as a gold-digging mistress who broke up a marriage, and me as the vicious bully who drove a classmate to suicide?” My voice suddenly rose to a shout. “Daniel, how does my family’s blood taste?” The atmosphere in the room turned to ice. Daniel’s voice trembled. “Willow, that’s not what I meant. I was just… I panicked.” His eyes were red, as if he were truly remorseful. But in the next breath, he pleaded, “But this movie is everything to Sabrina. It has to succeed. Willow, please, just back down this once. Please?” “After this is over, we’ll get married.” I slowly looked up at him, a scalding tear tracing a path down my temple. And I started to laugh, my whole body shaking with it. “Back down? How can you ask me to back down? You know better than anyone how much I’ve suffered for the last six years. You know everything!” My laughter seemed to grate on his nerves. His tone hardened with impatience. “Then what is it you want?” “Do you want to destroy my career? Destroy Sabrina’s most important work? Is that what it will take for you to be satisfied?” His eyes were full of disappointment. “When did you become so unreasonable?” I stood frozen. That face, the one that had once been my only source of comfort, suddenly seemed like a stranger’s—a terrifying stranger. “So in your mind, her defiling my entire life is a ‘work of art’?” “And I’m the sinner? The victim whose bones you scraped clean for your own gain?” My questions made his face contort with anger. He broke eye contact, unable to look at me any longer. Sabrina, seeing her opening, scowled at me with contempt. “Ms. Thorne, your language is disgusting. Daniel and I are trying to generate a meaningful discussion about this case, to preserve it through art.” A flash of malice crossed her eyes. “The way you’re carrying on… anyone who didn’t know better would think you actually were the daughter who bullied her classmate into jumping off a roof.” So, she knew everything. This was her plan all along. To force me to admit who I was, to humiliate me in front of everyone. I had always hated Sabrina. The feeling was mutual. I remembered her saying to Daniel once, right in front of me, her words dripping with insinuation, “Daniel, pity isn’t love. You can’t let a patient confuse you.” My already fragile sense of security shattered. I’d needed constant reassurance from him after that. “Are you only with me because you feel sorry for me?” “Daniel, are you going to leave me one day?” And he would pull me into his arms, his voice a mix of exasperation and adoration. “You silly girl. What are you thinking? I could never leave you.” Now, he stood against me, defending the very woman who had tried to drive us apart. It turned out he could leave someone. That someone just wasn’t her. I met Sabrina’s malicious gaze and smiled. “You’re right. I am that person. I’m the daughter from the story.” Her triumphant smirk froze on her face. She hadn’t expected me to admit it so easily. But she recovered quickly, her expression shifting to one of mock surprise. “Oh, my! So, Ms. Thorne, you’re the bully.” The room exploded. “Ms. Thorne, was your father really a ruthless capitalist? Was your mother really a homewrecker?” “Ms. Thorne, do you think what happened to your family was karma for your bullying?” The reporters were ecstatic. They didn’t care about the truth. They cared about the scandal, the juicy headlines. The crowd surged forward. A powerful shove sent me stumbling backward. My head hit the hard floor with a sickening crack. CRACK! The world went silent. As the room spun around me, distorted faces swam in and out of focus, merging with the face of the devil from my deepest memories. I was back in that blood-soaked afternoon, crammed into the dark closet, my parents holding me down, keeping me quiet. Through the narrow slit between the doors, I saw it all again— My father, on the floor, his head a bloody, unrecognizable pulp. My mother, thrown to the ground, her dress violently torn, the monster’s face twisting into a lecherous grin. Her eyes met mine for a fleeting second, and in that instant, they filled with a terrifying resolve. She guided the killer’s knife into her own heart. Then, she crawled, step by agonizing step, leaving a thick, wet trail of blood, until she reached the closet. She used her last ounce of strength to slump against the doors, her body blocking the slit, shielding me from the killer’s searching gaze. Her blood began to seep under the door. It was warm, sticky… “Aaaah!” I clutched my head and screamed, my body shaking uncontrollably. The suffocating feeling of imminent death washed over me again. My reaction startled the crowd. They stopped pushing, backing away with uneasy expressions. I could finally breathe. “Willow!” Daniel’s face was a mask of terror. He finally saw how broken I was and rushed forward to help me up. “Don’t touch me!” I scrambled backward, away from his reach. His hand froze in midair, his face a canvas of hurt and shock. I lifted my head, my red-rimmed eyes boring into him. “Was it fun?” I whispered. “Turning everything I ever told you into cocktail party chatter for her?” A flush of shame, or perhaps anger, crept up his neck. “Willow!” “Not everyone is like you,” he shot back, his voice strained. “Not everyone assumes every act of kindness is secretly an act of malice.” I slowly, unsteadily, pulled myself to my feet. “Daniel,” I said, each word deliberate and heavy. “Was it so hard to treat me with basic decency?” “I don’t know how I never saw it before. You are disgusting.” His eyes darted away. His reaction was not lost on the audience. “Now it really does sound like her story was stolen.” “You know, I thought there was something wrong with this movie. The killer was a monster. Why were they trying to make him sympathetic?” “Exactly! And they put him front and center on the promotional poster. Their intentions couldn’t be more obvious.” The tide of doubt was turning into a wave of accusation. Sabrina was panicking now. “Don’t listen to her!” she shrieked, her voice high and shrill. “She’s insane!” “She’s one of Daniel’s patients! She’s obsessed with him, and when he rejected her, she made up this entire story to ruin us!” The crowd looked back and forth, trying to keep up with the dizzying twists. Sabrina shook Daniel’s arm, her voice urgent. “Daniel, stop playing along with her! You’ve been more than patient, and now she’s trying to destroy everything! You have her medical records, the ones about her delusional disorder! Stop being so soft-hearted and tell them the truth! Tell them I’m right!” Every eye in the room locked onto Daniel. He was silent for a long moment, then closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were empty of all emotion. All that remained was a cold, clinical detachment. He looked at me and said, his voice quiet but clear: “Yes. She… she suffers from a severe delusional disorder. She is one of my patients.” “She has been stalking me for some time…”

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My sorority sister, a freshman pledge, posted a half-naked selfie in the new member group chat and tagged my boyfriend: Her: *Oops, my hand slipped! The wifi is so slow, I can’t delete it!* Her: *Asher, no peeking.* 😉 Her: *That goes for the rest of you boys, too! Hmph!* Someone pointed out that I was also in the chat. She then adopted a sickeningly sweet, baby-talk voice to apologize. I was about to brush it off, but then I saw Asher’s lazy reply: Asher: *Too late, I already looked. Your fault for having slow wifi.* 1. My fingers froze over the keyboard. The word “whatever” I had been about to type suddenly seemed glaringly out of place. The freshman, Chloe, immediately tagged me. Chloe: *Ugh, he’s such a creep! Big sis, can you do something about this pervert? He’s totally taking advantage of my slow internet!* Asher sent a cute, “my bad” emoji. One I’d never seen him use before. I stared at the screen for a moment, then a slow smile spread across my face. I deleted “whatever” and typed a new message. Me: *Have you tried the campus wifi card? Super fast, you can post and delete in a flash. Perfect for all your… accidental slips. Xoxo.* The chat went silent for a beat. Then, Asher was the first to reply. Asher: *?* Asher: *Lily, Chloe was just joking. Do you have to be like that?* One of the frat boys chimed in. Frat Boy 1: *Yeah, Lily, she was just trying to liven things up. No big deal.* Frat Boy 2: *I, for one, support Chloe’s right to accidentally post selfies. What else are we supposed to look at?* Frat Boy 3: *Preach.* It was a domino effect. One after another, the guys in the chat jumped to her defense. It wasn’t surprising. Chloe was the only girl in the new pledge class who was a total pick-me. The first thing she did when she joined the chat was post a “get to know me” video of herself in a fluffy, long-sleeved bunny pajama set. Asher and I, as the heads of the new member committee, had both seen it. At the time, he’d complained to me, “It’s the middle of August. Isn’t she hot in that? Does she really think that’s cute?” I thought he couldn’t stand her. But now, it was a different story. Me: *If you want to sell your body, take it to the street. If you want to watch porn, there are websites for that. This is a new member chat.* The moment I sent the message, the chat went dead. A second later, a notification popped up on my screen: *You have been removed from the group chat.* The admin who did it? Asher. 2. My hand tightened around my phone. I immediately blocked and deleted his number. Not five minutes later, my phone rang. “Come downstairs.” We had been going door-to-door all day, promoting the new member drive. A minute before he’d gone back to his dorm, he’d been complaining, “I hate recruitment. It’s such a pain.” And now he was all cozy with Chloe. I swallowed my anger and went downstairs. He was holding a piece of cake. “Still mad?” he asked, his voice soft and teasing. “I’m sorry, okay, Your Highness?” This was his M.O. When he was trying to placate me, he was always the first to apologize. I didn’t take the cake. I just looked at him. The cool, early autumn breeze ruffled his hair. He had a fond, indulgent smile on his face, his eyes soft and sincere. It was a look that could melt any girl’s heart. But I just frowned. I’d only seen him look like that once before, four years ago, on the night I agreed to be his girlfriend. He had looked like he’d just been handed the entire world. So, who had made him so happy this time? “You’re her big sis,” he said when I didn’t move, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. “Why are you getting so worked up over a pledge?” “We have interviews tomorrow,” he continued with a sigh. “It’s going to be so awkward. What are people going to think? You’re not a kid anymore, Lily.” I didn’t answer his question. I just asked my own. “When did you two start talking?” We’d been together since we were sixteen. We’d always been straight with each other. He frowned. “Talking? Lily, don’t make it sound so sordid. I’m the head of the committee. It’s my job to answer questions from the new pledges.” Just then, his phone rang. It was an unknown number, no contact name. But the moment he saw it, his eyes lit up. He knew the number by heart. He was about to answer, but then he caught my eye and hesitated. “It’s probably one of the pledges,” he said, the explanation completely unnecessary. I scoffed. “If it’s so normal, then answer it.” He cleared his throat and put the call on speaker. Before he could say anything, Chloe’s sickly-sweet voice filled the air. “I got the stockings! So, this is what you like, huh? Want to see me try them on?” Asher’s hand trembled, his face a mask of panic. He was about to speak, but I cut him off with a bright, cheerful voice. “I don’t know if your big bro wants to see, but your big sis sure does.” 3. The other end of the line went dead silent. It took Asher a moment to recover. “Don’t mess around, Chloe. Your big sis is here.” “Oh! Big sis, don’t get the wrong idea!” Chloe said, her voice a mix of feigned innocence and smug triumph. “Asher just said a few days ago that my legs were so long and skinny, they’d look great in stockings, so I asked him to help me pick some out.” I fought back the urge to scream. “Is that so?” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, I’ve seen your chest, but I haven’t seen your legs. So, show us.” Her prepared speech died in her throat. She was speechless. “Don’t be late for your interview,” Asher said, coming to her rescue. He quickly hung up the phone. The moment the screen went dark, I saw his wallpaper. It used to be a picture of me. Now, it was Chloe’s half-naked selfie. I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall, staring at his embarrassed face. “It was just a joke,” he said, his voice strained. “She’s always like that, she doesn’t mean anything by it.” Looking at this person who was becoming more and more of a stranger, I suddenly laughed. I took the cake from him. “I’ll do the presentation for the welcome event, you can do the talking,” I said, my voice calm. “You’ve worked hard.” I changed the subject, not wanting to push him any further. He looked surprised, his eyes filled with a strange expression as he studied me. But before he could say anything, a notification popped up on his phone. A special alert for a specific contact. A small smile touched his lips. He waved goodbye and walked away. I watched him go, my heart sinking. The wind whipped at my clothes, a sudden, sharp chill. I turned and threw the cake in the trash. 4. The day of the interviews, right when we were at our busiest, Asher, who was supposed to take over for me, was nowhere to be found. He didn’t answer his phone, didn’t reply to my texts. He finally showed up two hours later, strolling in with a boba tea in one hand, a girl in a plaid skirt trailing behind him. I recognized her immediately. It was Chloe. She was wearing a full face of makeup, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she skipped over to me. “Hi, big sis! You must be exhausted!” she chirped. “It’s all my fault, I got lost. I had to bother Asher to come and get me. I’m so, so sorry.” It was the middle of the day, and the sun was scorching. The air conditioning in the interview room was broken, and the small space was hot and stuffy. I was sweating, I hadn’t eaten all morning, and my patience was wearing thin. “She’s new, she doesn’t know her way around,” Asher said, seeing the look on my face. “I just went to pick her up.” “Hehe, thank you, big bro! You’re the best!” Chloe gushed, completely ignoring me as she wrapped her arms around Asher’s arm, pressing her chest against him. The top buttons of her shirt were undone, revealing a patch of pale skin and… a few faint, red marks. Asher’s eyes flickered down to her chest, then quickly away, a faint blush on his cheeks. My friend, another one of the committee heads, nudged me. I felt a wave of nausea. It was early autumn, not spring. Asher turned and met my gaze. He stiffened and gently pushed Chloe away. I didn’t hold back. “What road takes two hours to walk? Did you get lost, too, Asher?” “She had to put on makeup,” he said, his tone defensive. “That takes time. And she always sleeps in, so she hadn’t eaten breakfast. I just took her to get something to eat, is that a crime?” My friend couldn’t take it anymore. “Like any of us have eaten,” she said pointedly. “Chloe’s different,” Asher frowned. “She’s too skinny. If she doesn’t eat, she gets low blood sugar.” He paused, his eyes landing on my face. Because I hadn’t eaten all morning, my lips were pale and chapped. He flinched, remembering that I had just been diagnosed with anemia. He looked away, unable to meet my eyes. He shoved the boba tea into my hand. “Here, you drink this,” he mumbled. “I’ll go get us some food.” I looked down at the boba tea. There was a smudge of lipstick on the straw. The same shade Chloe was wearing. “Sorry, big sis,” Chloe said, batting her eyelashes innocently. “I just wanted to taste his. You don’t mind, do you?” I couldn’t help but laugh. I adopted her baby-talk voice. “Actually, I do mind. What if you have, like, cooties or something?” Her face fell. Before she could say anything, I cut her off. “And by the way, the interviews are over. Sorry, Chloe, you missed your chance.” She looked stunned, her lip trembling as she looked at Asher. He stopped in his tracks, then turned and patted her on the head. “No, you didn’t,” he said softly. “I interviewed you myself. You did great.” There were five of us on the committee, and we each had six spots to fill. If Asher wanted to take Chloe, no one could stop him. He also took a few of the frat boys who had defended her in the group chat. I just shrugged. “Whatever. I sent you the presentation. Make sure you’re ready for tomorrow.” Seeing that I had backed down, he looked relieved. “Wait for me, I’ll be right back.” I didn’t. 5. While we were setting up for the new member welcome event, Asher was clearly giving me the cold shoulder. He was mad that I had ignored him the day before. Even when he handed me a bottle of water, his face was a mask of cold indifference. “Still not feeling well?” he asked. My friend pushed his hand away and gave me a boba tea, the same kind from yesterday. “Here, Lily, drink this. No cooties this time, I promise.” I thanked her and took it. Asher just stared at me, his lips pressed into a thin line. Finally, he scoffed. “So petty.” He pulled out his phone and, with a flourish, rejected Chloe’s request for him to pick her up. “Happy now?” he asked, holding up his phone, a smug, triumphant smile on his face. But my eyes were fixed on the top of his screen. It was a chat with Chloe from that morning, at 2:00 AM. He had sent her a “good night” message with a kissy-face emoji. The last time he had called me was at 9:00 PM the night before. I just laughed and shook my head. Asher had clearly forgotten who I was. I didn’t get sad, I got even. *Angry?* Never. The ones who were about to be angry were them. 6. The welcome event started, and Chloe was late. Again. The faculty advisor for our organization was a stickler for punctuality, so Asher told her to sneak in through the back. She didn’t. She threw open the front doors with a loud bang, startling everyone. “Oops, sorry, I got lost again!” she chirped. “I’m so dumb!” The advisor’s face darkened. Asher quickly waved her over to a seat. She stomped her foot. “Don’t be mad at me, guys! It’s all Asher’s fault! He should have come to get me!” She then marched over, moved the nameplate with my name on it, and plopped down next to Asher, pouting up at him. He glanced at me, but I just stood in the corner, taking pictures like nothing was wrong. Seeing that I wasn’t bothered, he seemed a little disappointed. But he just put a finger to his lips. “Shh, the advisor is here.” “Oh, sorry, professor!” she said loudly, covering her mouth with her sleeve as she giggled. The girl on stage who had been interrupted rolled her eyes. “I have a severe allergy to stupidity,” she said, glaring at Chloe. “So, please, stay away.” Chloe looked offended, but Asher just chuckled. “You hear that, little dummy?” he whispered in her ear. She playfully slapped his arm a few times, then shot me a triumphant look. 7. After all the new members had introduced themselves, it was Asher’s turn to speak. The moment he stepped on stage, Chloe started clapping and cheering. “Wow, you’re so handsome, Asher! I love you!” She was sitting in the front row, swinging her legs back and forth. With every swing, her short skirt rode up, giving everyone a clear view of her underwear. Asher’s eyes darted down, then quickly away, a faint blush on his cheeks. “You’re the only one making a scene,” he said, trying to sound stern. She just stuck her tongue out at him and shot me another smug look. I just stood in the corner, recording the whole thing, waiting for the show to begin. And right on cue, the computer malfunctioned. The presentation wouldn’t open. So I suggested that Asher use his phone to project it onto the screen. He had no choice but to agree. But the moment he connected his phone, a gasp went through the room. His wallpaper, Chloe’s half-naked selfie, was now displayed on the giant screen for everyone to see. This version was much more… complete than the one she had posted in the group chat. Every part of her that was supposed to be covered was on full display. And a few parts that weren’t. It was obvious that this was a private picture she had sent him. But Asher had forgotten. He had just changed his wallpaper.

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During the interview, the reporter leaned in. “Robert’s new film has a lot of intimate scenes with his co-star. What are your thoughts on that?” I offered a placid smile. “How sweet for them.” The reporter blinked, momentarily thrown. “Does that affect your relationship? I mean, he’s famous for never doing love scenes.” “No, it doesn’t.” “Why not?” “Because we’re divorced.” The interview exploded. And so did my phone. Robert’s voice, tight with fury, crackled through the speaker. “When the hell did we get divorced? Why am I the last to know?” I knocked on his hotel room door, divorce papers in hand. “Right now.” 1 #RobertHannahSplit #RobertAndLily #LilyTheHomewrecker The interview went viral, dominating the top three trending spots. My phone was a vibrating, ringing brick of chaos. I switched it to Do Not Disturb and leaned back in the seat of the town car, trying to breathe. On the tablet beside me, a behind-the-scenes clip played on a loop: Robert and his co-star, Lily May, in a kiss so intense it practically steamed up the camera. My manager, Jen, stared at me, aghast. “You’re divorced? Since when?” I kept it simple. “He cheated.” Understanding dawned in Jen’s eyes. She switched off the tablet, plunging the car into a silence broken only by my ragged breathing. She sighed, wanting to comfort me but not knowing how. “You and Robert have been together for seven years. Everyone knows you’re the golden couple of Hollywood. Are you sure this isn’t some kind of misunderstanding?” I said nothing, just lowered the window and let the cold night air whip against my face, drying the tears that threatened to spill over. Just last night, I’d received a tip with photos: Robert and Lily, checking into a hotel. I’d shattered. I cried until my body ached and convulsed. Then I called my lawyer and had him draw up the papers overnight. It’s precisely because it was seven years that the betrayal was so absolute, so unforgivable. 2 Arriving at the hotel, I finally answered Robert’s call. His voice was a frantic, strained mess on the other end. “Hannah, what the hell are you doing? When did we get divorced? How come I don’t know about it?” He only ever used my full name when he was truly furious. The last time was when I’d thrown a glass of red wine in Lily May’s face. “Right now,” I said, and knocked. The door swung open. Robert stood there, phone still pressed to his ear, his eyes locking with mine. He was shirtless, a towel slung low on his hips, revealing a chiseled abdomen and the faint, almost imperceptible scratch marks on his arms. “What are you doing here?” I ignored him, pushing past into the suite and slapping the divorce papers onto the coffee table. “Sign them.” Robert picked them up, flipped through them with disdain, and tossed them onto the sofa. A bitter, incredulous laugh escaped him as he raked a hand through his hair. “Because of a few scenes with Lily? That’s part of the job, you know that.” He stepped closer, his voice softening into a weary plea. “Ellie, I’m exhausted. Can you please stop being so unreasonable?” “Robert.” I dropped my gaze, taking a deep breath. “No intimate scenes. That was the rule we agreed on when we got married.” Robert’s possessiveness over me was legendary. He’d either turn down scripts with kissing scenes for me or bully directors into rewriting them. Once, an actor, caught up in the moment, improvised and kissed my cheek on camera. The next day, that actor was replaced, his career vanishing overnight. Robert Thorne had always been a controlling, obsessive monster. But now, for another woman, he had broken his own sacred rule. He’d given Lily a privilege he’d denied everyone else. That was all the proof I needed. A dark look flashed across his face before he masked it with a smile. He closed the distance between us, his arms circling my waist as he nibbled on my earlobe. “This was a one-time thing. It won’t happen again, okay?” His voice dropped to a low, warning purr. “And I don’t want to hear the word ‘divorce’ again. Understood?” I was about to shove him away when a sweet, feminine voice drifted from the other room. “Robert, honey, I think the shower is broken…” Lily May appeared in the doorway. “Oh! Hannah, what are you doing here?” She was wearing a slinky slip dress that barely covered anything, her long hair damp and clinging to her back, revealing a constellation of fresh love bites on her neck. She noticed my gaze and tugged at the hem of her dress, a futile gesture that only highlighted her guilt. Her cheeks were flushed as she bit her lip, the picture of shy innocence. “Hannah, it’s not what it looks like between Robert and me…” Robert’s first instinct was to grab his suit jacket from the sofa and cover her. My first instinct was faster. I whipped out my phone and snapped a series of photos. “Sign the papers,” I said, my voice cold as ice, “or these go public.” I let a cruel smile touch my lips. “Let’s see… ‘Hollywood’s Golden Boy in Steamy Hotel Tryst with Ingénue Co-Star.’ That title has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” He let out an impatient hiss. “She got drunk at the wrap party last night. It wasn’t safe for her to go home alone, so I brought her here. Nothing happened.” I ignored his pathetic excuse. “You have three seconds.” “Three.” “Two…” He snatched the papers from the sofa, scribbled his signature with angry strokes, and threw them at me. “There. Are you happy now? Is this little game of yours over?” I nodded, clutching the signed agreement, and turned to leave. His voice stopped me at the door, laced with a weary, wounded tone. “Ellie, you never used to be like this.” “When did you become so difficult?” My footsteps faltered. That’s exactly what he’d said the first time I met Lily May. 3 Lily was a new actress signed by our agency. She bore a striking resemblance to me, so much so that online tabloids had dubbed her “Baby Hannah.” At first, Robert was indignant. He’d hold me and whine, “Baby Hannah? Don’t be ridiculous. My wife is one of a kind. That girl can’t hold a candle to a single strand of your hair.” He was constantly complaining about her riding my coattails. When Lily copied my style, he’d call it a cheap imitation. When she mimicked my makeup, he’d call it tacky and pathetic. But he never noticed how often her name started creeping into our conversations. An “unimportant person” who was suddenly, constantly, there. Even at dinner, he’d bring her up with a pretense of disgust. “Lily hates cilantro too. What a poser.” But how would he know she hated cilantro unless he’d eaten with her? My anger snapped. I threw my chopsticks down on the table. “Can you stop? Is it impossible for you to go five minutes without mentioning Lily May?” I stared at him, my heart pounding. “Robert, are you falling for her?” He immediately swore his loyalty, deleting her number from his phone right in front of me. A few days later, at an industry gala, a sleazy producer started pressuring Lily to drink. In front of everyone, Robert smashed a bottle over the man’s head. He completely ignored me, standing there pale and shocked, and wrapped a protective arm around Lily’s shoulders, his face a thunderous mask. “The talent at my agency,” he snarled, “does not do ‘favors’.” I went to the restroom to splash cold water on my face. When I came back, Robert was standing there with Lily, whose cheek was red and swollen. His voice was sharp with displeasure. “Take it out on me if you’re angry. Why did you have to hit her?” “Hannah,” he’d said, his voice dripping with disappointment, “when did you become so difficult?” He didn’t come home that night. After a few days of cold war, he showed up with a one-of-a-kind piece of jewelry from a European auction, a peace offering. “Don’t be mad, baby,” he’d murmured, fastening the necklace around my neck. “It’s just… seeing her like that, it reminded me of you, all those years ago, when you were forced to drink. I just lost my head.” He couldn’t protect the me from seven years ago, so he had to protect the Lily of today. He took time off work to stay home with me, showering me with attention. I smiled and played along, and he thought the chapter was closed. What he didn’t know was that I had found Lily’s private social media account. An account that documented, in loving detail, the three-day trip they had just taken together to the coast. 4 The way Robert and I met felt like something out of a movie. Back then, I was a nobody, a struggling extra scrounging for work in L.A. He was the rebellious heir to a fortune, defying his family to chase his Hollywood dream. His parents, determined to teach him a lesson, had cut him off completely, even pulling strings to make his life harder. I first saw him on a street corner after midnight. I’d just wrapped a night shoot and was squatting by the curb, eating a hot dog. I felt a pair of intense eyes on me and looked up to see two green orbs glowing from the darkness of an alley. I bought him a hot dog. We sat there, side-by-side on the curb, as he told me he was a fellow dreamer, here to make it in the movies. We talked all night, convinced we were soulmates. After that, we met on that corner every night, sharing stories about our miserable days as extras. Inevitably, we fell for each other. We moved into a tiny, cramped apartment together. We made love on a rickety metal bed in a room that always smelled of grease and mildew, clinging to each other as if our lives depended on it. For three years, we chased the same dream, guarding each other’s backs, clawing our way up together. The night Robert won the award for Best Newcomer, everything changed. His parents finally acknowledged his success, and he confessed the truth: he was the heir to the Thorne empire. I was heartbroken by the deception. I locked him out, refusing to see him. To earn my forgiveness, he stood outside in a torrential downpour all night, collapsing with a fever the next morning. The moment he woke up in the hospital, he tried to rip out his IV to come find me. My heart melted. He gave me a fairy-tale wedding and went public with our relationship at the peak of his rising fame, giving me the world. Everyone called me Cinderella. Over time, I think even Robert started to believe it. He slowly forgot those three desperate, confusing, painful years we spent in that suffocating, 200-square-foot room. 5 Leaving the hotel, I finally looked at my phone. The hashtag calling Lily a homewrecker had already been scrubbed from the internet. Robert had posted a clarification: [Not divorced. The wife is just throwing a tantrum. Currently in the process of winning her back.] The comment section was a mix of people praising his “devotion” and a flood of hate directed at me. [An intimate scene is not a big deal. Hannah’s jealousy is terrifying. Robert has been a saint for her on screen for years. Her controlling nature screams insecurity.] [Honestly, Hannah is so classless. She should just be grateful she has a rich, famous husband. An actor has to act, why does he have to walk on eggshells around her? You can take the girl out of the gutter, but you can’t take the gutter out of the girl.] [My heart breaks for our sweet Lily. A poor girl with no connections gets a big break because of her talent, and she gets bullied like this by the jealous wife. It’s disgusting.] [Just an outsider’s opinion, but doesn’t Lily seem like a much better match for Robert?] [OMG YES! THANK YOU FOR SAYING IT! If Lily does end up with him, it’s Hannah’s own fault for not being good enough to keep her man. Useless!] Normally, Robert would have had his team delete comments like these in seconds. This time, I supposed it was part of my punishment. Not only did he leave them up, he even liked a few. Jen was on the phone, scrambling to get our PR team to do damage control. I was too tired to care. I fell asleep in the back of the car. When I woke up, it was nearly midnight. My phone was flooded with dozens of unread messages. As I started to scroll through them, a call came in. It was Robert. “Ellie, where are you? Why didn’t you come home?” I stayed silent. After a few seconds, I could hear his heavy breathing on the other end. He sighed. “Ellie, you don’t really think that piece of paper means we’re actually divorced, do you?” His voice was low, condescending. “I was just playing along. Now be a good girl and come home.” He was right. Divorcing a Thorne wasn’t that simple. In his eyes, that legally binding document was just a prop in my little drama. He saw this whole thing as him indulging a pet throwing a tantrum. “Robert,” I said, my voice calm and even. “You don’t really think there’s an ‘us’ after this, do you?” The papers might not be enough on their own, but they were a declaration of war. It was over between us. Even if it ended in blood, I was getting this divorce. A cold chuckle came through the phone. “Ellie,” he said, his tone languid and dripping with menace, “don’t joke like that. You know exactly what happens when you make me angry.” I could hear the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of his fingers on a table, a dull, ominous beat in the silence of the night. He was truly angry now. A slow smile spread across my face. “I can’t wait to see,” I whispered, and hung up before he could respond. My reflection stared back at me from the dark window—hair a mess, face etched with fatigue. This was the last night I would ever waste my energy on a rotten man and a dead relationship. I knew the disgusting, underhanded tactics Robert would resort to when he was angry. But I wasn’t afraid. I would not back down. I would be the one left standing at the end of this war. I had to be. 6 Robert’s warning shot came quickly. I was set to star in a major historical drama, a role I had fought hard for. A week before filming, I was replaced. By Lily May. With Lily’s recent surge in popularity, her resemblance to me, and the immense pressure from Robert, the director didn’t dare object. On the first day of shooting, Robert showed up. As a key investor, he was treated like a king. An assistant held a parasol over his head while another aimed a personal fan at him, a fresh Starbucks cup always within reach. During a break, Lily cozied up to him, chattering animatedly about her “process.” Robert just gave her vague, distracted replies, his dark gaze fixed on me across the crowded set. I ignored him, studying my script under the shade of a prop balcony. My young assistant fanned me, whispering, “Isn’t Mr. Thorne here to see you, Hannah? Why aren’t you sitting with him? You’re not still trying to hide your marriage, are you?” There was an empty chair next to Robert. My assistant didn’t know the whole story; she just assumed he was here for a surprise visit. I knew he was offering me an olive branch, a chance to crawl back. But if he was truly sorry, would he be letting Lily hang all over him like that? And besides, he had stolen my role. Using my career to threaten me was a low blow. Unforgivable. Sensing my irritation, Robert waved over an assistant. “Lily loves that brand of plum juice,” he announced loudly. “Get some for the entire crew.” The crew members immediately began fawning over them, cooing about what a great couple they made. Lily blushed prettily, darting a triumphant little glance in my direction. “Oh, you guys, stop,” she giggled. “You’ll make Hannah uncomfortable.” Only then did everyone remember that I, the actual wife, was still present. A blanket of awkward silence fell over the set. 7 The atmosphere was thick with tension. It reached its breaking point when we started filming the next scene. In it, the heroine discovers that the female villain (my new role) has been plotting against her all along. The confrontation culminates in a resounding slap. It was supposed to be a major payoff moment for the audience, and the script explicitly called for it to be real and hard. I slipped into character, my eyes spitting venom at Lily. “So you know it was me,” I sneered. “What are you going to do about—” Before I could finish my line, Lily’s hand flew, cracking across my face with such force that I stumbled backward. My cheek instantly started to burn and swell. Lily’s eyes welled up with tears, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh, Hannah, I’m so sorry!” she cried, her lower lip trembling. “Your performance was just so powerful, I got lost in the moment…” The director yelled, “Cut!” My assistant rushed over with an ice pack, shooting daggers at Lily. “If you were so ‘in the moment,’ why didn’t you finish the scene?” I didn’t say anything. I just covered the swelling with a thick layer of powder and told the director I was ready to go again. Over the next hour, Lily slapped me six more times. She forgot her lines. She wasn’t “feeling the emotion.” She improvised new blocking. Each mistake earned her another chance to strike me. I could taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. I swallowed it down, the bitter saliva burning a hole in my chest. And through it all, Lily kept up her pathetic act. “I’m so sorry, Hannah,” she’d whimper. “I know you’re a true professional. I’m just so new to this. I need you to guide me through it a few more times to really get there.” The director just laughed nervously. In his eyes, I was the investor’s wife, and Lily was the investor’s rumored mistress. He couldn’t afford to offend either of us until he knew who the real favorite was. “Right, well, maybe we should move on to the next scene for now. We can rework this one a bit.” Robert, who had been silent this whole time, cleared his throat. His eyes met mine, a challenging glint in them. I knew what he was doing. He was waiting for me to break. To look at him. To beg. I turned my gaze back to the director. “Let’s keep going.” The director shot a nervous glance at Robert’s thunderous expression. “Well, perhaps… perhaps we could fake the slap for this take? Use a camera trick?” After a few tense seconds of silence, Robert spoke, his voice dangerously smooth. “No need.” The director breathed a sigh of relief, about to call action, when Robert added, “No need for camera tricks. Hannah is such a dedicated artist. I’m sure she would find such unprofessional methods beneath her.” His words put me in a cage. I suddenly remembered a rumor I’d heard a few weeks ago. Lily had been slapped for real by an actress on another set and had cried her eyes out. Robert had stormed into the actress’s dressing room with Lily in tow, held the woman down, and made her let Lily slap her back. He had said something similar to me once. Years ago, a director had slapped me, claiming I wasn’t “giving him enough emotion.” That night, Robert had gently pressed a warm cloth to my face, his voice a furious whisper. “Don’t worry, Ellie. Soon, I’ll be powerful enough to let you slap him back.” And he had. He didn’t just get me that slap back; he made sure that director never worked in this town again. The memory sent a sharp, twisting pain through my gut. I pressed a hand to my heart, taking a few deep breaths. It’s okay, Hannah. You never needed him to fight your battles anyway. You can get that slap back on your own. It was just a matter of time. Just like now. After Lily used “forgetting her lines” as an excuse to slap me one last time, she called for another take. Just then, the sharp, rhythmic click of high heels echoed through the silent set. A cold, imperious voice drawled: “And which back-alley nobody did you find to play my leading lady?”

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Underneath the short video I posted, a girl tagged her boyfriend. 【Everyone move, my husband loves this type. Let him see it first!】 I tapped on her profile picture and froze. It was the girl who bullied me in high school. I’d know that face if it were ash. I didn’t sleep all night. I scrolled through every single one of her videos, then clicked on the boyfriend she’d tagged. I sent him a private message. 【Are you there?】 1 Before I saw Genevieve again, I’d imagined what she’d become a thousand times. I thought bad people got what they deserved. That she’d be miserable, broke, her life in ruins. But she wasn’t. In the videos she posted, one day she was in a ten-thousand-dollar-a-night villa at the Cheval Blanc in St. Barts. The next, she was flying to Iceland to see the Northern Lights. The day after, she was racing a convertible down the Pacific Coast Highway as the sun bled into the ocean. In her most recent photo, she was sitting in the back of a black Rolls-Royce, dressed in a Chanel suit, smiling for the camera with an audacious confidence. Not a shadow of worry on her face. She looked like she was doing great. But why should she? My fingers tightened around my phone, my eyes locked on her smiling face on the screen. Slowly, that smile morphed into the one she wore with her school uniform. She was laughing as she slapped me, one stinging blow after another. When her hand got tired, she’d let one of her friends take over while she stood to the side, grinning, holding a phone up to my swollen, bleeding face. “Smile, Leah. Aren’t you the one who loves getting attention? What’s wrong, can’t smile now?!” She yanked my hair, pulling my head back. Her smile stretched wider. “Smile!” Genevieve’s malice toward me started the day the boy she liked gave me a birthday present. He gave me a handbag. He said his mom had brought it back from a trip to Milan, that it cost over three thousand dollars. I was so horrified I refused to take it. He got angry, shoved it into my arms, and said if I didn’t want it, he’d just throw it away. I was standing there, helpless, clutching the bag, when Genevieve walked in. She snatched it from my hands. She stared at it for a moment, and then a strange, twisted smile spread across her face. It made my blood run cold. “I’ve been asking him for this bag for three months and he never got it for me,” she said, her voice deceptively sweet. “I guess he was saving it for you.” She looked up at me then, and the look in her eyes made the hair on my arms stand up. “You’ve got some nerve, Leah.” After that, Genevieve made my life a living hell. The thing I dreaded most each day was the final bell. I never knew when she and her friends would corner me in a bathroom for another session of beatings and humiliation. I lived in a constant state of terror, plagued by nightmares every single night. But I couldn’t tell anyone. My parents had divorced when I was young. Both had new families, new lives. The only one who wanted me was my grandmother, Nana, who walked with a limp. She ran a small, beloved local deli, waking up before dawn every day to prep sandwiches and salads just so she could afford to send me to school. I was one of the few scholarship kids at that private academy, admitted on academic merit with my tuition waived. I couldn’t tell the teachers. Genevieve had threatened to go after my nana, and I knew the school administration would turn a blind eye for a girl whose family was as wealthy and influential as hers. All I could do was study harder, dreaming of the day I’d test my way out of that place and leave it all behind. But even that small hope was stolen from me. The night before the SATs, Genevieve locked me in a bathroom again. This time, she had her friends strip my clothes off and take pictures. I was trapped in there all night, so I didn’t know that my photos were already being passed around in local group chats. I didn’t know that Genevieve had deliberately sent someone to Nana’s deli to show them to her. Nana was frantic when I didn’t come home. She locked up the shop and, with her bad leg, limped her way toward the school to find me. In her panic, she didn’t look carefully enough when crossing the street. A semi-truck, the driver exhausted from a long haul, struck her. She was gone instantly. I didn’t find out until the next morning, when a janitor finally let me out. The world tilted, spots dancing in front of my eyes. I collapsed, my mind a complete, roaring blank. When I woke up, I was in the hospital. In a single day, I lost my chance to change my life, and I lost the only person in the world who loved me. I barely remember the aftermath. I think my mind, in an act of self-preservation, walled off those memories. I only recall one of my teachers visiting. I overheard her in the hallway, her voice thick with pity. “She was a shoo-in for the Ivy League,” she said to someone. “Such a shame.” Nothing happened to Genevieve. She got a stern talking-to in the principal’s office. That was it. Her father was a major local entrepreneur, one of the city’s largest taxpayers. The principal wouldn’t dare cross him. I used what little money we had left to arrange Nana’s funeral. There was no money for a gap year or SAT prep courses. I found a job in a factory, earning just enough to survive. And Genevieve? She was sent off to a university in California to begin her brilliant life. … I sat on my bed in the dark, staring at the black ceiling. I used to do this a lot during the hardest years, just stare into nothing. Life did get better, eventually. I saved up, got my degree online, and then scraped together enough to start my own e-commerce clothing boutique. I modeled the clothes myself. Luckily, I had the looks for it, and I caught the wave of a trend at the right time. The business grew, and now, I’m financially independent. I thought I had forgotten. I thought I could start a new life. But the moment I saw Genevieve’s face, I understood. I had never let it go. I hated her. I hated her with every cell in my body. I sat there until the sun came up. Then, with fingers that felt stiff and cold, I finally clicked on the account she had tagged. It was a man’s profile, the picture just a few simple lines forming an abstract face. He hadn’t posted a single video. But it didn’t take me long to find out who he was. Rhys Thorne. Genevieve’s fiancé. Her family’s business had nearly gone bankrupt while she was in college. They’d been saved by a strategic engagement. The Thorne family was the lifeline they’d clung to. And the source of the lavish lifestyle Genevieve now flaunted. She didn’t recognize me. It was laughable, really. She had personally shoved me into hell. Her smiling face was the star of every one of my nightmares, yet she had completely forgotten me. Forgotten me so completely she was tagging her fiancé in my comments section. I tapped the message icon next to Rhys Thorne’s name. I hesitated for a moment, then typed out a single message. 【Are you there?】 2 Three days later, I opened my chat with Rhys for the hundredth time. He still hadn’t replied. I wasn’t surprised. From the research I’d done, Rhys Thorne had a remarkably clean slate when it came to women. Genevieve’s tag was probably just a casual joke, something she did knowing he wouldn’t care. It was strange, really. He was the heir to the Thorne empire. Based on the few photos and videos I could find, he was at least six-two, with a face that could have landed him on a magazine cover—a gift from his mother, a former actress. For a man who was the complete package—rich, handsome, powerful—his favorite pastime wasn’t clubbing or collecting sports cars. It was fishing. Yes, fishing. Like an old man, he’d find a spot by the ocean or a lake, set up his rod, and sit there for an entire day. It was clear that messaging him online was a dead end. I dug deeper, researching everything I could. I even staked out his office building. Rhys’s life was a predictable pattern: office, home, repeat. And every weekend, he dedicated one full day to fishing. After figuring out his schedule, I got in my car and followed him from a distance as he left work. At a red light, I maneuvered my car behind his. And I hit the gas. After the sharp crunch of metal, the car in front of me stopped. Rhys Thorne, dressed in a tailored suit, stepped out, a frown creasing his forehead. He walked back and tapped on my window. I smoothed my hair, glancing at my reflection in the rearview mirror. The makeup had been done by a professional I’d paid a four-figure sum, ensuring every lash was perfect while looking effortlessly natural. It worked. As I opened the car door, the frown on Rhys’s face softened slightly. Genevieve must have known I was his type. That’s why she tagged him. A pretty face alone might not hook him, but at least it wouldn’t create an immediate aversion. I looked up, tilting my face to its most flattering angle, and offered a flustered apology. “I’m so sorry. I’m a new driver, I just got my license. I was in a hurry and I didn’t react in time. Are you okay?” Rhys shook his head and walked to the back of his car to inspect the damage. “It’s not too bad. Let’s pull over so we’re not blocking traffic. We can just go through insurance.” I nodded. We waited on the side of the road while the insurance reps handled everything. When it was all done, I casually pulled out my phone, opened my contacts, and held it out to him. “Can I get your number? Just in case anything else comes up.” My tone was so matter-of-fact, so devoid of any ulterior motive, that it left him no room to refuse. Rhys paused for a beat, then took out his phone and we exchanged information. “I really am sorry about today. Let me buy you dinner sometime to make up for it?” I asked, looking up at him. “That’s not necessary. The insurance is handled. We can just text if there’s an issue.” He rejected me, just as I’d expected, got in his car, and drove off. I watched his car merge back into the flow of traffic, a slow smile spreading across my face as I clutched my phone. Today’s mission was a success. I never expected to get close to him this quickly. Just getting his number was a victory. I like a challenge. If he had been too easy, it wouldn’t have been any fun. I found all of Genevieve’s social media accounts. She seemed genuinely obsessed with Rhys. Nine out of every ten posts were about him in some way. Her infatuation was written in flashing neon letters. The Gu family business had been declining for years. Without the Thorne family’s capital infusion, they would have gone under long ago. Genevieve. I wondered how comfortable her life would be if she lost Rhys Thorne. If fate wouldn’t serve her what she deserved, I would do it myself. 3 I spent the whole night dissecting Rhys’s social media presence. He really was a simple man. His feeds were practically empty, save for the occasional post bragging about a fish he’d caught. I didn’t message him. Instead, a few days later, I posted a photo. In the picture, the wind was sending ripples across the dark water of a reservoir. I was holding up a massive catfish, a small, knowing smile on my lips. 【Another day, another catch!】 I waited a week. No like from Rhys. No comment. But he didn’t post anything that weekend either. Clearly, he’d been skunked. The second week, I posted again. Same reservoir, another huge catfish, this one even bigger than the last. At least ten pounds. 【Fish on!】 Still nothing from him. The third week, another post. 【Can’t stop. Won’t stop.】 Then I put on a face mask and went to bed. The next morning, I opened my phone. Among the dozens of likes, I finally saw the one I’d been waiting for. A comment from Rhys Thorne. 【Where is this?】 I looked at my phone and smiled. Hooked. 4 The next time I met Rhys, he was noticeably more talkative. “So, does that spot you mentioned really have that many fish?” I subtly sized him up. He was wearing a black hoodie and gray sweatpants, his dark hair falling naturally across his forehead without a trace of gel. When he talked about something he was passionate about, his eyes widened slightly, and they shone with an unexpected light. He looked less like the cold, imposing figure from financial magazines and more like a college kid in his early twenties. I nodded. “You’ll see when we get there. I’ve never left that place empty-handed.” The truth was, I knew nothing about fishing. I’d spent the last few weeks cramming, learning everything I could for the sole purpose of catching this one specific fish. I’d found this secluded spot by asking around and spending days hiking the local mountains. When Rhys first commented, I ignored him. The next day, after posting another photo, I finally, casually replied: 【It’s up in the mountains. Pretty hard to find.】 This time, he replied instantly: 【Would you mind if I tagged along next time you go? Thanks.】 I put my phone down, ate dinner, and waited until I figured he was getting impatient before replying with a single word: 【Sure.】 … We cast our lines several yards apart. He didn’t initiate conversation, and I wasn’t about to act needy. Occasionally, when one of us got a bite, we’d glance over. I could tell that every time I reeled one in, he was dying to come over and see, but he was too proud. He’d just pretend to be casually looking around, his eyes darting back and forth. From Genevieve’s posts, I knew this was Rhys’s personality. A little cold, a little aloof. He wouldn’t even bother with polite pretenses for things that didn’t interest him. He’d probably been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, blessed with looks and wealth. He’d rarely encountered a situation that required him to be charming or proactive. He was used to being the center of his own universe. Women had probably been throwing themselves at him for years. If I was too aggressive, he’d lump me in with all the rest, not worth a second thought. After that first trip, I didn’t contact him again. But I had figured out his schedule. I started showing up at the reservoir, making sure we “ran into each other” at least once a week. But the waiting for a bite was boring. After our third meeting, he finally started talking to me again. “How did you find this spot anyway?” “I’d pretty much fished out all the nearby fisheries and public spots. They were getting boring. Found this place by accident while I was hiking one day, gave it a try, and it turned out to be gold.” Once we started talking about fishing, Rhys opened up. He got excited showing me a video of him catching piranha in the Amazon. I was duly impressed, then showed him a picture of me on a deep-sea charter with a yellowfin tuna. His eyes lit up, followed by a flicker of regret. “I’ve always wanted to go for tuna, but I’ve been too busy to get away.” He looked up at me, really looking at me for the first time. “I can’t believe you’re this into fishing. You don’t meet many women who are.” The conversation flowed. We started talking about sports, music we liked, movies, books. He was surprised to find we had so much in common. We both loved to ski. We both loved Yukio Mishima’s The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea. We were both fans of the same obscure Japanese musician. Even when our tastes differed, we could understand the other’s perspective. Before we knew it, we had talked for the entire afternoon, and the sky had turned dark. After that, we started fishing together regularly. We even adopted a stray cat that lived by the reservoir. It was a little yellow kitten, only a few months old. Whenever we showed up, it would curl up nearby, waiting patiently for a fish. If we weren’t catching anything, it would meow impatiently, as if scolding us. I named him Nugget. For good luck. I’d always greet him with cuddles and kisses. Rhys was less enthusiastic. Whenever Nugget tried to rub against him, he’d sidestep. He was a bit of a neat freak and hated getting cat hair on his clothes. One evening, as we were packing up, Rhys asked me for the first time: “When are you coming next?” I thought for a second. “Work’s been pretty crazy lately. Hard to say.” A flicker of disappointment, almost imperceptible, crossed his face. But he just nodded politely and didn’t press. I stayed away for a full week. I came back late in the second. When Rhys saw me, he didn’t let on, but I saw him subtly shift his chair a little closer to my spot. “Where have you been? You haven’t been fishing.” I walked over and knelt down to pet Nugget, who was stretched out on the ground. He had gotten fatter, his coat glossy and smooth. He looked well-cared for. “Have you been feeding him?” Rhys lifted his chin, a hint of accusation in his voice. “You’re the one who insisted on naming him, and then you just abandon him.” He quickly became smug. “Of course I’ve been taking care of him. I’ve been coming every day to catch fish for him.” Nugget walked over and rubbed against his leg. Rhys frowned, his voice full of mock annoyance. “Can you not? You get fur all over me.” But his hands moved with practiced ease, scooping the cat up and placing him on his lap. Nugget settled in comfortably, immediately shedding all over his black jacket. Rhys didn’t seem to mind. He started scratching the cat under the chin like he’d done it a thousand times. I watched from the side, a new understanding dawning on me. So, he was one of those. All tough on the outside. I smiled to myself and sat down to rig my line, but I fumbled and the hook pricked my finger. I hissed, squeezing it, and a bright red bead of blood welled up. Rhys immediately put Nugget down, grabbed a first-aid kit from his tackle box, and walked over, his brow furrowed. “How can you be so careless?” I reached for the band-aid, but he said, his voice surprisingly gentle, “Give me your hand.” “You really come prepared for everything—” I started to say, looking up with a smile, but the words died in my throat when my eyes met his. He was too close. Somewhere along the way, we had gotten too close. The orange glow of the mountain sunset was deepening into blue. The wind, trapped in the valley, carried the damp scent of water and earth. I could smell the faint, clean scent of cedar on him—aftershave, maybe. His eyes were a lighter shade of brown than most, giving them a cool, almost inorganic clarity. But right now, they were filled with nothing but my reflection. The wind blew a strand of my hair across his face. He just stared at me, frozen. It wasn’t until Nugget let out an impatient meow that we both snapped back to reality, jolting backward. Rhys quickly turned away, crouching down to pet the cat. “Alright, alright, I’m getting you food.” A laugh escaped my lips. In the dim light, I could see the tips of his ears had turned red. He sat back down in his spot and didn’t say another word. But Rhys, who usually had the patience of a stone, was fidgety all evening. He didn’t catch a single fish. From that day on, an unspoken understanding grew between us. He would always text me when he was going fishing. We started going out at least twice a week. Sometimes it was in the wild solitude of the mountains, sometimes on the vast, open sea, sometimes at a private fishery he’d booked. But it was always just the two of us. During this time, I kept a close eye on Genevieve’s social media. Her posts about Rhys became less and less frequent, until finally, days would go by without a single mention. I watched coldly, then spent my days with her fiancé, my makeup flawless, my attitude perfect. This delicate dance of ours, where we both knew what was happening but pretended we didn’t, continued for two months. I decided it was time. That evening, as he held Nugget in his lap, I suddenly spoke. “Rhys, do you have a girlfriend?”

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My father, in his infinite wisdom, decided I needed a lesson in “the real world.” That’s how I ended up working retail in one of our family’s own department stores. And, because the universe has a sick sense of humor, that’s also how I ran into my ex-boyfriend, Caleb, and the girl he’d seamlessly transitioned to after me. She wanted me to kneel to help her try on a shoe. Then she cooed for him to buy it for her. “The commission on this one sale is probably more than he spent on you in the entire last year, right?” she whispered, loud enough for me to hear. I smiled. A genuine, honest-to-God smile. “I don’t blame him,” I said, my voice light. “It’s my fault, really. I’m the one who set his salary.” 1 The reason Caleb and I broke up was simple: he thought I was poor. He said we were from different worlds, that our futures didn’t align. His family was comfortable, maybe upper-middle-class on a good day, but Caleb carried himself with the desperate swagger of a man trying to cosplay as a billionaire. He lived and breathed brand names, a walking billboard for new money. I was the opposite. My father is the kind of man you see profiled in Forbes or the Wall Street Journal. To give me a normal childhood, a “happy and simple” one as he put it, my family kept me out of the spotlight. His one constant lesson was to be discreet. My clothes, my shoes, everything was bespoke, custom-made by designers who valued craftsmanship over a gaudy logo. To Caleb, this just looked cheap. He thought my quiet luxury was embarrassing, that I wasn’t “presentable.” So, a year after we started dating, on the day of our college graduation, he ended it. “Sophie, you and I are on different tracks,” he’d said, his tone laced with a kind of pity that made my skin crawl. “I just got an offer from Prescott Holdings. I’m building a career here. You get that, right?” Oh, I got it. Prescott Holdings is my father’s company. Caleb was going to work for my dad, who would be signing his paychecks, while I was “demoted” to a sales floor associate, earning nothing but “experience.” But seeing his Instagram story later that day—a hard launch with his new girlfriend—I decided it wasn’t worth the explanation. The girl was a sophomore from his department, someone who was always “borrowing” his textbooks. I hadn’t realized their study sessions were quite so involved. And now, on what was supposed to be my last day behind the counter, they walked in. Caleb saw me first. Surprise flickered across his face, quickly replaced by a frown etched with disgust. “Sophie? What are you doing selling shoes? I know it’s tough finding a good job, but this is…” This is what? My family’s flagship store? How dare I work here? Before I could respond, Amber, his new girlfriend, spoke up. Her voice was pure saccharine, but her words were laced with acid. “Sophie, sweetie, could you help me try this pair on?” Helping a customer was part of the job. But with three other associates available, her singling me out was a clear power play. I knew exactly what she was doing. “This pair is four thousand dollars,” I said, my voice professionally flat. “Are you sure you want to try them on?” Amber turned to Caleb, her lower lip pushing out in a perfect pout. “Caleb…” He was always a sucker for an audience. And now, with his shiny new job, his pride was on the line. “If you like them, we’ll get them,” he declared, puffing out his chest. My colleague, Mia, who knew the whole sordid history, tried to intervene. “I can help with that,” she offered. But Amber’s eyes were locked on me, wide and deceptively innocent. “Oh, but I want to help Sophie out. This is for your commission, after all. The check from this one sale,” she leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper, “it’s probably more than he spent on you in our entire last year, right?” She wasn’t wrong. Caleb and I had always split everything down the middle. Amber tossed her hair back, glancing at Caleb, who was now stepping outside to take a call. “When a man won’t spend money on you, it’s because deep down, that’s all he thinks you’re worth,” she mused. “Don’t feel bad, Sophie. It’s just how men are. They put their money where their heart is. You can’t force it.” I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Oh, no, it’s not like that at all.” It was just that when my father had asked me what Caleb’s starting salary should be, I’d quoted a number far too low. Low enough that buying his new girlfriend a single pair of shoes would mean he’d be eating ramen for the next three months. 2 Back when Caleb and I were still together, my dad had offered to give him a generous starting salary, as a favor to me. I’d shut it down immediately. It felt wrong. I told my dad to offer him the standard package, the same as any other new hire. He’d been so proud of me then, praising me for not being blinded by love. I was his only child, and while he spoiled me rotten, the one thing he couldn’t stand was the thought of me turning into a “love-struck fool.” The irony was, a few weeks later, I didn’t even have a relationship to be foolish in. Looking at him now, preening over a four-thousand-dollar purchase, I realized how right I’d been. “Are they a good fit?” Caleb asked, returning from his phone call. Amber’s confident smirk vanished, replaced by a soft, wounded expression. She bit her lip. “I don’t know yet. Sophie doesn’t seem very happy to help me… Maybe we should just forget it?” Ugh. The victim act was already getting old. Caleb’s gaze hardened as he looked at me. “Sophie, I know this isn’t a great job, but if you’re going to do it, you should at least be professional. Your family’s situation isn’t great, I get it, but—” I nearly rolled my eyes into the back of my head. “Mr. Adams,” I said, using his last name for the first time. “If I remember correctly, the shoes you had me ask my friend to buy for her last Valentine’s Day were a size seven. This pair is a six. I don’t think we even need to bother trying them on.” The color drained from both of their faces. Back then, Caleb and I were still together. He’d spun some story about how Amber knew I had a friend in Europe and desperately wanted her help sourcing a specific pair of shoes that were sold out everywhere. I thought I was just doing a favor for a friend of a friend. I had no idea I was helping my own boyfriend buy a gift for his mistress. Amber looked like she was about to cry, clutching Caleb’s arm in a damsel-in-distress pose. I pointed to a different pair on the display wall. “That model comes in her size, though. It’s only nine thousand. Would you like to try that one instead?” Caleb’s face darkened. That number was clearly beyond his budget. He wasn’t about to spend that kind of money on Amber. “Amber, honey, that style doesn’t really suit you,” he said, his voice strained. “Let’s look around somewhere else later, okay?” Doesn’t suit you, the universal code for too damn expensive. I smiled sweetly. “But Mr. Adams, your girlfriend was just saying how a man’s wallet follows his heart. It’s a beautiful gesture, spending a little money to see the woman you love smile.” Amber stubbornly refused to move, her lips pressed into a thin line. The implication was clear: she wasn’t even worth nine thousand dollars. She was cheap. Caleb’s face flushed with embarrassment. “That was Mr. Davies on the phone,” he stammered, grabbing for an excuse. “My manager. He needs me to come back to the office for an emergency meeting. Work comes first, you know. Be a good girl.” Seizing the lifeline, Amber’s mood shifted. She stomped her foot lightly. “Fine. And isn’t Mr. Davies the manager for this whole department store? You should mention the terrible service here. It could really use some improvement.” Caleb visibly relaxed, his sense of self-importance returning. “Good idea,” he said, puffing out his chest again. “I’ll make sure they retrain their staff.” He shot a pointed, triumphant look in my direction. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Mark Davies. Miss Prescott, as today is your last day on the floor, I was wondering if you’d be willing to lead a meeting tomorrow to share your observations and provide some guidance for the staff? I typed back, an idea forming in my mind. That sounds perfect. Let’s schedule it for tomorrow at 3 PM. 3 Mark Davies was one of the few people who knew who I really was. He’d worked for my father for over a decade and was one of his most trusted executives. I’d always been fond of him, calling him “Uncle Mark” in private. After my shift, I went to grab my scooter from the employee parking garage, only to find a nail stuck deep in the rear tire. It was completely flat. I swore under my breath. My mother had this vintage-style Vespa custom-painted for me. It was my favorite thing, my little slice of freedom for getting to and from work. And now… A sharp honk made me look up. A brand-new Mercedes had pulled up beside me. Amber rolled down the window, her gaze flicking from me to my crippled scooter. Her expression was a perfect mask of pity. “Sophie? Is your scooter broken? Caleb could give you a ride.” The last thing I wanted was their charity. “No, thanks.” I pulled out my phone to call our family driver. My parents were staying at their estate in the Hudson Valley, a logistical nightmare to get to from the city. Caleb leaned over from the driver’s seat. The embarrassment from the store had evaporated, replaced by his usual smug confidence. “Sophie, you know how long the wait is for an Uber at this hour. I just got this car last week. It’s a much smoother ride than a cab. You won’t get carsick.” He knew my motion sickness was terrible, which was why I usually biked or used my scooter for short distances. Amber’s smile tightened at the corners, but she didn’t say anything. I was losing my patience. Did this man ever get tired of showing off? “Someone’s coming to pick me up. Don’t worry about it.” He seemed disappointed that I wasn’t more impressed. “But—” The car behind them laid on the horn. Amber placed a hand on his arm. “Caleb, if she has a ride, we should just go.” He put the car in drive and sped off. My driver texted back. Traffic was a nightmare; it would be at least forty-five minutes. I scanned the street for a Citi Bike, but of course, there wasn’t a single one in sight. Just as I was about to resign myself to the subway, another car pulled up. The window rolled down, and Mark Davies leaned out. “Sophie—” He caught himself, remembering we were near the store. “Need a lift? I can drop you home.” I hesitated for only a second before getting in. The thought of the subway during rush hour was enough to make my stomach turn. “Thanks, Uncle Mark.” I briefly explained what happened to my scooter. “I’ll have security pull the surveillance footage,” he said, his expression grim. Then his tone shifted. “By the way, I heard some… customers gave you a hard time today?” I was busy texting my driver new instructions to have the scooter towed to the repair shop. After I sent it, I turned my attention back to his question. The last thing I wanted was for this petty drama with Caleb and Amber to reach my father. “It was nothing. I can handle it. No need to bother Dad.” Just then, I caught a flash of light in the rearview mirror. A camera flash. 4 I narrowed my eyes. “Actually, Uncle Mark, I would appreciate it if you could get that footage. That scooter was a gift from my mother. I at least owe her an explanation for what happened.” He smiled warmly. “Of course, Sophie. Consider it done.” The next day, I went back to the store. I had to finalize my transfer paperwork and attend the three o’clock meeting. But as soon as I walked in, I noticed something was off. My coworkers were looking at me strangely, whispering. Even the staff from neighboring boutiques were pointing in my direction. At first, I thought I was imagining things. Then I went to the restroom and overheard two women talking in the stalls. “That was her, right? Sophie Prescott?” “Yeah, that’s her.” “I heard she was the top seller every month since she started. Our manager was about to promote her, but she quit. What a shame.” “A shame? Please. The girl’s got a sugar daddy footing the bills. Why would she care about a promotion?” “What? For real?” “Totally. Someone saw her getting into Mr. Davies’ car last night! I used to think she was actually good at her job, but I guess now we know how she really made all those sales—” I pushed open my stall door. The chatter stopped instantly. The silence was absolute. I offered them a tight, polite smile. “Sorry to interrupt. But for the record, there is nothing unprofessional going on between me and Mr. Davies. And just out of curiosity, where did you happen to hear this little rumor?” After a long, awkward pause, one of the women mumbled, “Someone filed a formal complaint against you. You didn’t know?” The meeting was on the 26th floor. As if my day wasn’t bad enough, Caleb was waiting for the same elevator. The doors closed, leaving just the two of us inside. I stared straight ahead, determined to ignore him, but I could feel his eyes on me. “Sophie,” he began, his brow furrowed in sanctimonious disapproval. “Even if you’re desperate for money, a person should have some integrity. Don’t you understand something that simple?” I shot him a sideways glance. So, he’d heard the rumor too. It had spread through every employee group chat in the building overnight. It would have been harder for him not to know. “You should really worry about your own integrity before you start lecturing others.” His face darkened, and he grabbed my wrist. “Why can’t you just accept help? If Amber hadn’t told me, I never would have known you’d stoop to something like this! We may have broken up, but we’re not enemies. If you needed money, you could have just asked me. Why would you—” He looked genuinely exasperated, as if he were the wronged party. I yanked my arm free. “You’re aware we broke up, right? What do you think your girlfriend would say if she heard you offering to lend me money?” “Amber’s not like you,” he scoffed. “She’s the one who suggested I offer. She saw you getting in that car and told me because she was worried about you. She’s a good person, Sophie. She didn’t want to see you go down the wrong path. Maybe you should stop assuming the worst of people for once.” Oh. “So I should thank her, then?” Thank her for getting “lost” in the rain on my birthday, forcing Caleb to abandon our dinner plans to go rescue her? Thank her for constantly reminding me that she was his girlfriend now? Thank her for making sure Caleb knew I’d been accused of sleeping my way to the top? “You—” Caleb took a deep breath, reining in his anger. “There are senior executives from corporate here today for a review. If they find out about this complaint, you’re finished. I’m just telling you for your own good. Watch your back.” I, the senior executive from corporate who was about to lead said review, just stared at him. “Right,” I said. “Thanks for the tip.” 5 I pressed the button for the 26th floor. Caleb frowned at me. “The 26th floor is all executive conference rooms. There’s a big corporate meeting in half an hour. No regular staff are allowed up there. What are you doing?” I gave him a strange look. “I’m going to the meeting, obviously.” If I didn’t show up, the meeting couldn’t start. A look of dawning comprehension crossed his face. “They summoned you, didn’t they?” I raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Davies is a top aide to the CEO, Mr. Prescott. I heard he’s about to be promoted to the corporate headquarters. A scandal like this right now would look terrible for him. Of course headquarters would want to investigate. It makes sense they’d call you in for questioning.” He looked incredibly pleased with himself, as if he’d solved a complex puzzle. I just stared at him. I never realized he had such a flair for fiction. “Are you going to the 26th floor too?” I asked. He straightened his tie, a smug look spreading across his face. “Of course. Not everyone was invited to this meeting. Out of all the recent hires, I was the only one selected to attend.” Ah. I’d told Mark to make sure representatives from every level were there, but I’d left the junior staff selection up to him. So he chose Caleb. Interesting. Ding. The elevator doors opened, and Caleb strode out, head held high. I was about to follow when my phone buzzed with a picture message from my mom. Since my scooter was being repaired, she’d already ordered me a new one. Honey, which of these colors do you like best? I picked a Klein blue, similar to my old one, and was texting her back as I walked toward the conference room. I was so engrossed in my phone that I almost missed the scene at the door. Caleb was being blocked by two administrative assistants. He looked utterly bewildered. “What do you mean, I can’t go in? You have to be mistaken. Mr. Davies personally invited me!” One of the assistants maintained a cool, professional distance. “I’m sorry, sir. Your name is not on the attendee list. We can’t let you in.” “That’s impossible! You’ve made a mistake!” he insisted, pulling out his phone. “Look! Here’s the email from Mr. Davies himself!” I walked up to the assistants. “Sophie Prescott,” I said. Their expressions shifted instantly. They bowed their heads respectfully. “Right this way, Miss Prescott.” Just then, Mark Davies emerged from the conference room, a wide smile on his face. “Sophie! You’re here.” Caleb saw him and his voice grew louder, more desperate. “Mr. Davies! There seems to be a mistake with the list. They won’t let me in. Could you—” Mark seemed to notice him for the first time, waving a dismissive hand. “Just wait out here. We’ll call you in when we need you.” Then he turned his warm smile back to me. “Everyone’s here. We were just waiting for you.” A stunned silence fell over the hallway. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Caleb’s face, a perfect picture of shock and confusion. I tipped my head toward him. “Let him come in.” Mark paused for a beat, then nodded immediately. “Yes, of course.” He turned to Caleb and barked, “Well? What are you waiting for? Get in here!”

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After I fell in love with the vampire Damien, I endured the agony of his turning me. It was because he said he couldn’t bear the thought of us being parted by my old age and death. Later, another woman would ask him, her face a mask of innocence as she lay in his arms, “Why won’t you turn me?” Damien, his voice thick with a pain I recognized, would kiss her cheek and say, “Because I could never stand to see you hurt.” So that was it. To truly love someone meant you couldn’t bear to cause them pain. My heart finally broke for good. I didn’t belong in this world anyway. It was time to go home. 1 When I got back to the old manor, I was clutching a bag of blood plasma. It was the last of the food I’d sourced for Damien. As a newly turned vampire, I still couldn’t control my cravings for human blood. My monthly supply runs were a grim exercise in back-alley deals and shadowed exchanges. This last bag had cost me a silver bullet from a hunter’s rifle, a wound I’d been lucky to escape from. I’d been gone a month, and Damien hadn’t contacted me once. A cold knot of fear tightened in my gut—what if something had happened to him? But as I stepped into the courtyard, the sweet, metallic scent of fresh human blood hit me, chasing my worries away with a fresh wave of dread. Familiar voices drifted from inside, growing clearer. A woman’s sugary laugh. “I want to be a vampire, too.” Damien’s low chuckle followed. “You’re perfect as you are. Why would you want this cursed existence?” The woman, nestled in his arms, asked with a guileless tilt of her head, “Is my blood really that sweet?” His reply was a portrait of tortured restraint, the voice of a man adoring something too fragile to touch. “Intoxicating.” The moment she turned her head, the cold in my chest froze solid. It was Lily. The girl I had come to call my sister. Seeing me, Lily sprang from Damien’s lap, grabbing my arm with a disarming warmth. The wound on her wrist, beaded with blood, was held out to me like a peace offering. “Sophie! You’re finally back!” The scent of her blood was overwhelming. I tried to pull away, to put some distance between us, but in a blur of motion, Damien had me pinned to the floor. His eyes were filled with a profound disappointment. “You’d even drink from your own sister? Have you lost your mind?” The pressure of his hold drove the silver bullet in my chest deeper, a searing path from muscle toward my vital organs. The pain stole my breath, but he mistook my silence for theatrics. “You’re a vampire,” he scoffed. “A little scratch like that is nothing.” Had he already forgotten? I used to be human, too. 2 The truth is, I’m not from this world at all. I was sent here by the Agency on a mission: to investigate the existence of vampires. Ten years ago, I met Damien—a vampire a thousand years old. Despite his terrifying nature, he had learned to control his thirst, subsisting on animal blood and living, for all intents and purposes, like a man. He gave me everything, showered me with affection, and told me I was the first person he had ever truly loved. And I fell in love with him. Our years together were bright and fleeting. Time left no mark on him, but it showed me no such mercy. One night, after too much wine, he pressed his lips to my neck and made me a promise. “Let me turn you. We can be together forever, Sophie. For eternity. What do you say?” Drowning in a sea of love, I abandoned my mission. I refused the Agency’s calls to return to my own time. All I wanted was to be with him, forever. But no one told me how much it would hurt. The constant ache of sunlight on my skin. The inability to taste food. The gnawing, primal addiction to blood that I had to fight every single second. In the beginning, Damien was patient. He stayed by my side, guiding me. “Easy, now,” he would soothe. “In time, you’ll get used to it.” But his patience wore thin. Soon, his words began to cut. “I got through it. Why is it so hard for you?” “You’re not human anymore. Stop being so dramatic.” Then, I found a girl on the street—a homeless, dying orphan. I took her in, saved her life, and brought her to live with us in the manor, calling her my sister. Lily. Her arrival was the fracture that broke everything. She fell in love with Damien. “Sophie,” she’d pleaded with me, tears in her eyes. “Being with Damien is the only thing that makes me want to live. You’re a vampire, you have forever. Just lend him to me for ten years. Only ten years, I promise.” The absurdity of it was laughable. But Damien agreed. “Ten years is a blink of an eye for someone with an eternity, Sophie. But for Lily, it could be the very thing that saves her life. You brought her here. She’s your responsibility.” The way he looked at her then, so protective and tender, was the same way he had looked at me a decade ago. 3 I couldn’t be bothered with either of them. I don’t know how many days I lay there after being shot, but I awoke to the searing pain of sunlight on my skin. The manor was empty, save for me. Sunlight poured through every window, bathing the rooms in a brilliant, merciless light. A house I once loved for its sun-drenched corners had become my personal hell. I couldn’t reach Damien. Left with no choice, I called Alex. I asked him to come help me get the bullet out. Alex was the first friend I made when I arrived in this world, a former colleague from the Institute where we researched paranormal phenomena. Ten minutes later, he was there, a first-aid kit in hand, dressed in a tactical jacket zipped all the way to his chin. Even he was wary of me now. “God, this is deep,” he murmured, examining the wound. “To get it out, I’ll have to cut away some of the surrounding tissue.” I stared at the ceiling, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “Vampires are supposed to be fearless, but we’re terrified of a little piece of silver. Some immortality.” Alex glanced at me, his expression unreadable, and began sterilizing his instruments. I couldn’t go to a hospital anymore; he was my only option. “Brace yourself,” he said softly. “If the pain is too much… bite my arm.” He’d forgotten. I was a vampire. I could never bite a human. 4 “Damien…” I followed the sound of Lily’s voice and saw them leap through the open window. Damien was holding her. His face was a thundercloud. “You’re hurt, and instead of waiting for me, you call him?” Even as he accused me, his hand remained possessively on Lily’s waist. Alex didn’t flinch. “What’s more important, Damien? Your ego, or her life?” The two of them had met a few times, and each encounter ended in hostility. Damien was the ultimate research subject for Alex, an ancient, powerful creature he could never hope to capture. They were natural enemies. Though Alex and I were only ever friends, I had drastically reduced our contact for Damien’s sake. This was the first time I’d seen him since my transformation. I tried to explain. “Damien, you were both gone. I was shot. I had to call Alex for help. Please, just let him be.” Alex, his back to Damien, made a precise incision. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. “Almost there.” “Almost where?” Damien sneered. “Almost in bed together? Is that it?” Without another word, he flung Alex against the wall. The sharp crack of bone was sickeningly loud. “No!” I screamed, but it was too late. Alex’s arm was broken. I scrambled off the bed to help him, the wound on my chest slowly knitting itself closed. Damien laughed, a cold, ugly sound. “If you’re going to cheat, at least come up with a better excuse. A few more minutes and that wound of yours will have healed completely.” As he spoke, the silver bullet, freed for a moment, sank back into my flesh. He was so close. I was so close to being saved. The desire to give up, an old feeling I’d suppressed countless times since becoming a vampire, surged back with the force of a tidal wave. Maybe this was fate. From behind Damien, Lily gave me a smug, unwavering smile. She wasn’t having a relapse. She wasn’t sick at all. Damien started to lead her away to get her “medicine,” but I called out to him. My voice was a raw whisper. “Please, fix Alex’s arm. He can’t lose the use of his hand.” He didn’t even turn around, leaving me with nothing but his cold, indifferent back. The grief was the final straw. All I felt was regret. “I’m not coming back,” I said, my voice gaining a sliver of strength. “We’re done.” He chose to ignore me. “You need to fix that temper of yours. I don’t want to spend the next thousand years coddling you.” Coddling? He didn’t deserve to even speak to me. Silently, in the ruins of my heart, I called out to the Agency’s system. For ten years, they had offered to bring me home, and for ten years, I had refused. It was clear now. I never should have fallen in love with a cold, lonely monster. I was wrong. I regret it. Take me home.

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The first time I saw my biological mother in eight years, I was handing out juice boxes at the St. Jude’s Home for Children. A procession of black cars, the kind that usually only appears in movies, had purred to a stop on the gravel driveway, looking completely alien against the backdrop of the worn-out playground. A woman in a cream-colored pantsuit stepped out of the lead car. “Maya,” she said, her voice smooth but unfamiliar. “I told you, didn’t I? As soon as Chloe was accepted into college, as soon as she was emotionally secure, I would come for you.” She smiled, a tight, rehearsed expression. “Her acceptance letter from Georgetown arrived yesterday. So, here I am. I’ve come to take you home.” I just stared at her, a carton of apple juice still in my hand. The name she used—Chloe—meant nothing to me. She sighed, a theatrical puff of air. “I know you must hate me. But Chloe… well, she always felt so insecure, knowing she wasn’t our biological daughter. You, on the other hand, were born to have everything. We were just asking you to wait a little longer to enjoy it.” She took a step closer, the scent of expensive perfume washing over me. “You’ve had a hard eight years here, I know. But once you’re home, we’ll make it all up to you.” The woman kept talking, a stream of words about not causing friction with this Chloe person. I held up my free hand, cutting her off. “I’m sorry,” I said, my brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “Who are you?” The whole situation was utterly bizarre. A complete stranger was telling me she was taking me “home,” but I already had a home. My real parents had found me eight years ago. 1 The woman froze, pinned by my blank, unrecognizing stare. Then, a strange laugh escaped her lips. “Eight years in this place, and you’re still as stubborn as ever,” she said, shaking her head as if appreciating a private joke. “I suppose that’s a good thing. Chloe was… coddled, by her father and me. At least I know you won’t let her walk all over you.” Her expression quickly sobered, her tone shifting to one of stern warning. “But Chloe is sensitive. When you get home, you are not to mention a word of this biological nonsense. You are both my daughters. Do you understand?” She looked at me, expecting a nod. “From now on, you’re her older sister. You will look out for her, protect her. In my heart, you are both equally important.” Listening to a statement so transparently biased it was almost comical, the fog in my memory finally began to clear. I knew who she was. Eleanor Pierce. My biological mother. Eight years was a lifetime. She was a stranger to me now, and a stranger’s words held no weight. “Mrs. Pierce,” I said, my voice even. “When you left me at this children’s home, did it ever occur to you that I might find a new family?” In the system, a healthy ten-year-old is a prime candidate for adoption. Eleanor reached out, as if to stroke my hair, but I instinctively recoiled. Her hand fell awkwardly to her side. “I spoke with the director,” she said, her voice tight. “I made it very clear that you were only being fostered here. That you had parents. Who would possibly adopt a child who wasn’t an orphan?” She looked me up and down, a critical glint in her eye. “Besides, you were already ten. A child raised in the mountains, behind in school, with no skills, no polish. You were practically feral. No one would have wanted you.” Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion, as she cataloged my supposed shortcomings. “Now you’re eighteen with no elite education. What other option do you have besides coming home? Do you plan to die in this place?” Her words were a dull echo of the past. When they first discovered the hospital mix-up, Richard and Eleanor Pierce had brought me to their mansion. For one single day, they held me and cooed about how much I must have suffered. The very next day, their precious Chloe—the girl they’d raised as their own—threw a tantrum and threatened to run away. Just like that, I was shipped off to St. Jude’s. It wasn’t that I had some deep, abiding love for them. But they were my blood. They were supposed to be my parents. And they wouldn’t even grant me a corner of their home. I fought. I screamed. I pleaded. All it earned me was their disgust. “This mix-up wasn’t Chloe’s fault,” they’d said. “She’s the one who’s been by our side, who has loved us all these years. If you move in, people will start asking questions about her parentage. It would be devastating for her mental health.” Then came the final, hollow promise. “You are our daughter. Everything that should be yours, will be yours. Just wait. Wait until Chloe goes to college, until she’s no longer so insecure. Then we’ll bring you home.” That speech severed the last thread of connection I felt to them. I walked into St. Jude’s without looking back. I didn’t expect that Leo Monroe, the son of the wealthiest man in the state, would decide he wanted a sister and pick me out of a lineup. At that moment, I was pinning down a boy who had been bullying me for weeks. Leo had pointed at me, a wide grin on his face. “That one,” he’d declared. “She’s got spark. She’s definitely my sister.” And just like that, I became a Monroe. “You’re such a headstrong child,” Eleanor was saying now, pulling me from my memories. “You haven’t called us once in all these years. But I know, deep down, you were still thinking of your mother and father.” She smiled, a knowing, self-satisfied look on her face. “Otherwise, why would you have knitted this scarf and sent it to me? You do still care.” I almost laughed out loud. St. Jude’s was heavily funded by charitable donations, the Monroe family being the largest benefactor. The Pierces were donors, too. Every year, the children here made handcrafted gifts as a thank-you to the patrons. I did knit a scarf my first winter here, but it was just an assignment. The director must have passed it off as a personal gift from me, a gentle nudge hoping they might finally take me back. I realized I had nothing more to say to a woman I hadn’t seen in nearly a decade. Eleanor, however, interpreted my silence as shyness. “You’ve waited eight long years for this reunion. You must be ecstatic,” she prattled on. “Your father and I have been looking forward to this day for so long.” She paused, looking at her watch. “Chloe’s graduation party is next week. As soon as it’s over, I’ll be back to pick you up.” The home’s director, Mrs. Gable, had rushed over and was hovering nearby, trying and failing to find a moment to interrupt. Eleanor ignored her, signaling for her driver to unload gifts from the trunk of the car. Piles of glossy boxes and bags were placed on the gravel. “And do try to dress up a bit,” she said, her eyes flicking over my comfortable, dirt-smudged track pants and t-shirt. “You look like a beggar.” I glanced down at my clothes, perfect for playing with kids and gardening. A beggar? The motorcade finally purred away, leaving a cloud of dust behind. Mrs. Gable let out a long breath. “Didn’t Mrs. Pierce get my messages? I sent her the official adoption notice years ago.” I shrugged, continuing to hand out the last of the snacks. “It doesn’t matter. She’s a stranger.” I turned to our director. “Mrs. Gable, can we put all these gifts in the pantry? The kids could use the extra treats.” After finishing my volunteer shift, I remembered that the custom birthday gift I’d ordered for my mom was ready. There are only a handful of truly high-end jewelers in the city. I never imagined I’d run into Eleanor Pierce at Belmont Jewelers of all places. She was seated on a velvet sofa, listening to the store manager present a tray of diamonds. When she saw me walk in, her face lit up with a surprised smile. “Maya, darling! Were you thinking about me? Are you afraid I won’t come back for you? Did you follow me here for reassurance?” I felt a headache coming on. Had she developed this habit of narrating her own strange reality recently? Had she seen a doctor? I decided the best course of action was to ignore her and walk directly to the counter to pick up my order. She moved to block my path. “Maya, we need to talk about your presentation,” she said, her voice low and conspiratorial. “When you’re in a place like this, you must pay attention to your attire. Why aren’t you wearing any of the clothes I brought you this morning? Coming here dressed like that… it’s embarrassing for me. It shows a complete lack of proper upbringing.” A hot flash of anger shot through me. No one, in my entire life, had ever questioned my upbringing. My voice went cold. “What I wear is my business. My family doesn’t have a problem with it, so why should you? Now please, move. I’m here to pick up a piece of jewelry.” Eleanor’s face tightened, her pleasant demeanor cracking. “So, you are still bitter about us leaving you at the home? We already explained the situation. There’s no need for this passive-aggressive attitude. It’s so… ungracious.” She shook her head slowly. “You’re nothing like Chloe.” “Mom.” A perfectly manicured hand linked through Eleanor’s arm. A striking young woman appeared at her side, radiating the effortless confidence that comes from a life of privilege. “So, this is my sister, Maya?” Chloe’s eyes scanned me from head to toe. “I was just wondering, what school do you go to? What are your talents? I’m not a prodigy or anything, but I’ve dabbled in piano, ballet, painting… you know.” She paused, a small, pitying smile on her lips. “Oh, my goodness, I completely forgot. You grew up in a children’s home. It must have been a struggle just to get into any college at all.” Her tone was a masterclass in feigned sympathy and overt condescension. “I don’t recall having a sister,” I said flatly, looking at the woman who was a stranger to me, yet wore a face that held a faint, unsettling echo of my own. “You might want to be careful who you claim as family.” Just then, the manager emerged from the back room with a velvet-lined box. I pushed past Chloe to get to the counter. I didn’t use much force, but she stumbled dramatically, crying out in pain as she crumpled to the floor. Eleanor looked at me, her face a mask of disbelief. “After eight years, your temper has only gotten worse! You’d push her before you’re even officially back in the family. If we had let you come home eight years ago, would you be a murderer by now?!” This was insane. They were the ones blocking my way, spouting nonsense. “Mrs. Pierce, I was adopted by another family eight years ago. Today, I am simply here to pick up a piece of jewelry. I did not come here looking for you,” I stated clearly. “My parents are wonderful to me. They treat me like their own daughter. I have absolutely no desire to be yours.” Eleanor’s face went rigid. “Don’t say such ridiculous things. Your mother is standing right here. There’s a limit to these jokes.” But I could see a flicker of panic in her eyes. For the first time, she seemed to realize she had no control over this daughter she hadn’t seen in eight years. Something was slipping from her grasp. Seeing she was being ignored, Chloe climbed to her feet. “Mom, maybe I shouldn’t be at home anymore,” she sniffled, her eyes welling up. “The Pierce family isn’t my real family. I’ve stolen everything that should have been my sister’s. I should give it all back.” She began frantically removing her jewelry. “Here, take it,” she said, her voice trembling. “This is all yours. I only ask for one small thing… can I please, please still be your daughter?” Her performance was worthy of an Oscar. Eleanor’s expression melted into pure, unadulterated sympathy. “That’s enough,” she snapped, turning her fury on me. “Chloe is humbling herself like this, and what more do you want? She just wants to be part of our family, she can’t bear to leave us. Why can’t you find it in your heart to accept her?” Her voice rose. “You haven’t even called me ‘Mom’ once! I’ve tried to be patient with you, but you show Chloe no respect! I can see you’ve been thoroughly ruined!” Chloe rushed to Eleanor’s side, grabbing her arm as if to restrain her. Then, with a look of profound sorrow, she held out the collection of discarded earrings, necklaces, and rings to me. “Sister, you’ve probably never seen such beautiful things before,” she said, her voice dripping with pity. “Any one of these pieces is worth more than you could earn in a lifetime of working. I’m not trying to show off how much Mom and Dad love me. I just… you’re coming home soon. You shouldn’t make Mom so angry.” The implication was clear: I was just a gold-digger making a scene for money. I glanced down at the pile of jewelry. My brother, Leo, could buy me a roomful of better stuff. This wasn’t worth fighting over. I motioned for the manager to hand me my package. I opened the box. Inside, nestled on a bed of silk, was a custom-made brooch: a delicate, openwork design of gold leaves entwined around a magnificent, deep green emerald. I nodded, satisfied. It had taken me visits to several auctions just to acquire a stone of this quality—a true imperial emerald. The intricate openwork design was incredibly difficult and wasteful of the raw material. It had cost me years of my allowance, but my mom deserved the absolute best. “Ms. Monroe,” the manager said with an enthusiastic smile, “are you pleased with ‘The Evergreen,’ custom-designed for your mother?” He slid the receipt toward me. Just as I was about to sign, a hand snatched the brooch from the box. “So, it was for me,” Eleanor said, her mood miraculously improving. Chloe chimed in immediately. “I’m surprised this store works with glass now. It looks almost real.” She turned to me. “Mom, even though my sister’s gift is… inexpensive, it’s the thought that counts.” I was stunned. My flawless imperial emerald… was glass? Was it so perfect it looked fake? Chloe reached for the brooch, intending to pin it on herself. There was no way I was letting her touch a gift meant for my mother. “Give it back!” I snapped. In the ensuing struggle, Chloe, with her back to her mother, shot me a sly, triumphant smirk. Then, she let go. Years of reflexes kicked in. I lunged forward and caught the brooch an inch before it hit the marble floor. “Oh, I’m so sorry, sister,” she began, her eyes wide with fake innocence. “I didn’t mean to lose my grip—” Her words were cut short by the sharp crack of my palm against her cheek. A tooth flew from her mouth. The smirk was gone. Eleanor lunged at me, her hand raised to strike, but I shoved her back onto the velvet sofa. “It’s just a pin! What’s the big deal if your sister wears it?” she shrieked, all pretense of the graceful socialite gone. “It was meant for me anyway, and what’s mine is Chloe’s!” I took the silk cloth offered by the manager and began carefully polishing the brooch. “Is your name engraved on it? No? Then stop being so delusional.” Eleanor stared at me, bewildered. “But he said it was custom-made for your mother. Who else could your mother be but me?” I didn’t answer. My phone rang, and I picked it up. “Hey, Mom. I’m on my way home now. No, don’t worry about picking me up.” I quickly signed the receipt, took my package, and turned to leave. “Maya Pierce!” Eleanor grabbed my arm, her grip like a vise. “You called someone else ‘Mom’? Did you really find new parents? Why didn’t the director tell me? Looking at how you dress, they must not be wealthy. A working-class couple making five thousand a month, barely scraping by?” She was practically seething, her eyes filled with a strange hatred. “You will cut ties with those… people immediately. It’s utterly humiliating. Including those peasants in the mountains, you’ll have had three sets of parents. What respectable girl has three sets of parents?” Her voice dropped, cold and menacing. “If you don’t end it cleanly, don’t blame me for using other means to set things right.”

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