Category: English

The day my parents agreed to a “separation in place,” they made only one rule. Dad was in charge of my brother, Leo. Mom was in charge of me. From that day on, my dad treated my brother like a prince, showering him with time and money. For me, he had only one cold, dismissive sentence: “Go ask your mother.” But my mom was just as bad, fussing over the new fall wardrobe Leo needed. “Leo’s still so young,” she’d say. “Even though your father and I are separated, Leo is still my baby.” When I started my freshman year of college, I asked for my first monthly allowance and got a transfer for two hundred dollars. “Money’s really tight right now, sweetie,” she texted. “Try to make this work. If you’re really in a bind, I’ll see what I can do.” Forget three square meals a day; I had to skip my afternoon classes to work shifts as a waitress just to make rent. I had just turned down an invitation from my roommates to go out, and was sitting alone in my dorm, eating a cup of instant ramen. That’s when I saw the new set of car keys on my brother’s Instagram story. The caption read: “17 years old, scored a $40k ride, all cash. Half from Dad, half from Mom, and two kisses from me.” I stared at the picture they took at the dealership. A happy family of three. My brother, who didn’t even have a driver’s license yet, had a brand-new car. And me, on my birthday, I got an $88 Venmo transfer from my mom. The memo read: “Happy birthday, sweetie!” 1 That picture of their perfect little family felt like a knife in my gut. In the photo, my dad had his arm around my mom’s shoulders, while she held affectionately onto my brother’s arm. The three of them were beaming, standing in front of a brand-new, forty-thousand-dollar black SUV that served as a giant, gleaming monument to their hypocrisy. And then there was me. The so-called other member of this family. Sitting alone on a cold plastic chair in my college dorm, soaking a dry ramen noodle block in free hot water from the communal kitchen, trying to celebrate my nineteenth birthday. On my phone screen, that glaring “$88.00” transfer felt as nauseating as the hunger pains in my stomach. Rage, potent as gasoline, ignited in my chest. I didn’t text them. I didn’t cry. I calmly put down my cup of noodles, changed into the nicest outfit I owned, and called an Uber straight to the upscale steakhouse my brother had tagged in his post. The moment I pushed open the door to the private dining room, all the laughter and chatter died. Grandma, grandpa, aunts, uncles… all my relatives were there. They were all sitting around a massive round table, fawning over my underage brother, praising his future “brilliant career.” My dad’s face fell instantly. My mom’s smile froze, her eyes wide with shock and panic. I ignored everyone else, walked straight to my mother, and held my phone up for her to see. The screen showed two screenshots, side by side. One was my brother’s Instagram story with the $40,000 luxury car. The other was the $88 birthday payment she had sent me. My voice wasn’t loud, but it was crystal clear, laced with an icy sort of amusement that cut through the silence. “Mom, is this what ‘money’s tight’ looks like?” “Is this what you mean when you’re always saying, ‘You and your brother are the same, you’re both my children’?” The room went dead silent. You could have heard a pin drop. My mother’s face went from flushed to pale, her lips trembling. She couldn’t get a single word out. My dad slammed his hand on the table and shot to his feet, pointing a finger at me. “Chloe! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” he roared. “It’s a happy day for your brother. Do you have to come here and ruin everything? Are you really going to throw a tantrum and embarrass us all over a couple of hundred bucks?” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that almost brought tears to my eyes. “You’re right, Dad. In your world, a forty-thousand-dollar car for Leo is no big deal, and me having enough money to eat is even less of one.” I scanned the faces of my relatives around the table, their expressions a mix of shock and discomfort. I continued, my voice slow and deliberate. “But Dad, you seem to have forgotten our agreement. You said you’d take care of Leo, and Mom would take care of me. Mom paid for half of Leo’s car. Isn’t that crossing a line?” “And Mom, you forgot too. You told me two hundred dollars a month was a struggle, that you couldn’t spare another dime. So where did the twenty thousand dollars for Leo’s car come from?” “How can the two of you stand there and bald-faced lie to your own daughter, together?!” By the end, I was practically shouting. My hands were shaking. My heart felt like it was bleeding. I thought our struggle was my mom’s struggle. I thought I was being a good daughter, helping her through a hard time. To save a few bucks on bus fare every day, I would walk forty minutes under the blazing summer sun to my waitressing job. When my roommates talked about the latest movies or trendy new coffee shops, I’d just smile and say I wasn’t interested. A single dinner out with them cost what I had budgeted for a full week of groceries. I’m an education major. The number of textbooks and materials I need to buy is insane. I never dared to ask for more money, so I’d spend hours in the library hoping the books I needed were available, or I’d swallow my pride and ask to borrow my classmates’ to photocopy the pages. I thought I was being considerate of a single mother’s hardship. And what was the reality? It wasn’t a mother’s struggle. It was a carefully constructed lie. She had money. She had twenty thousand dollars. She would just rather spend it on a son who can’t even legally drive than make sure her daughter wasn’t starving. Tears finally streamed down my mom’s face. She grabbed my hand, sobbing. “Chloe, honey, let me explain… It’s not like that… Your brother, he…” “He what?” I pulled my hand away, stepping closer. “He can’t drive because he’s a minor, or he can’t live without this car?” “You’d rather let a forty-thousand-dollar hunk of metal collect dust in the garage than let your actual, living daughter have a normal college experience.” “What are your hearts even made of?” My dad’s anger hit its peak. “That’s enough! Get the hell out of here!” “Leave?” I scoffed. “Fine. I’ll leave as soon as I’m finished.” I took a deep breath, held up my phone, and aimed it at the whole table of relatives, hitting the record button. “Today is my birthday. My mom gave me eighty-eight dollars. My brother got a forty-thousand-dollar car, paid for by both my parents. This is what ‘fairness’ looks like in our family.” “I just want to ask everyone here, have you ever seen fairness like this?” 2 I slammed the door on my way out, clutching the video that would bring my parents’ carefully curated image crashing down. That night, I didn’t block anyone. I did something much worse. I posted the video from the restaurant, along with the screenshots of my brother’s Instagram story and my $88 Venmo payment, directly to the family group chat. I also put it on my own Instagram feed. The caption was carefully crafted. “Nineteen years old, celebrating with ramen and tearfully congratulating my seventeen-year-old brother on his new car. A huge thank you to my parents for their ‘even-handed’ love. Wishing your perfect family of three a lifetime of happiness.” Finally, I made a public declaration: effective immediately, I would be working to pay for my own tuition and living expenses for the next four years. I would keep a detailed ledger and, within five years of graduation, I would pay back every single dollar my mother had spent on my “sole support,” with interest. After that, we would owe each other nothing. It was like dropping a bomb. The family group chat exploded, my phone buzzing nonstop with notifications. My relatives started calling, one after another. I ignored them all. My phone grew hot in my hand. The comment section on my Instagram post was a spectacle. Shock from my classmates, concern from my friends, and morbid curiosity from people I barely knew. I didn’t care. I wanted this out in the open. I wanted everyone to see the favoritism and hypocrisy hiding behind my parents’ masks of loving providers. Giving up the chance to live a comfortable life with my dad was a choice I made when I was too young to know better. The day my parents announced their “separation in place,” I saw the despair in my mom’s eyes. My dad’s business was booming back then; he was confident and successful, while my mom was a stay-at-home-mom with no career. Everyone assumed that life with Dad meant security, and life with Mom meant struggle. My brother was just a little kid, his eyes glued to the new video game console in my dad’s hands. In that moment, I felt like I had to be the responsible older sister. I had to be understanding. So I told her, “Mom, I’ll stay with you. With just me, it’ll be less of a burden.” She hugged me and cried, telling me I was her good, sweet daughter. Thinking back on it now, it was the biggest joke of my life. My maturity was taken for granted. My sacrifice was seen as voluntary. They happily accepted my consideration, then poured all their love, energy, and money, without reservation, into the brother I had “given up” for them. They weren’t separated. They had just found a socially acceptable way to surgically remove me from their core family unit. The fallout was even more intense than I had imagined. The next day, my relatives began their campaign of guilt-tripping. First, it was my aunt. Her voice was full of disappointment. “Chloe, how could you be so immature? You don’t air your family’s dirty laundry in public! Think about how this makes your parents look!” I replied calmly, “Auntie, when I didn’t have enough money to eat, where was my face? How do you think that made me look?” Next was my uncle, trying to appeal to my emotions. “Your mother had a tough time raising you. She just made a mistake. How can you push her like this? Just delete the post. Shouldn’t families stick together?” I said, “Uncle, I’m not the one who isn’t sticking with the family. They never treated me like I was part of it. She had a tough time? You think my life has been easy?” The most ridiculous was some second cousin I barely know, who decided to get on her high horse in the group chat. “Kids these days are unbelievable. So jealous of her brother’s car that she’s willing to destroy her own family! Absolutely no gratitude!” That was the last straw. I didn’t argue with them one by one. I went straight to the family group chat, with its two hundred-plus members, and posted a long message. “@everyone, thank you all for your ‘concern.’ Regarding my ‘immaturity,’ I’d like to address this once and for all: First, to anyone who thinks my mom had it so tough raising me all by herself, please, feel free to show some family solidarity and take over that financial responsibility. I promise to be eternally grateful. I’ll even send you a Christmas card every year. Second, to anyone who thinks my brother’s $40,000 car was a great purchase, please, show a little of that family unity you’re all talking about and help me pay off my $30,000 in student loans. I think we can all agree that’s a much better investment than a chunk of metal. Third, if you are unwilling or unable to do either of the above, then please shut up. Talk is cheap. It’s easy to lecture from the sidelines when you’re not the one getting hurt.” After I sent that message, the group chat went completely silent again. All the relatives who had been so self-righteous moments before were suddenly quiet. I knew it. The second money gets involved, they have nothing to say. That afternoon, my brother showed up at the restaurant where I work. He stood by the entrance, looking hurt and confused. “Chloe, how could you do this? You’ve made our family problems public knowledge. Mom and Dad are losing their minds over this!” I looked at his designer-brand clothes and the latest iPhone in his hand and just felt the bitter irony of it all. “When they gave me eighty-eight bucks for my birthday, did they ever think that I might be losing my mind?” I cracked a smile. “How about we trade?” “The car for me, the eighty-eight dollar birthday Venmo for you. What do you say?” “From now on, I’ll be Mom and Dad’s precious baby, and you can eat ramen and bus tables. Come on, experience what it feels like for me.” The color drained from Leo’s face. “That’s… that’s not the same…” Of course he wouldn’t do it. He was used to a life of comfort, of having everything handed to him. He was used to being the center of their universe. I rolled my eyes, done with the conversation, and turned to head back to the kitchen. “If it’s not the same, then there’s nothing more to talk about.” With things having escalated this far, my parents finally realized they couldn’t ignore me anymore. They asked to meet me at a coffee shop, to “talk things through properly.” The second we sat down, my dad put on his stern-father act, playing the bad cop. His face was a mask of fury. “Are you done with this circus? You’ve turned this entire family upside down over nothing! You’re a disgrace!” My mom sat next to him, playing the good cop. Her eyes were red and puffy as she cried about how hard it was to raise me and how ungrateful I was being. They were a well-rehearsed team, perfectly in sync, painting me as the villain of the story. I waited until their performance was over, then slowly picked up my coffee and took a sip. “Are you finished?” I put the cup down, my gaze steady. “Good. Now it’s time to hear my solution.” They both stared at me, stunned. I smiled faintly and threw out a proposal they never could have anticipated. “You two love Leo more than anything, right? You’re always saying how he’s the hope of the family, your future security.” “Fine. I’ll make it easy for you.” “Let’s do this. The house we all live in—sign it over to Leo. And I, Chloe, will voluntarily go to a notary and sign a legally binding document renouncing all rights to my inheritance.”

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I had a deal with the billionaire CEO, Isabelle Duke. After I proposed to her for the ninety-ninth time, she would meet me at City Hall on the one-hundredth. But on that day, Isabelle didn’t show up. Instead, she was at a sold-out concert with her pet project, a young starlet named Asher Cole. A clip of them sharing a sweet, lingering kiss for the jumbotron camera went viral, and a new trending topic was born. At the same time, I went viral for a different reason. The man who stood alone at the steps of City Hall for the one-hundredth time. Everyone was guessing who the mysterious, unseen woman could be. And they were all betting on how long it would be until I made proposal number one hundred and one. When Isabelle finally realized she’d broken our promise, she was consumed by a rare wave of guilt. She swore to me that she would be there for the one hundred and first time. But when she arrived at City Hall, a vision in a custom-made wedding gown, her phone buzzed with a text from me. “Isabelle, there won’t be a one hundred and first time. We’re over. Goodbye.” 1. I proposed to Isabelle Duke one hundred times. And every single time I stood on the cold stone steps of City Hall, she would be somewhere else with her latest flame, making a spectacle of their new love. Maybe it was an amusement park. Maybe it was a concert. Once, it was even at City Hall itself, getting a marriage license just for the thrill of it, only to file for divorce the next day. A quick hit of adrenaline. The one thing I dreamed of, the one thing I ached for, was nothing but a game to her. I shut off my phone and sat on the curb, waiting for the car I’d called. A long time passed. The car never came, but a call from Isabelle did. The moment I answered, her voice, sharp and cold as ice, cut through the phone. “It’s late. Why aren’t you home? Don’t you think about how it looks, my fiancé staying out all night?” “Where are you?” she demanded. I said nothing. The old me would have folded instantly, my voice soft and apologetic as I explained myself. But now… now I couldn’t be bothered to speak. A flicker of annoyance crept into her tone. “Leo, are you mute?” “City Hall,” I said, my voice flat. Isabelle went silent. I could almost hear the gears turning in her head as she finally, finally remembered the promise she’d made. That after ninety-nine proposals at the steps of City Hall, she would appear on the one-hundredth and say yes. But today, she had chosen to go to a concert with Asher Cole. “I… wait for me. I’ll come get you.” She hung up. I cancelled the ride. Not because I had any hope left for her, but because the weather had turned. A sudden, heavy snow began to fall. I stood on the corner, shivering in the biting wind. The abrupt cold was brutal on my phone’s battery; it died within three hours. Isabelle never came. The last thing I saw before the screen went dark was a new post on Asher Cole’s Instagram story. A selfie of him and Isabelle in front of her car, her profile half-turned to the camera as snowflakes dusted her hair. The caption read: “One snowfall together, a lifetime to go.” In the reflection of the dead screen, I saw myself smile. A real smile. One of release. On the day of our one-hundredth promise, she chose him. As I waited for her in a snowstorm, she was making memories with him. I had given her five years of my life, waiting for a single promise. In the end, it turned to ash. Isabelle Duke, I’m done waiting. 2. That night, I didn’t go home. I dragged my frozen body two hours through the snow to the nearest hotel. Isabelle didn’t send a single text. Didn’t make a single call. The next morning, I was at the office early, drafting my resignation. Isabelle was the founder of the company. I was just a business manager. I’d been by her side since she had nothing, yet even now, with her empire built, my presence felt just as insignificant. If I vanished, she wouldn’t even notice. Just as my pen was about to form the last letter of my name, Isabelle appeared behind me. I met her gaze in the reflection of my monitor, my expression placid, and calmly switched screens as if nothing had happened. “What are you writing?” she asked, her voice crisp. “Nothing. Just some client contracts.” Her brow furrowed slightly. Seemingly satisfied, she turned and walked toward her office. “Leo, my office. Now.” The moment I was gone, the office erupted in hushed whispers. “It’s over for him. Leo’s about to get reamed out by Ms. Duke again.” In this company, everyone knew Asher Cole was the heir apparent. No one knew I was her fiancé. In her office, Isabelle looked at me, her brow furrowed in annoyance. “Is it really that big of a deal? I didn’t pick you up, so you decided not to come home at all? Are you trying to make a scene?” I shook my head. “The snow was too heavy. It wasn’t safe to drive.” It was the truth, but it was also an excuse. The real reason was that I never wanted to go back. I wanted to leave for good. Isabelle didn’t seem to notice the shift in me. After a moment of silence, she said, “About the proposal… I accept.” She slid an envelope across her desk. “Tonight. With me.” They were front-row tickets to my favorite classical orchestra. I knew it was her way of compensating me, a transaction. I thought about it, then took the tickets. After all, it was a debt she owed me. Seeing my silence, Isabelle opened her mouth to say something else, but a sharp ring from her phone cut her off. She glanced at the screen and her entire demeanor changed. She left the room without another word. I knew who it was. It had to be Asher. He was the only one who could make Isabelle Duke drop everything. Before I left her office, I printed my resignation letter and took it to VP Evans. He looked at the letter, then at me, his eyes wide with surprise. “Leo, you’re resigning? Is this because of Ms. Duke?” I pressed my lips together. It was almost funny. They all thought I was leaving because I couldn’t handle a scolding. They had no idea it was because my heart had been shattered into a million irreparable pieces. When I nodded, VP Evans let out a long sigh and signed the form. As I was walking out of the building, I ran straight into Isabelle and Asher. The entire city knew he was her prized possession. Isabelle’s eyes darkened when she saw me. “Leo, whatever it is, report it later.” She started to walk past me, Asher in tow. As he passed, he shot me a look that was pure venom, a clear warning. I said nothing. That evening, I went to the concert on time. The hall was packed, every seat filled except for the one beside me. Isabelle’s seat. In the past, I would have waited for her in the lobby, no matter how late she was. This time, I went in alone. The music was beautiful. By the time it ended, she still hadn’t arrived. I wasn’t angry. My five years had already been wasted. What was one more broken promise? Whether she ever saw my resignation letter or not, it didn’t matter. My decision was made. 3. After the concert, I didn’t go home. I wandered along the waterfront, watching the city lights glitter on the dark water. The sky suddenly exploded in a cascade of fireworks. A brilliant, booming rain of light. It didn’t stir a single thing in me. My phone, however, was blowing up. Not with worried texts from Isabelle, but with news alerts. The fireworks were for Asher. A city-wide birthday present from her. It was after midnight when I finally returned to the penthouse. The living room lights were on. Isabelle was asleep on the sofa. Was she waiting for me? For five years, it had always been the other way around. She’d come home drunk, and I’d be the one waiting up, calling her a dozen times, a pot of ginger tea ready on the stove to soothe her stomach. She always told me she hated it when I did that. She said it made her feel old. The sound of the door must have woken her. She shot up, saw me, and rushed over, throwing her arms around me. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you answer your phone? Do you have any idea how worried I was? I was about to call the police!” I froze, then gently extricated myself from her grip and pulled out my phone. The screen was black. “It got too cold. The battery died.” The mention of the snow seemed to remind her. A rare look of guilt flickered across her face. She bit her lip, then awkwardly thrust a small, velvet box at me. I took it automatically. Inside was a diamond ring. For a moment, I was stunned. How many times had I dreamed of this? Of Isabelle, standing on the steps of City Hall, holding out her hand for me to slide this very ring onto her finger. But that was the old me. Now, I felt nothing. I closed the lid and casually tossed the box onto the coffee table. “Thanks.” Isabelle stared at me, her beautiful brow furrowed. She couldn’t comprehend my polite detachment. “What’s wrong with you?” I glanced at her, and a strange sort of clarity washed over me. I knew what she’d expected. She thought I’d gasp, that my eyes would fill with tears of joy, that I would forget all the pain and humiliation and fall at her feet. A humorless smirk twisted my lips. I decided to give her what she wanted. “Oh,” I said, my voice dripping with fake enthusiasm. “Wow. I’m so happy!” I looked her dead in the eye. “Satisfied?” I thought that would be the end of it, but my sarcasm only angered her. “Leo, is this necessary? All I did was show Asher around the office.” “And I already said I’d marry you. How long are you going to keep this act up?” Her dark expression didn’t faze me. I just plugged my phone in to charge. “You’re mistaken. I’m not acting. I’m just tired.” Her face tightened. For the first time, she seemed to register the profound, unbreachable distance in my attitude. She bit her lip and reached for my hand. Just then, my newly-charging phone began to ring, a frantic, urgent sound that made her flinch. It was him. She looked at me, about to offer an explanation, but I spoke first. “You’re busy. You don’t have to explain. I get it.” My understanding seemed to stun her more than my anger ever could have. She gripped my hand tighter, a desperate need in her eyes to understand what had changed. But the phone kept ringing. Finally, under my calm, steady gaze, she let go. “The one hundred and first proposal,” she said, her voice strained. “I’ll be there.” Then she was gone. I went to my room as if nothing had happened, and had the best night’s sleep I’d had in five years. Once my handover at work was complete, Isabelle Duke would never see me again. 4. When I got to the office, my colleague Mike pulled me aside before I could even get to my desk. “Leo, man, you’re in for it today.” I looked at him, confused. I was already a ghost here. What trouble could I possibly be in? Mike pointed ahead. My desk, my space for the last five years, was now occupied by Asher Cole. He explained that today was Asher’s first official day. When it came time to pick a desk, he’d pointed directly at mine. I walked over calmly. Asher looked up as I approached, a smug, dismissive smirk on his face. “I like this spot. You can go find somewhere else.” I looked at him and nodded. “Okay. I just need to pack my things.” My lack of protest was misinterpreted by everyone watching. They saw a man defeated, bowing to the new favorite. No one dared to say anything, but the air was thick with their pitying glances and whispered comments. I finished packing the last of my personal items into a cardboard box. Just as I was about to leave, Isabelle appeared. Asher immediately rushed to her side, taking her hand. Isabelle allowed it, leading him to the center of the office. “Everyone, this is Asher Cole. He’ll be joining our team starting today. Please make him feel welcome.” A scattered, lukewarm applause filled the room. Isabelle didn’t seem to care. “Have you picked a desk?” she asked him. Asher immediately pointed. “I want that one!” Following his finger, Isabelle’s gaze landed on my old desk, and then on me, standing beside it with a box in my arms. Her expression faltered. “That spot is taken,” she said, her voice tight. “Pick another.” To everyone’s surprise, she had refused him. But Asher was determined. He clung to her arm, whining like a spoiled child. “But Izzy, I want that one. It’s closer to your office. I can see you from there.” I had no interest in watching their soap opera unfold. “He can have the desk,” I said, my voice clear and even. I was leaving. What did I care about a stupid desk? Asher shot Isabelle a triumphant look. “See? He’s fine with it.” Isabelle’s gaze snapped to me, her expression unreadable but dark. She turned back to Asher, her eyes now cold as steel. “I said, that desk is taken. Choose another.” The Isabelle who spoiled him, who indulged his every whim, was gone. In her place was a furious CEO. Asher was so stunned he didn’t know how to react. The atmosphere was thick with tension. Isabelle gave me one last, fleeting glance, then turned on her heel and stalked back to her office. Asher scrambled to follow her, but not before shooting me a hateful glare over his shoulder. It was funny. I used to be him, always one step behind her, chasing a shadow. The only difference was, I chased it for five years. As I was heading for the door, my phone buzzed. A text from Isabelle. [Tomorrow. The 101st proposal. I’ll be waiting.] I smiled, blocked her number, and deleted her contact. After saying goodbye to my colleagues, I walked out of that building for the last time. I went home, picked up my already-packed suitcase, and went to the airport. The next day, Isabelle Duke, dressed in a stunning white gown, arrived at City Hall.

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I’m an NPC in a horror game, but because I look so harmless, everyone mistakes me for a new player. The veteran players are trying to force me to scout ahead—to be their cannon fodder. The punchline? The monsters see me and start shaking in their boots. Sorrowland Amusement Park has a welcome banner strung across the entrance: [A Royal Welcome to Our Dearest Princess!] The General Manager himself is bowing and scraping, personally seeing to every detail. “Cue the orchestra! More flowers here! And wipe down that filth! If you so much as startle the princess, I will personally rip your head from your shoulders!” Oh, did I forget to mention? My father is the final, undisputed boss of this entire game. And all the monsters? They respectfully call me the Princess. 1. I’m on vacation at Sorrowland Amusement Park. It’s a Nightmare-level instance, the kind no one comes back from. That’s what I’m told, anyway. Right now, everyone is staring at me. “We’re a regular fireteam, been running instances together for months. Where did you pop up from?” A girl with a calculatedly innocent, doll-like face takes half a step back. “Don’t tell me she’s a newbie.” A man in a cheap, sweat-stained suit looks me up and down, his gaze slick with contempt. “Bad luck, getting dropped into a team instance. Well, I guess she can scout ahead for us.” The man standing in the center of their group, the one they all seem to orbit, extends a proverbial olive branch. He’s older, with a practiced, gentle smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Alright now, don’t scare the new girl.” He turns that smile on me. “I’m Marcus, the team leader. This instance is extremely difficult, which is why we came as a squad. Do you want to stick with us?” Extremely difficult? Hmm. Mom and Dad did say the rides at this park were really intense. That’s why they sent people to play with me. Is this charming older man the playmate Mom and Dad picked out? They never told me my playmate would be human. Oh, well. Whatever! Mom and Dad are usually so strict, and whenever I go out, I’m suffocated by an entourage of attendants. It took weeks of begging to get this chance to go somewhere by myself, just because they had some important business to attend to. “Yes, yes! I’d love to!” I nod enthusiastically. To them, it just looks like I’m desperate to latch onto a powerhouse player. The doll-faced girl’s expression sours, and the others eye me with open disdain. The live-stream comments are already flying. 【Marcus is a top-tier player, but he’s such a creep. Looks like the new girl is his next target.】 【Hey, Trixie is our team’s one and only mascot! What gives this newbie the right to butt in?】 【It’s a no-survival instance, they need a full squad. My guess is they’ll use her for trial and error. Make her scout with her life.】 … “Hey. Are you coming or not?” the doll-faced girl, Trixie, calls out impatiently. This is great! Time to hit the rides! I scamper to catch up. I see a flicker of suspicion in Marcus’s eyes. He mutters under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear, “Who comes into a Nightmare-level instance this happy? Is she an idiot?” Usually, every creature in existence fawns over me. This is the first time anyone has dared to call me an idiot. I frown. “Aren’t you afraid your boss will tear your soul to shreds for that?” A look of smug certainty replaces the suspicion in his eyes. “Doesn’t matter. With a face that pretty, she can be an idiot. I’ve never tasted one before.” I’m not an idiot! I just prefer to take it easy! Dad! Your subordinate is insulting me! Just you wait. After I’ve had my fun at the park, I’ll discard you all like broken toys. I’ll have every last one of these “playmates” banished. 2. The amusement park is technically open for business. The lights flicker on and off, and a creaky, tinny nursery rhyme drifts through the air: “Puppet, puppet, smiling wide, drinks your blood and eats your hide.” A shiver runs through the group. 【This is Sorrowland, all right. Wonder if this team is going to get wiped out too.】 【Wait, the newbie probably doesn’t have points for a ticket. Does that mean she’s gonna get insta-killed at the gate?】 【Uh oh. Marcus’s ‘tastes’ don’t only apply to the living.】 I watch as they hand over their entry tickets one by one. From the other side of the wrought-iron fence, Marcus stares at my excited face and licks his lips. “I can use my points to buy you a ticket, but… nothing’s free.” His gaze drops to my chest. Could he have figured it out? That I’m not human? I instinctively pull my collar higher, covering the thin red thread that stitches my head to my neck. “Weren’t you just desperate to join us? What’s with the sudden shyness?” Trixie sneers. “It’s not like Marcus hasn’t done it with a warm corpse before.” She presses herself against his arm. “See, brother? She’s no fun at all. Not obedient like me, am I?” What are they even talking about? I don’t get it. My family owns this horror game. Why would I need a ticket? I bounce on my toes and head straight for the ticket booth, letting a tiny sliver of my true aura leak out. The creature at the counter, its mouth dripping blood, starts its usual spiel: “Ticket, please…” It trails off as it catches my scent. The creature’s eyes widen in terror. It shoves its own eyeballs back into their sockets and scrambles away, half-falling, half-crawling. “Your Highness! Please, come in, right this way!” Silence falls over the entrance. The lights all flicker on at once, bright and steady. The nursery rhyme cuts off abruptly, replaced by a cheerful rendition of “Jingle Bells.” I stroll into the park. Turning back to their horrified faces, I beam. “Well, come on! I can’t wait to get started!” 3. A strange, uneasy quiet settles over the group. Marcus’s eyes, for the first time, hold a sliver of fear. “Hurry up,” I urge them. “You’re supposed to play with me.” I pout. “Honestly, what is my father thinking? He said there would be a special reception. Where is everyone? There’s no spectacle at all.” The fear in Marcus’s eyes vanishes, replaced by understanding. The comment section explodes. 【What was that about? Why did the ticket-taker run away? I thought its whole purpose was to trick players into breaking a rule so it could eat them.】 【I heard a VIP was supposed to visit the park today. It probably went off to prepare for the reception.】 【Did the new girl just get insanely lucky? This is the strongest team out there, no wonder she was sucking up to Marcus. She’s about to get carried through the whole instance.】 My aura had shielded them from hearing the creature’s respectful title for me, so they’re completely clueless. Before they can puzzle it out, a tour guide creature materializes behind them. “What rotten luck,” it grumbles. “Some group had to force their way into the instance right before she arrives. Now we all have to work overtime. The big boss said the park was booked for a private party. Guess we’d better deal with these… tourists… quickly.” The creature is practically radiating resentment. “Follow me. First up is the Scream Weaver roller coaster.” With a huff, it starts walking, leaving a trail of dripping sludge in its wake. When we reach the base of the coaster, the guide turns around, sees me, and leaps back as if electrocuted. Then it vanishes into thin air. “Gods! That scared the death out of me! What if the ground is dirty and it soils her dress? I have to go clean!” Its sudden departure leaves the players staring at each other. “Newbie. You go first,” the sleazy man, Gideon, says, a malicious grin spreading across his face. “Watch out. The coaster has a habit of taking your head off.” Oh, good. He has some sense after all. He knows to let me go first. This one might be a better playmate than Marcus. My fingers drift to the stitched line on my neck. I guess Mom will have to sew me up again. But the coaster car looks so… grimy. I wrinkle my nose. A pulse of my aura expands outwards, blanketing the entire park, a silent summons to the person in charge. “Hey! Gideon was talking to you!” Trixie shoves me. The next second, the team communication watches on each of their wrists crackle, then explode in a shower of sparks, shrieking an electronic alarm. 【WARNING: HIGH-LEVEL ENTITY DETECTED. GENERAL MANAGER INBOUND! GENERAL MANAGER INBOUND!】 The color drains from every player’s face. Marcus’s face turns a blotchy purple, but he forces a calm tone. “Something’s wrong. Terribly wrong. The General Manager never shows up this early. Quick! Find cover, now!” The team scatters like rats. As she runs, Trixie gives me one last, vicious shove. The weather in the park shifts violently. The sky darkens, and lightning cracks overhead. An enraged roar echoes through the park, so sharp and piercing it makes you want to claw your own ears off. “WHAT LITTLE PEST IS RUINING THE PRINCESS’S WELCOME CEREMONY?” The area is deserted. The team is hidden. I’m left standing alone in the center of the park. The shrieking creature circles in the sky above, a whirlwind of rage, before descending right in front of me. “Was it you, you little pest?”

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He always cherished me, swearing that his only birthday wish, year after year, was for us to have a child. For our fifth anniversary, I clutched the positive pregnancy test in my purse and slipped aboard the same yacht, melting into the masked ball I knew he was hosting. I was going to give him the ultimate surprise. Instead, I found him on the starlit deck with another woman, wrapped in an embrace that screamed honeymoon, not a business gala. My world tilted. I stumbled, knocking over a tower of champagne flutes. The crash echoed in the sudden silence. His brow furrowed in annoyance. He didn’t recognize me behind the Venetian mask and elaborate makeup. He snapped his fingers, and his security team materialized from the shadows. “Get this damn trash out of my sight,” he snarled, his voice a low thunder that vibrated through the deck. “She’s ruining the surprise honeymoon I planned for my wife.” He then turned to the woman in his arms, his voice softening to a caress. “Sweetheart, you’ve always wanted to see sharks up close, haven’t you? We’ll give them a little taste. Bleed her, and draw them in.” I dropped to my knees, the words catching in my throat, ready to beg, to tell him I was pregnant. But he just sneered, his polished Italian shoe connecting with my stomach in a brutal kick. “Oh, look at that,” he drawled, a cruel smirk playing on his lips as I gasped for air. “A pregnant bitch. Even better. My girl gets to see what a live feeding looks like.” Then, he pressed the cold muzzle of a pistol to my knee. “Break her legs first. I don’t want her spoiling the show.” 1 “Damn it, she’s a tough one, isn’t she?” Damien Blackwood’s voice was a blade of ice from somewhere above me. The kick had sent me flying, my back slamming against the ship’s railing with a sickening crack. A supernova of pain exploded from my spine, shooting straight to my skull. I curled into a ball on the cold teak deck, my hands instinctively shielding my abdomen. Our baby. The child Damien and I had prayed for, for five long years. Thick, theatrical makeup, meant for the masquerade, was now a grotesque, colorful paste streaked with cold sweat and tears. I tried to speak, to scream his name, but a rough hand tangled in my hair, yanking my head back. He shoved my face into a towering anniversary cake on a nearby table. Buttercream and sugary frosting clogged my nose and mouth. The cloying sweetness mingled with the primal terror of suffocation, and I began to thrash wildly. And the architect of this nightmare was my husband of five years, Damien. I heard a woman’s saccharine voice. “Darling, don’t you think this is a bit much?” Damien chuckled, a cold, empty sound. He pulled her waist possessively against his. “Baby, you’re too kind. This piece of trash ruined our honeymoon. She doesn’t get to walk away so easily. You wanted to see sharks? I’m giving you a front-row seat.” My blood ran cold. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would never have believed it. This vicious, terrifying monster was the same man who had worshipped the ground I walked on. We met in college, a whirlwind romance that led to the altar. In the five years since, he had carved my name into the city’s list of untouchables, a name whispered with fear and respect in circles both legal and not. Even the corner hustlers would change direction if they saw me carrying a latte. The day he slipped the ring on my finger, a new file appeared in his office safe: the deed to every asset, every company, every shell corporation, with my name signed as the sole beneficiary. And now, the man who built a fortress around me was the one tearing me apart. Before I could process the whiplash, Damien snapped his fingers. Two of his men hoisted me up by my arms. “Bleed her,” he ordered, his tone as casual as if he were ordering dinner. “Lure them in.” My voice, when it finally came, was a raw, ragged shriek. I clawed at the guards, my nails digging bloody furrows into their forearms. The next second, a leather shoe ground down on my fingers, a pain so sharp and absolute it felt like a thousand needles driving into the bone. I heard the distinct crack of my own knuckles breaking. This wasn’t a threat. This was real. Primal survival instinct took over. I swallowed my pride, the agony, everything. I shuffled forward on my shattered knees, my hand trembling as I grabbed the cuff of his tailored trousers. Tears mixed with the frosting smeared across my face. “Mmph…” I tried to speak, but my throat was still blocked with cake. I clutched my stomach as a violent cramp seized me, sharp and terrifying. “Ah!” A strangled cry escaped my lips. I collapsed, and a river of crimson flowed down the inside of my thighs, staining the pristine deck a shocking, lurid red. The violent movement dislodged a folded piece of paper from my dress pocket. It fluttered to the deck, landing right in Damien’s line of sight. My name at the top was obscured by a fold, but the words [CONFIRMED PREGNANCY] were stark and clear under the moonlight. He glanced down, his gaze colder than the ocean itself. “Well, would you look at that,” he said, a slow, cruel smile spreading across his face. “A pregnant bitch. Perfect. Now my baby gets to see what it looks like when you feed a fetus to the sharks.” I lay twisted on the deck, my body a raging fire of pain. The blood pooled around me. No! I shook my head desperately, trying to crawl, to move, to do anything. The cramping in my abdomen was so intense it was stealing my thoughts. Damien watched me from above, that monstrous smile still playing on his lips. Then, he leveled the gun at my knee again. “Break her legs,” he repeated, his voice dangerously soft. “I don’t want her thrashing around and ruining the main event.” 2 I forced my heavy eyelids open, seeing only the merciless silhouette of my husband against the moon. In that instant, despair consumed me whole. A deafening BANG ripped through the night. The bullet tore through my kneecap. I tried to scream, but they had stuffed a rag in my mouth, turning my agony into a muffled, pathetic whimper. Blood gushed from the wound, spreading across the deck in a warm, sickening tide. Through a haze of excruciating pain, I finally got a clear look at the woman’s face. It was Hannah. A university student Damien had recently sponsored through a new charity initiative. She stood beside him in a pure white sundress, looking like some fragile, innocent blossom. But her eyes, fixed on me, were glittering with a rabid excitement. She was devouring the sight of my suffering. “Darling, look at all that blood!” she cooed, feigning fear as she burrowed into Damien’s chest. The corners of her mouth, however, were twitching, fighting a triumphant smirk. Damien stroked her back soothingly. “Don’t be scared, baby. Filth like this isn’t worth your sympathy.” My heart felt like it was being ripped to shreds. Three months ago, Damien had his arm around me, telling me he wanted to set up a scholarship for underprivileged students. He’d asked me to help him vet the candidates. I was the one who chose Hannah’s file. Parents deceased, supporting herself on academic scholarships. The girl in the photograph had such clear, innocent eyes. Damien had even praised my choice. You have a good heart, Ava. The irony was a blade twisting in my gut. “Hoist her up,” Damien commanded, nudging my blood-soaked chin with the toe of his shoe. “The blood is more effective if it drips into the sea, one drop at a time.” As the cold iron chains were fastened around my wrists and ankles, the party on the other side of the deck continued, the sound of popping champagne corks a festive counterpoint to my torture. They suspended me upside down over the side of the yacht. The sea wind whipped my hair, carrying the coppery scent of my own blood into my nostrils. The bullet hole in my knee throbbed, a relentless fountain of heat that trickled down my leg, over my foot, and dripped into the dark water below. Each drop bloomed into a dark flower on the navy-blue surface of the ocean. “Darling, look!” Hannah suddenly shrieked, pointing. In the moonlight, several dorsal fins sliced through the waves. The sleek, gray-blue skin of the sharks glinted with a cold, dead light as they circled below. The pain was making my vision swim, but I could still clearly see one of Damien’s men—a man who usually called me “Mrs. Blackwood” with a respectful nod—plunge a dagger into my abdomen and twist. A guttural, animalistic sound tore from my throat. Suddenly, the first shark breached the surface, its jaws gaping. Rows of serrated white teeth were less than two feet from my stomach. A foul, fishy spray coated my chest. “Time it,” Damien said, toying with a lock of Hannah’s hair. “Cut the baby out of her. Let’s see how long the bitch lasts after that.” My world turned crimson. One of Damien’s men grinned grotesquely as he thrust his hand into the open wound in my belly. His fingers were like icy iron tongs, churning inside me. My body convulsed in a violent spasm of agony, but I couldn’t make a sound. My throat was already shredded from screaming. “You stupid bitch,” he whispered in my ear, his breath hot and foul. “You should have known better than to cross the boss.” Then, with a savage tug, he ripped something vital from my body. A gush of warm liquid, and a profound, hollow emptiness. The man held up my bloody uterus, a gruesome trophy in the moonlight. My child. The child Damien and I had wanted for five years was now a prop in a blood sport. “Throw it in,” Damien commanded, lighting a cigar with an indifferent flick of his wrist. My womb was tossed into the sea, trailing an arc of blood through the air. The water below erupted into a frenzy. The gray-blue fins churned the ocean into a froth of white water and blood. The sound of tearing flesh was sickening, visceral, and it echoed in the sudden, dead silence of my soul. “The sharks still look hungry!” Hannah chirped, tilting her head with a look of angelic innocence. “Darling, is there anything else we can feed them?” Damien gestured towards me with his cigar. “We’ve still got one right here, don’t we?” 3 Hannah covered her mouth, a perfect portrait of feigned shock. “Oh, can we really? I’m still a little scared.” Damien exhaled a plume of smoke, pinching her cheek with fond indulgence. “Whatever you want, baby. I told you, you can play however you like. I’ve always got your back.” My blood-soaked body was hauled back onto the deck. Hannah, in her pristine white dress, approached me, the sea breeze making her skirt blossom around her like a flower. She leaned in close, her voice a conspiratorial whisper only I could hear. “How does it feel, Ava? To be tortured by your own husband?” My pupils constricted. A strangled, rattling sound escaped my throat. She knew. She knew who I was the entire time. Her fingers, tipped with baby-pink nail polish, traced the wound on my knee before she jabbed a nail deep into the raw flesh. “Aaargh!” A hoarse scream finally tore from my raw throat. My vision went black for a second. “The position of Mrs. Blackwood,” she murmured with a soft laugh. “I’ve wanted it for a very, very long time.” She smiled sweetly. “Don’t worry. After you’re dead, I’ll take very good care of Damien for you.” The cold glint of the dagger flashed before my eyes. My costume was ripped open, and the blade traced a line across my skin. First the cold, then a searing, fiery pain. Beads of blood welled up, merging into a thin red stream. “Did you forget to eat breakfast?” Hannah scolded the guard, her voice as sweet as melting honey. “Put some muscle into it. I want the cuts deeper!” Then I was hanging over the edge again, and this time, they plunged me into the ocean. The shock of the frigid, salty water was absolute. It flooded my nostrils, and the sting of the salt in my countless wounds felt like a thousand steel needles piercing every inch of my body. The sharks began to circle closer, their rough skin grazing my toes, the chilling promise of their teeth a palpable presence in the dark water. They hauled me up again, soaked and shivering. The seawater had washed away the layers of cake and makeup. A cold wind howled, and my wet hair was plastered across my face, obscuring my vision. Suddenly, one of the younger guards stumbled back, his voice trembling. “Holy shit! Doesn’t this woman… doesn’t she look exactly like the boss’s wife?!” Another guard laughed dismissively. “Are you crazy? What would Mrs. Blackwood be doing here?” But as he spoke, a fierce gust of wind swept across the deck. It caught the folded pregnancy report, sending it tumbling through the air. It danced on the breeze before finally settling beside the polished leather of Damien’s shoe. As if guided by some unseen hand, he glanced down, an air of casual annoyance on his face. He looked at the paper. And then, his entire body went rigid. His pupils contracted to pinpricks. “That’s impossible!” He bent down, his fingers snatching the paper, clutching it so tightly his knuckles turned white, threatening to shred it. On the pregnancy report, washed partially clean by the sea spray but still terrifyingly legible, was my name. Ava Blackwood. Pregnancy: 6 Weeks. A sound ripped from his throat, something animal and broken, a roar of pure, unadulterated agony that tore through the night. “GET HER UP!!!”

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The night before I was supposed to get engaged to Leo, my best friend Chloe and I were tangled in my duvet, whispering secrets like we had since we were kids. That’s when she told me hers. A secret that cracked my world open. She was four weeks pregnant. The father was a man she’d never introduced me to. Chloe’s face was a mess of conflict in the dim lamplight. “Ava,” she whispered, her voice tight, “what do I do? Do I choose the baby’s father, or do I choose the London job?” The promotion to the London office was the culmination of five years of brutal, relentless work. But I could see it in her eyes. She couldn’t bear to let go of this man. My answer was instant, a gut reaction. “Go to London. A career is a hell of a lot more reliable than a man.” With tears shimmering in her eyes, she pulled out her phone and typed out a five-thousand-word farewell manifesto to him. Later that night, I found that same manifesto on Leo’s phone. 1 Leo was in the shower, and his phone wouldn’t stop buzzing on the nightstand. I figured it was just colleagues, early congratulations on the engagement. I picked it up. Pinned to the top of his messages was a name: Chloe. My Chloe. The girl I’d shared everything with for twenty-six years, since we were toddlers running naked through sprinklers. Ten minutes ago, we were hugging in my bed. What could she possibly have to say to Leo that required five consecutive messages? Leo, you and Ava are getting engaged tomorrow. I guess this is where it ends for us. ~♡ As long as you’re happy, what do my tears matter? I’ll be there tomorrow to watch your sacred moment, and then I’m heading to the London office. Goodbye. ~♡ I read the messages again and again. It was her, no doubt. The little tilde she always used. The heart emoji at the end of every serious thought. My hand shook, the phone suddenly heavy. A roaring filled my ears, drowning out the sound of the shower. I couldn’t connect the two images in my head: Leo, the man who adored me, and Chloe, my soulmate, my sister. So, the baby Chloe was carrying… it was Leo’s. A crushing weight settled on my chest, hot tears stinging my eyes. The bathroom door clicked open. I shoved the phone back onto the nightstand, my movements jerky and unnatural. Leo smiled, his hair damp, his face warm and open. “Have a good chat with Chloe? I bet you two have enough to talk about for three days and three nights, with you changing your status on her.” The words were a stone in my throat. I couldn’t force the accusation out. He plugged in the hairdryer. “So, my beautiful fiancée-to-be, are you still willing to do the honors tonight?” Usually, I loved drying his hair. It was our ritual. But the thought of his hands, of their shared intimacy, sent a wave of nausea through me. “My throat’s a little scratchy,” I managed, my voice raspy. “I think I’m just going to sleep, if that’s okay.” He was all concern, scooping me up in his arms and carrying me to the bedroom. He tucked me in before glancing at his phone. I watched as his posture stiffened, the muscles in his neck cording. “Babe, I’m just gonna run out and grab some gum,” he said, his voice strained. The moment the door closed, I was out of bed, pulling on a pair of sneakers, my heart pounding as I followed him out into the night. My desperate, silent prayers went unanswered. Down the block, under the weak glow of a streetlight, I saw them. The world tilted on its axis as Leo pulled Chloe into his arms. I bit down on my knuckles, the only thing stopping a scream from tearing out of my throat. Leo’s large hand rested gently on Chloe’s stomach, his voice trembling even from a distance. “Why didn’t you tell me? It’s my baby, too.” “And what good would that do?” Chloe’s voice was thick with tears. “There’s no future for us. Tomorrow, you’re promising your life to Ava.” “Are you serious about London?” “Yes. And I’m not keeping the baby.” Chloe’s chin was set in a stubborn line, pushing against his chest even as her body betrayed her, leaning into his warmth. Leo wouldn’t let go, his thumb stroking her cheek, wiping away a tear. “What about me? You’re just going to leave, just throw me away like that? Did you even think about how that would feel?” “You have Ava. That’s enough. We never should have let this happen.” “But I love you, Chloe,” he choked out. “You can’t be this cruel. If you leave, you’ll gut me.” That broke her. A sob escaped Chloe’s lips, and she melted against him, their bodies fitting together perfectly. They clung to each other, lost in their tragic romance, making me the villain in a story I never even knew I was in. 2 At one in the morning, Leo slid back into bed beside me. The tear tracks on my face had long since dried, my throat raw. He wrapped an arm around me, his lips finding my shoulder in a familiar, gentle kiss. “Babe, I’m so nervous,” he murmured into my skin. “The engagement party is tomorrow. It all feels like a dream.” That night, we were worlds apart in the same bed. The next morning, my parents were already a whirlwind of activity. Our families had a traditional streak; an engagement party was a big deal, a house filled with neighbors, friends, and relatives. Leo’s family arrived with flowers, platters of food, and cases of wine. He told me to rest, that I looked tired, and then seamlessly took his place beside my parents, playing the perfect son-in-law. It was Chloe’s parents who pulled me aside, their faces etched with a gravity that made my stomach clench. “We need to talk to you in your room, sweetie.” The moment the door closed, Chloe’s mom, a woman who had bandaged my scraped knees and baked my favorite cookies, fell to her knees in front of me. “Mrs. Evans, please, get up,” I pleaded, rushing to help her. Her husband, a man I called Uncle Mark, had been a second father to me. They both had. “What is it?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Her words were choked with sobs. “Ava, I know what we’re about to ask is unforgivably unfair, but Chloe… she’s our only daughter. We can’t stand to see her like this, completely shattered.” She looked up at me, her eyes begging. “Could you… could you find it in your heart to step aside? To let her and Leo be together?” I stumbled back, the room seeming to shrink around me. I couldn’t draw a full breath. Uncle Mark spoke, his voice heavy with regret. “Chloe was wrong, we know that. But you can’t plan who you fall in love with. She’s stubborn, and now with the baby… we’re terrified she’s going to do something reckless.” A cold dread spread through me. My face felt like a mask. “So… you’ve known? You’ve known about them this whole time?” Growing up, with my parents working long hours, I basically lived at their house. They treated me like a second daughter. Every gift they bought for Chloe, they bought one for me, too. Our friendship was a twenty-six-year-old monument, something I thought was indestructible. And I was the only one who didn’t know it was built on a lie. Mrs. Evans clutched my hand. “Blame me, Ava. Don’t blame Chloe. You know how much she truly loves you, how much she treasures your friendship.” She squeezed my hand tighter. “If she knew you broke up with Leo to make way for her, the guilt would destroy her. Please, for my sake… don’t let her know we told you. Just let it be your decision. Please?” I stared at her, my mind numb, before slowly pulling my hand from her grasp. “Okay,” I heard myself say. “I’ll do it.” She burst into tears of relief, whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” over and over. When I walked out of the room, I saw Chloe and Leo standing at opposite ends of the living room. She was laughing, playing a game with the neighborhood kids, handing out cupcakes I had baked. “These are from the beautiful bride-to-be, Ava! Make sure you tell her congratulations later, okay?” Leo’s gaze was fixed on her. It was tender, possessive, a look of profound, unbreakable connection. It all clicked into place. Every anniversary, when he’d insist I invite Chloe along, I thought he was just being inclusive. The three tickets he’d always buy for the amusement park. The extra skincare set he’d tell me to pick up for her. It wasn’t thoughtfulness. It was guilt. They’d been lying to me for six years. Six years out of the seven we’d been together. My mind flashed back to high school. Chloe, getting a month of detention for punching a boy who made a crude joke about me. Chloe, after my first big fight with Leo in college, getting on a nineteen-hour Greyhound bus just to show up at my dorm and take me out for drinks. Now I had to wonder. After she’d tucked a drunk me into bed, had she met up with him? Had they connected under the stars, bonding over their shared love for me, a love that twisted into something else entirely? Every memory of her loyalty, every act of love, now felt like a dose of expertly administered poison. 3 Seeing me by the doorway, Chloe immediately broke away from the kids and rushed over, her face a perfect mask of concern. “Hey, you look pale. Did you catch a chill last night?” She fussed over me, smoothing the fabric of my dress. “This crimson dress looks incredible on you. Leo must have saved a galaxy in a past life to deserve you.” I looked down at the silk, then at her. “You’re the one who helped me pick it. You said it would go perfectly with the ‘modern romance’ theme. Just like yours.” She was wearing a blush pink dress, a shade that complemented mine but somehow matched the classic lines of Leo’s charcoal suit even better. She beamed. “See? My taste is impeccable. As long as you have me, you’re set.” Was she picking a dress for her best friend, the maid of honor? Or was she dressing for a role she secretly wished was her own? My brain couldn’t process it anymore. Leo appeared with two glasses of water, handing one to each of us. “You’ve been standing for a while. Stay hydrated.” Chloe playfully nudged him. “Look at you, so considerate. I guess I can see why my Ava fell for you.” “Of course,” he said, his eyes flicking to her for a split second. “She’s my fiancée now.” I noticed the water in my glass was icy cold. Chloe’s had no condensation; it was room temperature. He was so damn thoughtful. My fingers tightened around the glass. I was the star of this farce, and all I wanted to do was run. Leo must have sensed my mood shift. “What’s wrong?” he murmured, his voice low. “Nervous?” “Just woke up too early, I guess,” I lied. Chloe took my hand, pulling me toward my bedroom. “Come on, let me touch up your makeup. It’s your big day. You have to be flawless.” In the mirror, I watched her meticulously fill in my brows, her touch gentle and practiced. I remembered the summer after high school graduation, the two of us trying to teach ourselves makeup in this very room, ending up looking like circus clowns. We were too embarrassed to go home, so we spent the whole day at the mall, pooling our last three dollars to share a single corn dog. We could never go back there. I tilted my head back, meeting her eyes in the reflection. “Chloe, are you keeping any secrets from me?” The hand holding the eyebrow pencil faltered for a fraction of a second. “Yes,” she said. I held my breath. “I’ve already scoped out a place with male dancers,” she declared, her voice mischievous. “I plan on going quietly. Once you’re a married woman, you’ll have to live vicariously through me!” She threw her head back and laughed, a bright, carefree sound that extinguished the last flicker of warmth in my heart. Even now, she wouldn’t tell me the truth. Outside, a string of firecrackers went off, signaling that the formal part of the party was about to begin. My parents flanked Leo and me, with Chloe standing proudly by my side. My dad beamed. “Time flies. In the blink of an eye, Ava’s getting engaged, and Chloe’s career is taking off. I still remember Chloe swearing that whoever married our Ava, she’d have to drink him under the table first. Hahaha.” Chloe laughed along. “That’s right! Our Ava is the best person in the world. Even you, Leo, don’t fully deserve her!” Her eyes glinted with purpose. “And today, I’m making good on that promise. Leo, if you can outdrink me, then and only then can you have Ava’s hand!” She grabbed a bottle of vodka from the table, poured a generous amount into a small bowl, and raised it, her eyes locked with Leo’s. His brow furrowed in alarm. The relatives, oblivious, started cheering. “That’s a real best friend for you! You’ve gotta drink, Leo!” “Chloe can hold her liquor! She could take down five of you. That’s what you get for stealing her best friend!” I glanced at her parents. Their eyes were glistening with tears, pained by their daughter’s desperate, bravado-fueled performance. “I’ll go first!” she announced, bringing the bowl to her lips. In the second before the vodka touched her mouth, I snatched it from her hand and downed the entire thing in one go. The fiery liquid scorched my throat. A stunned silence fell over the room. Leo’s hand, which had been reaching out to stop Chloe, froze in mid-air. He knew. He knew she couldn’t drink, not with a baby inside her. A wave of relief washed over his face. He turned to me, his voice soft with concern. “Ava, why would you drink so much?” He then looked at Chloe. “Chloe, maybe you should sit this one out. You don’t want to miss the main course.” She grabbed my arm. “Babe, I can handle it. Don’t underestimate me.” I couldn’t pretend anymore. Making an excuse, I fled to the bathroom. 4 In the bathroom, I forced my fingers down my throat, heaving until nothing but bitter bile came up. I splashed my face with cold water, took a deep breath, and decided it was time. I would go out there and call the whole thing off. But when I opened the door, the living room was nearly empty. Only my parents sat on the sofa, their faces grim. A sense of foreboding washed over me. “Mom? Dad? Where did everyone go?” “Chloe fainted,” my mom said, her voice tight. “Her parents rushed her to the hospital.” My dad added, “And Leo vanished. He’s not answering his phone. We’re running out of time.” “She didn’t even drink that much,” my mom fretted. “How could she just collapse?” But I knew. It was the baby. Without another word to my parents, I ran out of the house and hailed a cab, my heart a cold, hard knot in my chest. I found them on the second floor, in the obstetrics and gynecology wing. Chloe was sitting on Leo’s lap in the sterile hallway, tears streaming down her face. “I’ve already scheduled the abortion,” she was saying, her voice ragged. “I’ll have it done, and then I’ll leave. You need to go back. You need to finish the ceremony with Ava.” Her father’s voice was a furious whisper. “That’s insane! Your body can’t handle that!” Her mother was crouched on the floor in front of her, stroking her daughter’s face. “My sweet girl, you can’t. You already had a threatened miscarriage. Please don’t do this. I’m so scared it will hurt you, that something will go wrong—” Leo’s face was ashen. He held Chloe tight, his voice pleading. “Chloe, please. Let’s keep this baby. Please?” “He’s a part of me, but he’s a part of you, too. Don’t you want to watch him grow up? Because I do.” “I can’t risk this procedure. I can’t. Please, just come home with us.” His words only made her cry harder, shaking her head violently. A memory surfaced, sharp and clear. A week ago, I was working late when I got a frantic call that Chloe was in the hospital. I’d run out of the office so fast I lost a shoe, arriving breathless at her room to find Leo already there, spoon-feeding her warm soup. At the time, all I could think about was Chloe’s health. I never questioned why Leo was so panicked, so attentive. I was just grateful he was there to take care of her for me. I didn’t even notice the small, fresh cut on his lip, like someone had bitten him in a moment of pain or passion. That must have been the first scare. The time she almost lost the baby she had told no one but him about. The pain in my chest was so sharp it was hard to breathe. I closed my eyes. Chloe stood up, clutching a medical report, her resolve hardening. “Dad, Mom. I can’t do this to Ava.” She turned to Leo. “Go. Find Ava. Tell her a friend called me away. I have to do this. I have to go to London and start over.” Just then, a nurse called out from a doorway. “Chloe Evans, we’re ready for you.” As Chloe turned to walk away, I started toward them, my steps slow and deliberate. My voice was quiet, but it cut through the hallway’s tense silence. “Excuse me, Nurse. I’m sorry, but we’re canceling the procedure.” I turned my gaze to Leo. “I’ve already returned all the engagement gifts. The guests have been sent home.” “Our engagement is over. You’re free.”

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I had a best friend who married into a world of unimaginable wealth—a girl from my small town who played the part of an heiress. She was the one who stole the project proposal from my desk, then told her husband I was just a new hire, eager to learn. She was the one who wired ten million dollars from his account, claiming it was to buy me a starter home, a place to finally be secure. She was the one who sold the luxury car he’d given her as a wedding gift, saying it was just to get me a reliable ride. And when she was caught transferring company assets while sleeping with her husband’s assistant, she told him I was the mastermind who had manipulated her. In the end, her husband, Ethan, had me sent to prison. And in prison, her lover made sure I was silenced for good. But then I opened my eyes. And I was back on the day it all began to unravel, the day of her husband’s first real accusation. 1 Every time Stella needed to meet her lover, she used me as her alibi. A girls’ day out. Shopping. A long lunch. So when her husband, Ethan Blackwood, sent me yet another text demanding to know when I was letting his wife come home, I didn’t feel surprised. Just tired. My thumb hovered over the screen, a ghost of a memory—of blind loyalty, of the countless lies I’d told for her—flashing through me. This time, I didn’t hesitate. I swiped and deleted the entire thread. I had just smoothed a cool sheet mask over my face when my phone blared to life. My hand, still slick with serum from the packet, fumbled and accidentally hit the answer button. His voice, tight with fury, crackled through the speaker. “Anna. When are you planning on allowing my wife to return to her family?” “Her son has been crying for three hours straight. Have you forgotten she’s a mother? How selfish can you possibly be? I let it slide before, but she has a child now, for God’s sake.” “Let’s get something straight. I’m her husband. The card you’re swiping belongs to me. The car you’re riding in is mine. So what the hell is this new habit of having her block my number every time you two go out?” “I’ve been patient with you, Anna. But I’m done. Don’t you think you’re a little… superfluous in this picture?” Each question landed heavier than the last, his patience fraying into raw steel. But the anger simmering in my own gut was hotter. If it weren’t for his perfect, darling wife, I wouldn’t have ended up dead on a cold prison floor. Just because I was the only friend she’d brought with her from our dusty hometown, I became her living, breathing excuse. The cover for all her dirty secrets. Back then, I never knew what she was really doing. The truth is, once she got married, our connection started to fade. But the calls from Ethan never stopped. They’d come in, laced with confusion and anger, and I—like a fool—would cover for her. I remember one night, he called long after midnight, his voice a furious whisper. “What the hell are you two still doing out? It’s the middle of the night. How long does it take to get your hair done?” Dazed with sleep, I almost told him I had no idea what he was talking about. But then a text from Stella lit up my screen. 【Just say we were at the salon! The one next to the spa. Tell him we decided to get massages too. Sister-special package. I already sent him a pic of the sign. Thx babe! U owe me one ;)】 And just like that, in Ethan Blackwood’s eyes, I became the villain. The toxic best friend single-handedly destroying his marriage. The next day, he sent me a warning text, and after that, I started pulling away from Stella. But it wasn’t enough. In the end, she still threw me to the wolves to save herself. And Ethan, already primed to hate me, probably felt a sense of righteous victory as he watched me get locked away. Not this time. I would not be her stepping stone again. His voice snapped me back to the present. “Is Stella with you or not? Put her on the phone. Her son needs his mother.” A cold, sharp smile touched my lips. I held the phone up, turning my head as if looking around my small apartment. “Stella? Honey? It’s Ethan for you.” Silence, of course. “Oh, shoot,” I said, my voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Sorry, Mr. Blackwood. She’s getting a blowout. The dryers are so loud, you know how it is. We’re at that new place on the corner? The one we went to last time?” “She’ll call you when she’s done, I’m sure!” The moment I finished the sentence, my face went slack, the smile vanishing. I jabbed the end-call button with my thumb. Five minutes later, just as I was peeling the sticky mask from my skin, a violent pounding rattled my front door. I pulled it open, and the force from the other side almost sent me sprawling. It was Ethan. And he’d brought a team of grim-faced men in dark suits. Bodyguards. Before I could speak, two of them had me by the arms. I could only watch, helpless, as Ethan stormed into my apartment, his face a mask of rage. He tore through the tiny space, ripping open my closet, checking behind the shower curtain, kicking aside a pile of laundry. Every corner of my life, violated. When he found nothing, he stalked back to me, his jaw tight. “Where is she, Anna? The lights were on. I’ve been watching the building for the last hour. You never left. So enough with the shopping excuse.” Seeing the raw, unhinged fury on his face, a bitter, satisfying pleasure bloomed in my chest. Let him burn. Let him feel a fraction of the helplessness I felt. Stella was off with her lover, and I was, as always, the designated scapegoat. In his mind, thanks to years of Stella’s subtle poisoning, I was already guilty. My words meant nothing. He saw the silence on my face and shot a look at his men. Their grip tightened. He stepped forward, his hand clamping around my jaw, forcing my head up. His eyes were chips of ice, sharp and cold. “I’m going to give you one last chance,” he gritted out. “Where. Is. My. Wife?” 2 A laugh, sharp and mocking, escaped my throat. “She’s a grown woman, Ethan. A mother, as you so helpfully pointed out. Her own mom couldn’t control her. What makes you think I can?” His hand fell away from my jaw, but only for a second. It swung back, fast and hard, and the crack of it hitting my cheek echoed in the small room. My head snapped to the side, my eyes stinging, a coppery taste filling my mouth. The more desperate he became, the more pathetic he seemed. He bent down and snatched my phone from where I’d dropped it. He pried my fingers open, using my own thumb to unlock the screen. Then he started tapping it against my bruised cheek, a threatening rhythm. “You think staying silent is going to work for you?” he sneered. “I got you the job at my subsidiary. I can make sure you’re out on the street by tomorrow.” His gaze was murderous. He found my boss’s contact in my phone and hit the call button. But before it could connect, an idea seemed to strike him. He hung up and hit the video call icon instead. The screen flickered to life, showing my boss, Mark, still at his desk, buried in paperwork. He frowned at the unfamiliar face on his screen, then his eyes widened in recognition. “M-Mr. Blackwood?” he stammered. “That’s right,” Ethan said coldly. “You know this woman?” He flipped the camera around to my face. Mark nodded frantically. “Yes, yes, Anna. Is… is everything alright?” “Does your company have a policy on plagiarism? On employees who steal their work? Or did you just not bother to ask how she was completing her assignments?” As he spoke, he shot me a look, mouthing the words: Last. Chance. I kept my lips sealed. My defiance lit the final fuse on his temper. “Every single proposal Anna has submitted was stolen directly from one of my company’s internal servers!” he roared into the phone. “You will fire her, tonight. If you don’t, my legal team will be in touch with yours by morning.” He paused. “In fact, I brought a lawyer with me. I see you’re still in the office.” He crossed his arms, leaning against my wall. The message was clear: Your move. Any thought Mark might have had of defending me evaporated. You don’t cross the Blackwood empire. A bitter laugh escaped me. “You can’t do this, Ethan. You have no proof. I could sue you for slander.” He let out a short, ugly laugh. “This is bothering you? Oh, we’re just getting started. I’ll ask you one more time. Tell me where Stella is.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “You took ten million dollars. You sold my car. And now you’ve taken my wife. I have given you far too much grace, Anna.” The bodyguards tightened their hold, making it hard to breathe. After getting Mark’s stammered confirmation that I was fired, Ethan smiled grimly and went back to scrolling through my contacts. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. “This is breaking and entering,” I choked out. “You can’t just barge in here. I’ll call the police.” He didn’t even look up from my phone. “The police?” he said, as if it were the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “Please, be my guest. Should I dial 911 for you? Let’s see… who do you think they’ll arrest? The woman who orchestrated the disappearance of my wife and the mother of my child? Or me?” He finally looked up, his eyes glittering. “The last text I have from Stella says she was spending the night with you.” His eyes lit up. “Ah. Found it.” I watched in horror as he dialed the number for my landlord. A plan, desperate and risky, began to form in my mind. 3 With me standing right there, Ethan told my landlord I was breaking my lease and would be out by morning. When I tried to shout, to explain, one of the bodyguards clamped a hand over my mouth, muffling my protests. Hot, frustrated tears streamed down my face. He was a fool. An absolute fool. If Stella had really given me the money for a house, why would I still be living in this rundown one-bedroom apartment? He ended the call, his eyes burning with a rage that hadn’t cooled in the slightest. “Still not talking?” The hand was removed from my mouth. I took a ragged breath. “Why don’t you ask your assistant?” I said, my voice cold and steady. “Maybe he knows where she is.” For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty crossed Ethan’s face. He hesitated, then pulled out his own phone and dialed his assistant, Leo. The moment the call connected, I heard a faint shuffling sound on the other end before it stopped abruptly. “Mr. Blackwood? Is everything alright?” Leo’s voice was smooth. “Find Stella’s location for me. Now. It’s an emergency.” There was a calculated pause. “Sir, the last few times I drove Mrs. Blackwood to meet her friend, she would jump out of the car and the other woman—Anna—would just pull her away. She never gave me a chance to even say anything.” Leo’s voice took on a note of feigned helplessness. “I tried to follow once, but Anna yelled at me, told me to mind my own business. I didn’t want to overstep. I honestly have no idea where they’d go.” I almost had to laugh. He was good. Just as good at shifting blame as Stella was. Ethan hung up, his face a thundercloud. Before he could speak again, his phone rang. It was the nanny. The baby wouldn’t stop crying. He was inconsolable. That was the last straw. Ethan’s face hardened into a mask of cold resolve. He gestured to his men. “Get her in the car.” They dragged me out of my apartment and shoved me into the back of a black SUV. “If you won’t talk,” he said, sliding in beside me, “we’ll do this the hard way. We’re going to check every single salon on this street.” We pulled up to a strip of upscale boutiques and spas. He yanked me out of the car by my collar, forcing me onto the sidewalk. His bodyguards formed a tight circle around us, a clear show of force that immediately drew the attention of passersby. Within minutes, a crowd had gathered, phones held up, whispering. Ethan, playing to the audience, announced that his wife had been led astray by her malicious best friend. It was all the crowd needed to hear. “You can’t trust anyone these days,” a woman muttered loudly. “My cousin’s husband ran off with her best friend. Left her with three kids and a mountain of debt.” “And look at the news! All those girls who get trafficked overseas, who’s the one who tricks them? It’s always a friend!” “She doesn’t even look like she has any money. You’d think if she was that evil, she’d at least dress better.” “That’s how they get you! They look all innocent and poor so you trust them! It’s always the ones you least expect.” The murmurs grew into a chorus of condemnation. Ethan’s face was dark with grim satisfaction. He ordered his men to drag me into the first salon. The chicly dressed owner took one look at me and shook her head. She’d never seen me before in her life. Of course she hadn’t. But this was the very salon Stella had sent Ethan a picture of countless times. His control finally snapped. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back. “You’ve been playing me from the very beginning, Anna!” His men hauled me back out onto the street. “Call the police,” Ethan commanded. “And call the press. We’re going to search every business on this block. If I have to tear this city apart to find her, I will.” A dark glint entered my eye. “The police?” I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. “Why not call a few reporters while you’re at it? Make a real spectacle. Nail me to the cross for the whole world to see.” He narrowed his eyes, then gave a curt nod to one of his men. “You heard her. Give her what she wants.” A triumphant smile played on my lips. Yes, I thought. Make it big. Make it loud. Make it so public that Stella can never, ever crawl out from under the rubble. 4 The bodyguards dragged me from one boutique to the next, a humiliating parade of rejection. The answer was always the same. No one knew me. This world of five-hundred-dollar haircuts and diamond-dust facials was not my world. I couldn’t have been more out of place. When we circled back, Ethan was on a video call with his son. Hearing the report from his men, he nearly crushed the phone in his hand. Through gritted teeth, he told his crying child goodbye, then ended the call and hurled the phone directly at my head. The expensive device was fine. My forehead, however, immediately began to swell. The crowd had grown, their sympathy for the heartbroken father palpable. They had heard the child’s desperate cries for “Mama,” and their glares turned to daggers aimed straight at me. “What kind of monster does that? Tearing a mother away from her child. It’s just cruel.” “Look at the expression on her face! No remorse at all. You’d think he was the one who wronged her.” Just then, sirens wailed in the distance. The police arrived, followed closely by a pack of reporters, cameras already flashing. And behind them… behind them were two people I never expected to see. My parents. Ethan had brought them here. He had flown my parents in from our small town, feeding them the story of how I’d corrupted and kidnapped his wife. Their faces were etched with panic and exhaustion. As they pushed through the crowd, Ethan gestured for the bodyguards to release me. The memory of my mother’s face in the prison visiting room—a mask of shattered disappointment—flashed before my eyes. Tears welled up, and I reached for her. My arm was met with a stinging slap. I clutched my hand to my chest, staring at her in disbelief. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her voice shaking with a mix of fury and shame. “We thought you were here working hard, making a life for yourself. What is this, Anna? What have you done?” She was so overwrought she swayed on her feet. I reached for her again, but she recoiled as if burned. “Mom—!” My father caught her, steadying her, then turned his wrath on me. “Don’t you call her that! We don’t have a daughter. Not one who does… this! We could have been sold in our sleep by you and never known it!” After everything that happened in my last life, my only plan had been to clear my name and go home to them. And now here they were, brought here by my executioner to serve as the final, public nail in my coffin. I looked past them, searching for Ethan. He was standing off to the side, speaking in low tones to a police officer. Before I could call out to him, a sharp, searing pain exploded in my ear. My mother had grabbed it, twisting hard. Tears of pain and betrayal streamed down her face. “You tell Mr. Blackwood where you took Stella! You tell him right now! If you don’t, you can forget you ever had parents. We are done with you!” The crowd’s murmurs turned to outright shouts of disgust. I tried to cover my ear, which felt like it was splitting open. A warm trickle of blood ran down my neck. But before I could, my father reappeared, holding a thick wooden stick he must have broken off a nearby display. He swung it hard against the back of my knees. A scream tore from my throat as my legs buckled, sending me crashing to the pavement. The sudden movement made my mother lose her grip, but not before tearing my earlobe. Blood now flowed freely, staining the shoulder of my shirt. Ethan walked over slowly, standing over me. He calmly informed my parents about the ten million dollars and the sold car. The color drained from their faces. They looked at me as if I were a monster. “Our fault…” my father choked out, his voice cracking. “This is our failure as parents…” Just then, a police officer approached Ethan and whispered something in his ear. Ethan’s expression hardened, his eyes turning to flint. He looked down at me, then at his men. “Take her. We’re going to the property listed in her name.” I knew where we were going. It was the place Stella had set up as the final piece of evidence to frame me. It was her and her lover’s secret paradise. It’s almost over, I thought, a strange sense of calm washing over me. It’s finally ending.

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The day our daughter Mia turned five, my husband’s mistress, Amber, posted a photo on Instagram. It was a selfie of the two of them, tucked into bed, a little boy asleep between them. Her caption read: **【Little guy was fussy and wanted his daddy before bed, and this super-dad dropped everything to rush over. ❤️】** The man in the picture, the “super-dad,” was my husband, Julian. I glanced at the text he’d sent me just ten minutes earlier: **【Something came up at the office. Don’t wait up for me and Mia.】** I liked her post. Then I called my divorce lawyer. *** 1 Julian didn’t get home until two in the morning. The harsh glare of the headlights cut through the bedroom window, and I instinctively shielded Mia’s eyes. He leaned against the doorframe, his voice a low rumble. “Hey, I’m home. Wake Mia up, I’ll celebrate her birthday with her now.” I used to be obsessed with these family rituals. Birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, even kindergarten events—I’d always insist Julian be there. I didn’t want Mia to grow up like I did, seeing her father mostly through a phone screen. But now… I straightened the comforter, my voice flat. “Don’t bother.” A flicker of annoyance crossed Julian’s face. “Chloe, I was just putting Leo to sleep. Don’t get the wrong idea.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This is why I can’t be honest with you. You’re always so suspicious.” I wasn’t getting the wrong idea. And I wouldn’t be suspicious anymore. “If that’s all, you should go to your own room. Don’t wake Mia. She has school tomorrow.” He let out a cold laugh. “Whatever. Just don’t come crying to me later, saying I’m missing out on Mia’s childhood.” I turned and switched off the lamp, gently patting the back of my daughter, who had started to stir. Missing out? I didn’t care anymore. After all, Mia’s birthday wish this year was: “I don’t want to see Daddy anymore.” The next morning, after breakfast, Julian didn’t leave for work right away like he usually did. He sat on the couch, watching the morning news. Just as I was getting Mia’s backpack ready, he stood up, grabbed his keys, and walked over, ruffling her hair. “Daddy’s taking you to school today.” He said it to Mia, but his eyes were locked on me. Two years ago, when Mia first started kindergarten, Julian drove her every single day. But after Amber showed up, he started leaving earlier and earlier, claiming his morning meetings at the office had been moved up. I’d believed him. Until three months ago, when Mia switched schools. I was waiting at the gate and saw him. The man who was supposed to be in a board meeting was leaning over, unbuckling a little boy from the back seat of his car. It wasn’t that he didn’t have time to take his daughter to school. He just had someone more important to take. We had a massive fight that night. The next day, Mia stopped asking for him to take her. Even though I’d already decided on the divorce, he was still her father. I thought for a moment and didn’t say no. A small, triumphant smile touched the corner of his lips as he scooped Mia into his arms. But when he opened the car door, I froze. The back seat was cluttered with stuff. A Spider-Man water bottle, a wooden toy bow-and-arrow set, a woman’s cashmere scarf draped over the headrest… And tucked into the back of the passenger seat was a small, framed “family photo.” Julian saw where I was looking. His expression tightened. “Amber just stuck that there. She said it makes Leo happy,” he said defensively. “Don’t start a fight over something so small.” The old me would have shattered the frame, would have screamed and cried, demanding to know what Mia and I meant to him. But now, I just nodded. “It’s a nice picture.” He stared at me, a strange look in his eyes. “You’re not mad?” Mad? Maybe I should have been. But I felt nothing. A complete, hollow calm. In fact, it was almost funny. Did Julian, always so sharp and perceptive in business, really not see through such a clumsy, transparent power play? Or maybe he just didn’t care. “We should get going,” I said softly. “Mia’s going to be late.” His lips thinned into a hard line as he got into the driver’s seat. Just as I was about to buckle Mia in, his phone rang. The ringtone was a child’s voice, custom-recorded. *“Daddy, Daddy, it’s a call for you! It’s for my best Daddy!”* A little boy’s frantic sobs came through the speaker. “Daddy! Daddy, where did you go? Are you leaving me and Mommy?” Julian ended the call without even a glance in our direction and started the car. “Leo’s having a meltdown. I’ll have the driver take you guys today.” The black Maybach sped away, leaving us in a cloud of exhaust. I worried about Mia and knelt down to face her. “Honey, Daddy had an emergency. Next time he’s free, we’ll all go to school together, okay?” Mia looked at me, her small face etched with an unnerving maturity. “Daddy’s never going to be free, Mom. His time belongs to Leo and his mom now.” *** 2 That evening, Julian called. “Chloe, I’m going to be late. Leo’s running a fever…” “Okay.” My quick agreement seemed to catch him off guard, his excuses dying in his throat. He must have thought I was giving him the silent treatment, because his tone sharpened with irritation. “Chloe, don’t be like this.” Then he hung up. Ten minutes later, a series of texts came through. 【OMG Chloe, I’m so sorry. Leo has been so clingy with his dad lately.】 【But seriously, Julian shouldn’t have just ditched you and Mia the second I called. That was not cool of him.】 【I’ll be sure to give him a talking-to. Don’t be mad, okay? 😉】 It was Amber. Less of an apology, more of a declaration of victory. I had no energy to fight her over a man I no longer wanted. I deleted the texts and blocked her number. A moment later, Julian called again, his voice tight with anger. “What the hell is your problem, Chloe? Amber reaches out to apologize and you give her that attitude?” I could faintly hear a woman and child crying in the background. I said nothing. After a long, tense silence, his voice dropped, heavy with disappointment. “Chloe… how did you become this person?” he said. “I’m so disappointed in you.” It was always the same. Amber would provoke me, and the moment she shed a tear, Julian would paint me as the villain. When I got home, I started packing. While Julian was on the phone lecturing me, I’d been on the phone with my lawyer. I was entitled to at least 30% of his company’s shares. And in custody cases where both parents have similar means, the court typically favors the mother. My last hesitation vanished. Clothes, handbags, jewelry, Mia’s favorite toys—all of it needed to go. As I taped up the last box, my hands trembled. I found myself staring at an old, dust-covered wooden chest, its wax seal cracked with age. Inside was a lifetime of letters—from the Julian who was 17, all the way to 22. I broke the seal and picked up the one on top. It began: 【To my Chloe, age 27. This is me, Julian, age 17.】 【This is the first love letter I’ve ever written you. As we planned, we’ll open this together in ten years.】 【I bet we’re married by now. Maybe we even have a beautiful kid.】 My phone buzzed. It was the 27-year-old Julian. “Chloe! Did you know Amber took Leo and left? They’re gone!” he roared into the phone. “If anything happens to them, I swear to God, you’ll pay for it.” My eyes drifted to the bottom of the letter I was holding. 【Signed, Julian. Who will love his Chloe forever.】 A sharp pain, like a shard of glass, pierced my chest. Something inside me quietly shattered. I hung up the phone and tossed the entire box of letters into the fireplace. *** 3 Julian didn’t come home that night. I didn’t blow up his phone with frantic calls like I used to, crying and promising I wouldn’t give Amber a hard time anymore. Mia never asked where her daddy was. The only thing she did was quietly take a framed photo of her and Julian from the living room and hide it in her suitcase while I was packing. We were in a cold war. It lasted a week, until Mia’s kindergarten needed a permission slip signed for a field trip, which required a parent’s digital signature on the school portal. I tried calling Julian, only to find he’d blocked my number. Left with no choice, I drove to his office. I wasn’t waiting long before a familiar figure breezed past the reception desk and straight into Julian’s office. The assistant pouring me a glass of water looked embarrassed. “Mrs. Vance… Mr. Vance gave instructions that Amber can go into his office anytime.” That “privilege” was, ironically, my fault. Back when I used to bring Julian lunch every day, we’d eat and talk for an hour. One time, Amber came by to see him and the assistant at the time stopped her. When Julian walked me out, he found Amber and her son shivering in the lobby, their lips blue from the cold. It was the first time Julian ever truly lost his temper with me. He yelled that my daily lunch deliveries were a waste of his time. The assistant who had stopped Amber was fired on the spot. From that day on, everyone in the company knew. Amber was the one who held his heart. I never came back to the office again. I gave the new assistant a small, polite smile and walked toward the office. Julian was in a meeting. He looked surprised to see me. “What are you doing here?” Amber was perched on the armrest of his leather chair, their bodies so close they were almost touching. He followed my gaze and cleared his throat. “Chloe, don’t misunderstand. Amber just happens to know a few things about this project, so…” I nodded, not caring, and held out my tablet. “Mia’s permission slip for her field trip needs your signature.” “You came all the way down here just for that?” “What else?” I replied. The atmosphere in the room grew heavy. I didn’t know why, but based on years of experience, I knew he was in a foul mood. Amber scoffed. “What kind of signature is so important? Julian, she’s just looking for an excuse to make up with you. You’ve been staying at my place for days. You should probably go home and see Mia.” The tension in Julian’s shoulders eased. He tossed the tablet onto the coffee table, a cruel, mocking smile playing on his lips. “So now you’re using our daughter as an excuse, Chloe? Apologize to Amber. Otherwise, I’m not signing anything.” Before, those words would have enraged me. I would have been furious that he cared so little for his own daughter, and even more furious that he was using her to placate his mistress. But now, I wasn’t angry at anyone. I just thought about how disappointed Mia would be if she couldn’t go on the trip. I looked at Julian, then at Amber, still sitting possessively on the arm of his chair. Without another word, I turned and walked out. I’d just tell the school Mia didn’t have a father. I’d only taken a few steps when a crisp, clear male voice stopped me. “Ms. Tang, if you don’t mind, I’d be happy to sign for you.” It was one of the men from the meeting in Julian’s office. He stepped out into the hallway. “After all,” he added with a hint of irony, “I feel like I’ve been watching your family drama for a while now.” I finally got a good look at him. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit that screamed power, with sharp, intelligent eyes and a commanding presence. He looked like he owned half the city. I handed him the tablet without hesitation. The authorization went through instantly. On the screen, a bold, elegant signature appeared: **Ethan Cole.** *** 4 The divorce papers were drafted. I unilaterally ended our cold war and told Julian he needed to come home that night to sign them. When I went to pick Mia up from school, his Maybach was already idling in the pickup lane. The window rolled down, revealing Amber in the passenger seat, a smug smile on her face. “Well, hello, Chloe. Picking up your daughter?” she said, her eyes raking over my outfit. “This is a pretty exclusive academy, you know. Is that a coat from last season? Aren’t you worried the other kids will make fun of her?” I ignored her and moved a little further down the sidewalk. Amber turned to Julian, her face a mask of faux concern. “Julian, did I say something wrong again? I think Chloe’s mad at me.” But for once, Julian didn’t answer her. He was staring at my thin coat, his voice stiff. “Chloe, it’s windy out. Get in the car.” I moved even further away. I don’t know when it happened, but we had become strangers. So much so that even a simple expression of concern sounded forced and hollow. As the kids started filing out, a scuffle broke out in the line. I squinted and my heart dropped. One of them was Mia. I ran over and pulled them apart. The other child was Leo. The moment he saw me, he froze for a second, then threw himself on the ground and started wailing. “Waaah! The mean lady hit me! It hurts, it hurts!” Julian and Amber rushed over. Amber scooped her son into her arms, glaring at me. “Chloe, I know you don’t like me, but you can’t take it out on a child! They were just playing. Did you have to get so aggressive?” Julian stared at me with disapproval, completely forgetting that Mia was his actual daughter. The teacher on duty hurried over, looking flustered. “Mrs. Vance, Amber… the children saw Mr. Vance’s car, and they both started insisting he was their daddy. It… escalated.” The pickup line was now crowded with other parents, all of them watching. “What’s going on? Two kids fighting over a dad? Is that the wife and the other woman?” “That guy looks loaded. Maybe the other kid’s just a gold digger, making it up, and got caught by the real daughter.” “Wow, teaching your kid to lie about their dad at that age? What kind of parents are they?” Leo was still screaming, his arms wrapped tightly around Julian’s neck, crying, “Daddy, Daddy!” And Mia… Mia just stood there, clutching my hand, her eyes fixed on Julian, not blinking. The other kids started chiming in. “Mister, who’s your real kid? You gotta tell us! The one who’s lying has to say sorry!” Julian opened his mouth. “I’m Mia’s—” Just then, Amber gave his sleeve a tiny, desperate tug. Her eyes were pleading. In that single instant, I knew. He was wavering. Just like all the other times, the countless times before. All it took was one look from Amber, and Mia and I became his second choice. I gritted my teeth, my voice like ice. “Julian, think very carefully about your answer. What you say right now will affect Mia for the rest of her life.” His body went rigid. His gaze dropped, his expression unreadable. Then, in a voice that was quiet but clear enough for everyone to hear, he said: “I’m Leo’s father.” He looked down at my daughter, at our Mia. “I think you’re mistaken, little girl.” My heart seized. It felt like a sledgehammer had slammed into my chest, the pain so sharp it stole my breath. *That’s our daughter.* The crowd of parents started murmuring, their judgment now aimed squarely at Mia. “So the little girl was lying. And she hit their son, too.” “What a brat. She got caught and won’t even apologize.” “She’s just jealous. Wants a rich dad for herself.” “Look at her mom. She doesn’t look like the classy type, either. Probably put her up to it, hoping to snag a rich guy.” “Julian, you soulless…” Before I could finish, I felt a sharp pain in my palm. Mia was squeezing my hand, her grip astonishingly strong for a five-year-old. She bit her lower lip, and the light in her eyes just… went out. “Mommy,” she whispered. “It’s okay. Let it go.” Then, she turned, her movements wooden, and bowed stiffly to the man who was her father. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said, her voice small and empty. “I made a mistake. I thought you were someone else.”

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On the day the holiday bonuses were announced, I was crucified on Mercy General’s internal employee forum by the deceptively sweet new intern. The post claimed that as the head of cardiothoracic surgery—the hospital’s “top scalpel”—I was greedy for taking a $100,000 bonus all for myself. What they didn’t know was that the hundred grand wasn’t a simple holiday bonus. It was the annual performance dividend for every high-risk, life-or-death procedure performed at this hospital—procedures that only I was qualified to execute. But context didn’t matter. The entire hospital was calling my integrity into question, accusing me of being shamelessly avaricious. So, I decided to give the people what they wanted. I submitted a formal request to the administration: [To foster departmental unity, I voluntarily request that all my scheduled high-complexity surgical cases be reassigned to other qualified physicians.] When the notice went out, the hospital practically ground to a halt. The senior department heads mobbed the entrance to my office, begging me to take it back. … I had just stepped out of a grueling twelve-hour aortic dissection repair when my assistant, Jenna, handed me her phone. Pinned to the top of the hospital forum was a trending post: [Let’s talk about Dr. Evelyn Reed from Cardio. A $100,000 bonus? Isn’t that a little… shameless?] The author was anonymous, but the avatar was a fluffy pink bunny. I recognized it instantly. It was Chloe, the new intern. The post was simple: a screenshot of the bonus distribution list, my name and the figure “$100,000.00” clearly visible, though other details were blurred. The caption dripped with passive aggression: [‘Tis the season of giving! I thought we might get some candy canes or something, but Mercy General decided to make it rain. Except, Dr. Reed alone walked away with a hundred grand, while the rest of us nurses and junior docs are killing ourselves for a few hundred bucks. Lol, I guess poverty really does limit your imagination.] She conveniently failed to mention that this “bonus” was the annual payout for all “Tier-4” surgical procedures. And in the entire cardiothoracic department—no, in the entire hospital—the only surgeon capable of independently performing ultra-complex Tier-4 operations like Type-A aortic dissections or giant ventricular aneurysm resections was me. The comment section was a dumpster fire. [A hundred grand?! Why doesn’t she just rob a bank?] [We in the ER work like dogs every single day, and my entire yearly bonus isn’t even a fraction of hers. How is that fair?] [They call her the hospital’s top scalpel. Looks like she’s the top earner, too.] I scrolled through the venom, my face a blank mask. The life I had just spent half a day saving suddenly felt a little less precious. Back in my office, the atmosphere was thick with tension. I could feel the change in the way people looked at me. A group of nurses who usually chattered away fell silent the moment I walked in, scattering with poorly concealed expressions of disdain and envy. My mentor, Dr. Harrison, the head of the department, called me into his office. He sighed, the sound heavy with fatigue. “Evelyn. How do you plan on handling this?” “Sir, you know it’s not a holiday bonus.” He nodded, then shook his head. “I know. But they don’t. And you can’t silence a mob.” I understood his unspoken suggestion: I should give some of the money back, take a step down to appease the masses. Just as I was about to respond, there was a knock on the door. Dr. Mark Carter, the associate chief of surgery, walked in, with Chloe trailing behind him. Mark was a few years my senior and always carried himself as if he were my long-suffering superior, despite the fact that I consistently outperformed him in the OR. The sour stench of his jealousy was palpable whenever I won another award. He immediately adopted the air of a mediator. “Dr. Harrison, Dr. Reed. Chloe here is young and acted foolishly. I brought her to apologize.” He gave her a little nudge forward. Chloe’s eyes were red-rimmed. She bowed stiffly, her voice thick with fake tears. “Dr. Reed, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I just… I saw the number and I was so shocked. It felt unfair, and I wanted to ask on behalf of everyone. I didn’t have any malicious intent.” “On behalf of everyone.” “Didn’t mean to.” Her apology was sharper than a winter wind. Mark smoothly picked up the thread. “Evelyn, you see? Chloe was just thinking about department morale. And really, this isn’t all her fault. The bonus structure is a bit problematic; it’s bound to cause misunderstandings.” He looked at me, a glint of triumph in his eyes. “How about this? You take a portion of the money, treat the whole department to a nice dinner, and we’ll build some goodwill. We’ll let this whole thing blow over. She’s just a kid, after all. We should be the bigger people here.” The way he said it made it sound like I had taken money that wasn’t mine and now needed to buy my way back into everyone’s good graces. I watched their perfectly choreographed performance and let out a cold laugh. “You’re right, Dr. Carter. My perspective was too narrow. I was so focused on the surgeries that I didn’t consider everyone else’s feelings.” Mark’s smile widened, thinking I was capitulating. Chloe lowered her head, her shoulders shaking slightly in a display of contrived remorse. I ignored them and turned to Dr. Harrison. “Sir, the root of this problem is that my skillset has created a monopoly. I’m taking up too many resources, leaving no room for my colleagues to grow.” “To promote unity, and to give excellent mid-career physicians like Dr. Carter more opportunities, I’ve decided to submit a formal request to the administration.” I paused, watching the blood drain from Mark’s face, and enunciated each word with perfect clarity. “I am voluntarily relinquishing my privileges for all Tier-4 surgical procedures. I will transfer the entire caseload to other qualified surgeons in this department. From now on, I will only perform routine Tier-1 and Tier-2 operations.” Dr. Harrison shot to his feet, his face pale with shock. “Evelyn! Are you insane?!” Mark Carter looked like he’d seen a ghost. He had probably imagined a thousand ways to undermine me, but he never dreamed I would take the crown jewel everyone coveted and hurl it—throne and all—directly at him. Tier-4 surgery represented the pinnacle of the profession. It also carried the highest risk. Succeed, and you were showered with prestige and money. Fail, and you faced lawsuits and the end of your career. He had the gall to be envious, but did he have the skill to take the reins? I didn’t give him a chance to process it. As I walked out of the office, I paused beside Chloe. “Congratulations,” I whispered. “You got everyone the fairness they were asking for.” Her face went completely white. My request hit the hospital’s leadership like a bomb. The hospital president himself called me, his tone graver than I’d ever heard it. “Evelyn, who are you trying to punish with this stunt? Do you have any idea what this request means?” “Mr. President, I’m not punishing anyone,” I replied, my voice calm. “I am simply responding to the will of the staff. I don’t want to be the cause of any more division over bonus pay.” There was a long silence on the other end of the line. He knew better than anyone that the most advanced operating rooms and equipment in the cardiothoracic wing were essentially reserved for me. He knew how many high-profile patients—politicians, CEOs, complex cases from around the country—specifically requested me by name, generating millions in revenue and prestige for the hospital. And now I was walking away. He, the president, was the first one who couldn’t afford that. “Just calm down. I’ll hold onto your request for now. I’ll have our IT department take care of the forum.” “That won’t be necessary, sir,” I interrupted. “If my presence here undermines fairness, then I will step back. I’m confident the hospital will function perfectly well without me.” I hung up. A few minutes later, Jenna burst into my office, her eyes wide with panic. “Dr. Reed, it’s bad. The forum is exploding again!” I pulled it up. A new post had shot to the top. [Insider Info! Dr. Reed is threatening to go on strike over bonus dispute!] The poster was anonymous again, but the tone was far more inflammatory. [She’s holding the entire hospital hostage just because she’s good at her job. Is this a physician’s compassion, or a physician’s greed? The ego on this woman is unbelievable.] A comment right below it, heavily upvoted, was from an account I recognized as one of Mark Carter’s burners. [I’ve always heard she was difficult, but I never imagined she lacked this much perspective. The operating room isn’t her personal stage. The world keeps spinning without her.] Chloe, however, went all in, posting under her real name with a paragraph of carefully crafted, fire-stoking “objectivity.” [As an intern, I’ve seen how tirelessly our senior doctors work for their patients, but I’ve also seen imperfections in the system. I believe our hospital is a compassionate community, and personal feelings should never be placed above a patient’s life. I hope certain individuals can cool down and not do something that will disappoint us all.] She had successfully rebranded herself as a concerned, noble whistleblower. I laughed out loud, the sound bitter and sharp. Just then, my phone rang. It was the ER. The head nurse’s voice was a frantic blur. “Dr. Reed! A trauma patient just came in, suspected Marfan syndrome with an acute Type-A aortic dissection rupture! He’s in shock! We need you down here now!” A ruptured Type-A dissection. The mortality rate was measured in minutes, not hours. It was the Mount Everest of cardiac surgery. I grabbed my white coat and sprinted out the door. But as I reached the ER triage desk, a middle-aged woman blocked my path. She was the patient’s wife. Her eyes were red and swollen, but her face was a mask of suspicion and distrust. She was clutching her phone, the screen displaying the very forum post that had put me on trial. “You’re Evelyn Reed?” she demanded, her eyes raking over me. “You’re the one who’s going on strike over money?” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it hit me like a sledgehammer. The family’s accusation was a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. The adrenaline, the battle-ready focus I’d been summoning, shattered into a million pieces. I looked at her, then past her to the trauma bay where a man’s life was draining away by the second. The sheer absurdity of the situation was overwhelming. I wanted to explain, but I knew that in the face of manufactured outrage, logic was useless. “I am not on strike.” She didn’t believe me. She took a step back, as if I were a venomous snake. “I don’t care what you are or aren’t doing! I will not let a doctor with no ethics operate on my husband!” she shrieked. “Get me someone else! Surely you have other experts in this hospital?” The ER chief rushed over, his face turning a sickly green when he heard her demand. “Ma’am, please, calm down! Dr. Reed is the only surgeon in this hospital who can perform this operation! If we delay any longer, no one will be able to save him!” “I don’t care! I want a different doctor!” she screamed, her voice cracking. At that moment, Mark and Chloe arrived on the scene. A flicker of satisfaction crossed Mark’s face before he replaced it with a look of deep concern. He approached the woman, his voice a gentle balm. “Ma’am, please, don’t be upset. We understand you’re emotional, but saving your husband is the priority. Dr. Reed’s technical skills are, at least, reliable…” His words, seemingly supportive, only served to validate her belief that my ethics were questionable. Chloe, ever the empath, handed the woman a cup of water. “Ma’am, please try not to worry. Or, perhaps we could ask Dr. Carter? He’s also a brilliant specialist in our department.” That single sentence was all it took. The woman’s eyes lit up with a new, desperate hope. She grabbed Mark’s arm like a drowning person clutching a life raft. “Doctor, you’ll do the surgery! I trust you!” Mark made a show of hesitating. “Well… that’s not exactly protocol. Dr. Reed is the attending surgeon of record…” But his eyes kept darting in my direction, filled with undisguised provocation. The hospital president and Dr. Harrison, having been alerted, came rushing down, looking panicked. The president took one look at the standoff and dragged me aside, his voice a low, pleading whisper. “Evelyn, for God’s sake, a man is dying! Just give in this once. Apologize to the family, smooth things over!” Apologize? For what? For the bonus I earned with my skill? For the scalpel in my hand that could save a man’s life? I looked at the president’s frantic face, at the smug curl of Mark’s lip, at the toxic innocence in Chloe’s eyes. And I suddenly felt so incredibly tired.

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When I left Adrian Schwimmer, everyone thought it was a tragedy. After all, I was the woman who had been by his side the longest, the one with the best chance of marrying him. I had even given him twins, a boy and a girl. The day I told him I was leaving, Adrian was lounging on the sofa, rattling a toy to amuse the babies in their crib. “If you walk out that door, you’ll never see these two little ones again,” he said, his voice casual. “You’d better be sure.” I nodded. “I’m getting married. He doesn’t mind that I’m older, that I’m not a beauty, and he doesn’t care about… you and me. I want to marry him.” The rattling stopped. A long moment passed before a slow, careless smile spread across his face. “Fine,” he said. “Be my guest.” He was so utterly unconcerned. That’s why later, when he systematically destroyed my husband’s company, forced me into a divorce, and stood before me with our children in his arms, begging me to just give him a scrap of affection… I couldn’t believe it was the same man. 1 I was the Schwimmers’ ward, raised from childhood for one purpose: to be Adrian’s wife. As a little girl, I was lovely. But as I grew up, my looks settled into a quiet plainness. Among the parade of stunning models and socialites Adrian dated, I was a clumsy, homely shadow. He didn’t love me. But I had been with him for many years. A fixture. So, he allowed me to carry his children. The twins were doted upon by his parents, the most cherished grandchildren of the Schwimmer dynasty. Everyone whispered that it was only a matter of time, that I was destined to marry Adrian. Until the day I chose to leave. 2 It was a late autumn evening. The villa was bathed in a warm, golden glow, a fortress against the encroaching chill. Adrian was on the plush sofa, a silver rattle in his hand, teasing the infants in their cradle. I placed a platter of sliced fruit on the coffee table in front of him. And then I told him I wanted to go. “If you walk out that door, you’ll never see these two little ones again,” he said, his tone light. “You’d better be sure.” “I am.” I twisted my fingers together. “I’m getting married. He doesn’t mind my age, or that I’m not beautiful, or… my history with you. I want to build a life with him.” The motion of his hand froze. A beat of silence, then a lazy, almost amused smile touched his lips. “Fine. If you’ve made up your mind, then go. Whatever you want.” He was the picture of nonchalance. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Men of his stature often possess a terrifying possessiveness. The women they mark as their own, loved or not, are rarely allowed to leave. Thankfully, Adrian wasn’t like that. I dried my damp hands on my apron. He had already turned back to the twins, the rattle dancing in his hand again. “Mommy doesn’t want you anymore,” he cooed in a singsong voice, dripping with mock pity. The babies’ startled cries erupted, filling the room with piercing wails. My body went rigid. I turned and fled. 3 When the news got out, a procession of people came to reason with me. Adrian’s mother flew back from Europe. She held my hands, her voice a soft, persuasive melody. “You have his children, Kate. You have a lifetime of history together. Who could possibly compare to that? These women he sees now… they’re just pretty faces. They don’t have a fraction of the connection you share. The title of Mrs. Schwimmer has always been meant for you. You’ve waited a decade, my dear. Why give up now?” I kept my head down, silent. I had heard these words, or variations of them, a thousand times. From the day I turned eighteen, through my pregnancy, and after the twins’ first birthday. Adrian’s girlfriends came and went like seasons, yet the “inevitable” wedding I was waiting for remained a distant, ever-receding horizon. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Schwimmer,” I said, my voice quiet but firm, finally looking up to meet her gaze. “I’m done waiting.” I pulled a vibrant, crimson-colored envelope from my purse. An invitation. “I’m getting married next month. I hope you can be there. As my mother.” Her lips trembled, but she took it, sighing. She had brought me from the orphanage, raising me as her own. She was the only mother I had ever known. “Of course, I’ll be there. But please, think about it one more time. Adrian cares for you, truly. He just… has a terrible way of showing it.” She continued to sing his praises until her throat was dry. She reached for her tea, but the invitation was snatched from her hand. 4 Adrian had just returned, a gust of winter air clinging to his overcoat, his cheeks flushed with cold. He flipped open the invitation with a condescending grace. A low chuckle escaped him as he examined the cardstock—cheap, with rough edges. “Has your taste really fallen this far?” he murmured, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Even if you weren’t with me, you didn’t have to throw yourself away on the first man who’d have you.” “It wasn’t like that,” I whispered, clutching the hem of my dress. “He was my friend at the orphanage. He’s brilliant and he’s so good to me. He just doesn’t have money right now… but I know he’ll do great things.” A dismissive smile played on his lips. With a sharp, deliberate motion, he tore the invitation in two. CRACK. “Adrian!” his mother gasped, a mixture of shock and anger in her voice. “What are you doing?” He ignored her, his gaze fixed on me. “If you’re leaving, you leave with nothing. The jewelry, the clothes, the penthouse my mother gave you last year, the shares… you leave it all behind. If you’re so eager to struggle with another man, you won’t do it carrying a single shadow of the Schwimmer family. Understand?” I had expected this. I nodded. “I know.” “And if I recall correctly,” he drawled, his eyes slowly raking over my body, “the dress you’re wearing… I bought that for you too.” He gestured lazily toward the front door. “Take it off. And get out.” 5 The blood drained from my face. Mrs. Schwimmer shot to her feet, ready to argue, but she withered under the icy glare Adrian shot her. A butler appeared, respectfully but firmly escorting her from the room. Her lips trembled as she looked back at me, her eyes filled with apology. She had no real power over him, not anymore. “Don’t you dare go too far, Adrian,” was all she could manage to say as she was led away. Adrian only smirked. He leaned back against the sofa, spreading his legs in a posture of complete dominance. “Well?” he taunted. “Why aren’t you undressing? Weren’t you so determined to leave? What’s the hesitation? Second thoughts? Missing the money already? Or is it me you can’t bear to leave?” His voice dripped with condescending poison. “If you want to stay, just say the word. No one’s forcing you out—” His words caught in his throat. Because, with tears blurring my vision and my hands trembling uncontrollably, I had risen to my feet and begun to unbutton my dress. Piece by piece, the clothes fell to the floor, pooling around my bare feet. His expression hardened, turning darker with every item I shed. His eyes burned as they scanned my body, and then he let out a harsh, guttural laugh. “You have some nerve!” The mask of indifference was gone. He was furious. With a roar of rage, he swept the tea set from the table, shattering porcelain against the marble floor. He strode toward me, snatched a cashmere throw from the back of the sofa, and roughly wrapped it around my trembling body. He pointed a shaking finger toward the door. “Get out!” he bellowed. 6 Snow was falling outside, thick and silent. The wind howled, a mournful cry that cut through the air. I sat on the top step of the porch, the thin blanket the only thing covering my naked skin. My teeth chattered violently. I was waiting for the man I was going to marry to come and get me. The lights were on in Adrian’s second-floor study. Through the sheer curtains, I could see his tall, imposing silhouette. He was standing at the window, watching me. Unmoving. I could almost imagine the faint glow of a cigarette between his fingers. The cold was seeping into my bones, a deep, numbing ache that made my blood feel like slush. I closed my eyes and curled into a tighter ball, refusing to show any weakness. I knew what he was doing. He was waiting for me to break, to come crawling back and beg for forgiveness. His earlier indifference was a facade. The reality of my departure had finally sunk in, and his pride was stinging from the perceived betrayal—the audacity of his possession wanting to leave. This was his act of mercy. A chance for me to repent. All I had to do was turn around. A low rumble cut through the silence as tires crunched on the gravel driveway. A battered black van pulled up to the gates, its paint peeling, one of its taillights dark. It was as out of place in this neighborhood of pristine luxury as a weed in a rose garden. The driver’s door flew open and a man scrambled out, his face etched with panic. When he saw me, his eyes reddened instantly, shimmering with unshed tears of pure anguish. “Kate!” He rushed forward and swept me into his arms. A hot tear fell from his cheek and landed on my chest, a stark contrast to the freezing air. “I’m here,” he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here to take you home. We’re going home.” 7 His name was Leo. We had known each other as children in the orphanage. Honestly, I had forgotten him completely. Until a few months ago, when he found me. He told me I was the white moonlight of his life, the one pure and beautiful memory he had held onto. He said he would do anything for me. Anything. I let the word echo in my mind, and a bitter smile touched my lips. “Then can you marry me?” His arms, which were supporting me, went stiff. He stared at me, first with stunned confusion, then with an explosion of radiant joy. “Really? I can marry you? Is something this good actually happening to me?” I watched him, my expression unreadable. After so many years with Adrian, I was an expert in deceit and ulterior motives. But looking into Leo’s eyes—so clear, so bright—I could find no trace of falsehood. It was all genuine, heartfelt emotion. But… genuine affection? Was I even worthy of something like that? A woman used and discarded by Adrian Schwimmer, a woman who had debased herself for a life of comfort, who bore his children without ever earning the dignity of his name—I was little more than a high-class prostitute. The thought almost made me laugh out loud. “Are you sure you want to marry me?” I pressed. He nodded without hesitation. “Then go and die.” The words were pure malice, designed to wound and drive him away. I expected him to recoil in anger, to leave me there in the snow. Instead, his eyes widened in disbelief. “Do I… do I have to die to marry you? But then you’d be a widow. Can we not do that? I’m very healthy! I can even help you change lightbulbs!” I was speechless. I learned later that Leo had been adopted by a wonderful couple. He grew up surrounded by love and warmth, a life that was the complete inverse of my own. It had nurtured in him a personality that was a little naive, a little silly, but fundamentally good. When he said he wanted to marry me, he meant it. From the moment I’d said yes, he had been meticulously planning our small wedding. 8 Leo tried to lift me and carry me to his van. He’d barely taken two steps before a wall of men in black suits surrounded us. The Schwimmer family security—all former special forces, built like brick walls, their faces grim and imposing. The head butler, Mr. Henderson, bowed respectfully. “Miss Kate,” he said, his voice polite but firm. “Mr. Schwimmer has instructed me to inform you that if you wish to leave, you must first repay the family for the expenses incurred in your upbringing and care over the years.” He paused. “The total comes to twenty million dollars.” I poked my head out from the blanket. My body was so numb with cold that even a figure that astronomical failed to register as anything more than a distant sound. I glanced back at the second-floor window. Adrian’s silhouette stood there, a dark and powerful presence looking down on the scene below. The aura of oppressive control radiated from him even from that distance. “He really is a heartless bastard,” I murmured. Mr. Henderson’s expression softened with pity. “Miss Kate, if you would just apologize to the master… this would all go away. You know you hold a special place with him.” “Special? What’s so special about being treated with the same ruthless cruelty as everyone else?” I let out a low, humorless laugh. I snuggled deeper into Leo’s embrace, my bare arms wrapping around his neck. “Leo,” I whispered, my voice trembling theatrically, “what do we do? That’s so much money. I’m so scared.” His arms tightened around me, and he gently patted my back. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice a comforting rumble against my ear. “I’m here.” He was nervous; I could feel the tension in his body. His family was comfortable, but a sum like that was beyond his wildest imagination. Yet, he didn’t flinch. He didn’t even consider letting me go. He held me closer, took a deep breath, and looked the butler in the eye. “We will pay what is owed,” he said, his voice surprisingly steady. “But you can’t just name a price. We’ll need an itemized list, proof of these expenses.” The butler’s smile never wavered. “Of course. The documentation will be prepared shortly. In the meantime, to prevent Miss Kate from catching a chill, perhaps you would both care to wait inside?” He made a graceful gesture toward the villa. Leo, who had just graduated college and was used to being polite, instinctively started to comply. “Don’t,” I whispered, tapping his arm. I stopped him, then tilted my head back, my eyes finding the shadowy figure in the window. I smiled, a cold, sharp thing. “Mr. Henderson,” I said, my voice carrying clearly in the cold air, “please be so kind as to inform your master that if he does not let me leave today, I will smash my head on these gates until I am dead. And he knows I am a woman of my word.” 9 The butler was gone for a long time. So long that I started to drift off, lulled by the warmth of Leo’s body. He held me without complaint, though I could tell his arms were tiring. He dipped his head, his forehead gently brushing the tip of my nose before he straightened up again, a faint blush on his cheeks. “Kate,” he murmured, “you smell so nice…” A slow, deliberate clapping sound echoed from the villa’s entrance. The sharp click of leather shoes on marble followed. I looked up. Adrian stood there, leaning against the doorframe, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit. He watched us with a lazy, mocking expression. “All this drama,” he sneered, “just to marry yourself off to someone so… pathetic?” I closed my eyes, refusing to look at him. “Please, Adrian. Just let it go. You have no shortage of women. I’m begging you…” “I was willing to let it go,” he said, his voice turning dangerously smooth. “But there is the matter of the Schwimmer family code. I’m sure you remember it. For those who break a vow to the family… the punishment is thirty lashes. Do you recall?” He looked at me, a glimmer of triumph in his eyes. “The rules are the rules. My hands are tied. Endure the thirty lashes, and I will not stop you again.” For a moment, my mind went blank. I knew the Schwimmers were an old family, bound by archaic traditions and vows. But Adrian was the head of the family now. His word was law. The entire clan depended on his favor. If he chose to ignore a rule, no one would dare question him. He was doing this purely to torture me. The silence that followed his words was absolute, broken only by the howling wind. Mr. Henderson looked at me, then at Adrian, a deep sigh escaping him. “Miss Kate, please, just apologize to him. The master was already making preparations for your wed—” “Silence!” Adrian’s voice was like a whip crack. He cut the butler off, his sharp, fox-like eyes boring into me. Seeing no sign of surrender, he turned his cold gaze back to Henderson. “Open the family hall.” 10 The Schwimmer family’s private hall was a vast, solemn chamber lined with portraits of ancestors, their stern eyes following your every move. It was cold and imposing. I knelt on the freezing marble floor, dressed in clothes borrowed from a maid, a sharp pain already shooting through my knees. The family rules dictated that all members be present to witness a punishment. The room was filled with faces—some I recognized, some I didn’t. Many of them had always resented me, and now their eyes shone with unconcealed glee. “I knew it. I knew Adrian never truly cared for her. So what if she had his children? She’s still just trash.” “It’s a pity, really. Once the mother has been disciplined by the family, her children can never be considered for inheritance.” “Thirty lashes… Will she even survive?” The whispers swirled around me, a cloud of naked, undisguised malice settling on my shoulders. I remembered a time, long ago, when I had witnessed a punishment here. I had clung to Adrian’s sleeve, terrified, and asked if I would ever have to kneel here like that. He had stroked my hair, his smile gentle. “Silly girl. You’re mine. Who would dare touch you? I’ll always protect you. Don’t be afraid.” Now, the man who had promised to protect me was wiping dust from a long, leather whip with a silk handkerchief. He was going to administer the punishment himself. I closed my eyes, my body trembling. The click of his shoes approached. The tip of the whip tapped my shoulder lightly. He didn’t look at me, but at the portraits of his ancestors. “It’s not too late to change your mind,” he said, his voice echoing in the cavernous room. A bitter smile formed on my lips. “There’s no turning back for me, Adrian.” “Isn’t there?” He leaned down, his face close to mine. His thumb gently wiped a tear from the corner of my eye. “With me by your side, you could set the world on fire and no one would dare question you. Come back. I will marry you. You will be the matriarch of this family. All these people who mock you now will grovel at your feet. Think about it, Kate. Don’t be stubborn.” For a man as proud as Adrian, a man accustomed to being worshiped, these words were the closest he would ever come to pleading. His dark eyes were fixed on me, his intention perfectly clear. He was waiting for me to take his hand. One word, and my future would be paved with gold and glory. I looked up, meeting his intense gaze, my fingertips tingling with a strange, exhilarating thrill. And I heard myself say, “I can’t, Adrian. I’ve fallen in love with him. I’ll marry him or no one.”

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Everyone in the city of Crestfall knew that Asher Howard lived and breathed for me. At a high-profile auction, he’d dropped a fortune on a pair of matching, priceless rings, just for us. For my eighteenth birthday, he rented out an entire private island. This was the man who adored me. And yet, when my sister was bullied to death, he did nothing. Worse, he protected the one who did it. I knelt before him, tears streaming down my face, begging him to get justice for my sister. He gently wiped my tears away, his voice a soft caress. “Elara,” he murmured, “I would give you the world. But this… this one thing I cannot do.” “Aria is my sister. I can’t be the one to send her to her ruin.” 1 Asher’s voice was a velvet whisper, but his words were a dagger to my heart. He held out a legal settlement. “Be a good girl and sign this. I’ll make sure your family is well compensated.” “Elara, you know I spoil you. Just this once, please? For me?” I took the document, my eyes scanning the cold, printed words. My voice trembled as I read them aloud. “Following an investigation, the death of Sienna Moore has been ruled as natural causes. Aria Howard is considered an innocent party. The plaintiff agrees to this settlement, absolving her of all wrongdoing. The defendant agrees to pay the plaintiff twenty million dollars in compensation. Both parties consider the matter resolved.” “Well?” Asher asked, his tone expectant. My hand shook, and a tear splashed onto the page, blurring the ink. I looked up at him, my voice raw. “Asher, are you even human? My sister was bullied to death by Aria. How can you call that ‘natural causes’?” He reached out, his thumb brushing away a tear on my cheek. “Elara, Aria is only sixteen. She’s just a child.” “She didn’t know what she was doing. Can’t you find it in your heart to give her a second chance?” Sixteen. What a pathetic excuse. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “And wasn’t my sister sixteen? Who’s going to give her a second chance? You think saying ‘she didn’t know what she was doing’ erases what she did?” “Elara!” His eyes flashed with a warning. I knew that look. It was the one that always made me back down. But not this time. Not with Sienna. I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand. “So, you’re not going to help me. Is that it?” “I would do anything else for you, Elara. You know that. But not this.” His voice hardened. “And twenty million is more than enough to cover your sister’s entire life. Even if she had lived, graduated, gone to college, gotten a job… even if she made a hundred thousand a year, she would never have earned this much. It’s the same thing, Elara.” “What did you say?” My heart stopped. I stared at the man in front of me, a complete stranger. Was this the same man who cherished me, who would move mountains to see me smile? I stood there, frozen, letting the tears fall unchecked. A chill crept over me, deep and unsettling. Asher’s expression softened again, his voice dropping to a coaxing purr. “Come on, Elara, don’t be difficult. Once this is all over, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll get you something special. Okay?” A sob caught in my throat. “And what about my sister? She adored you. She used to follow you around, calling you ‘big brother.’ Is this how you repay her?” The pain in my chest was so intense I could barely breathe. “I’m devastated about Sienna’s passing too,” he said, his voice laced with false sympathy. “But we can’t bring her back. There’s no need to ruin another life. Aria is young. She can’t have this stain on her record. Elara, please try to understand.” Ruin another life? A bleak emptiness spread through me. “If you won’t help me, I’ll find a lawyer myself.” I turned to leave, but he grabbed my arm, his grip like iron. His face was cold. “Elara, are you sure you want to do this?” “Yes.” My voice was unwavering. “I can guarantee,” he said, his tone dropping to a deadly whisper, “that if you walk out that door, not a single law firm in this city will touch your case. You know I don’t make idle threats.” My breath hitched. I ignored him and walked out. 2 He was right. For days, I went from one law firm to another, covering every corner of Crestfall. No one would take my case. The moment they saw me, their faces would close up, their doors would shut. “Miss Moore, please, don’t put me in this position. Mr. Howard gave specific orders.” “You should try somewhere else, Miss Moore.” “Miss Moore…” I sat on a park bench, the file of evidence for my sister’s case heavy in my lap. I pulled out my phone, and a new social media post popped up. It was from Aria. The caption read: [My brother’s sending me abroad! Yay! ~] Below it was a selfie of her posing with a new Chanel bag. A moment later, a “like” appeared on the post. From Asher. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone. Blood rushed to my head, and the image of my sister’s broken body flashed in my mind. Aria had pushed her from the fifth-floor window of their school. The coroner’s report detailed multiple injuries sustained before the fall. Just hours before she died, Sienna had texted me, promising to bring me a cupcake after school. By the time I got there, her body was gone. Under pressure from Asher, the school claimed the security cameras were broken. Aria had looked at me with smug triumph. “So what if my brother spoils you? When it comes to my future versus your sister’s life, there’s no comparison.” Rage coursing through my veins, I decided to go to the most prestigious law firm in the city. They were powerful. Surely, they wouldn’t bow to Asher’s influence. I went to the bank and withdrew every penny I had—a million dollars in cash. I walked into the law firm, ignored the receptionist’s protests, and dumped the entire bag of money on her desk. “I need to file a lawsuit. Is a million dollars enough?” The receptionist recognized me and fell silent. A moment later, a partner came out. “Miss Moore, I’m afraid we can’t…” “If a million isn’t enough, then take this.” I ripped off my emerald earrings—the ones Asher had bought for ten million at that auction—and threw them on top of the cash. That had to be enough. The partner just shook his head. “Please, Miss Moore, you’re making this very difficult.” “Still not enough?” I tore the diamond necklace from my neck and the bracelet from my wrist, thrusting them at him. “How about now?” “I… I can’t accept these,” he stammered. Suddenly, his eyes flickered to something over my shoulder. “Mr. Howard. Miss Howard.” My heart plummeted. I turned around. It was Asher and Aria. Aria smirked at me, a look of pure victory on her face. The memory of my sister’s death choked me. Asher strode forward, his brow furrowed, and grabbed my arm. “Elara, are you trying to give away my gifts?” he demanded. I wrenched my arm free. “Yes. Do you want them back?” “You…” He looked furious, but then seemed to collect himself. He pulled me into his arms. “Elara, stop this tantrum. I told you, no one will help you without my permission. Why can’t you just be reasonable? Sign the settlement, and all of this will be over.” “I even brought Aria here to apologize to you.” He pushed Aria in front of me. She bowed her head, her expression a mask of perfect contrition. “Elara, I’m so, so sorry. I never meant for it to happen. Sienna and I were just playing around, I didn’t think…” She went on and on, then leaned in close, grabbing my hand. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “You should have seen the look on her face when I made her drink toilet water. That little bitch. She kept crying for her big sister while I was hitting her. You really are a good sister, aren’t you, Elara?” 3 Her eyes were dancing with amusement, locked on mine. A demon whispering in my ear. The horrific images of Sienna’s last moments played on a loop in my head, tearing me apart. “Enough! Stop talking!” I shoved her away and slapped her hard across the face, twice. “Elara, what are you doing?!” Asher lunged forward and yanked me back. I lost my balance and fell, my head cracking against a large ceramic planter by the door. A starburst of pain exploded behind my eyes. The world spun. I staggered to my feet, leaning against the wall for support. Aria was already nestled in Asher’s arms, her face a mask of terror. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Brother, I’m so scared. I don’t know what happened, Elara just attacked me.” Seeing her performance, a fresh wave of hatred burned through me. I lunged for her, but Asher threw me aside again. I landed in a heap on the floor. “Elara,” he said, his voice dangerously low, “sign the settlement and apologize to Aria. I won’t ask again.” A cold, bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Asher, are you insane? She provoked me! Is a human life really worth less than Aria’s reputation?” “I told you, you will be compensated,” he said, his voice like ice. The man who had once promised to love me forever was a stranger. Aria peeked out from behind Asher’s shoulder, a triumphant smirk on her face, as if to say, See? Compared to me, you’re nothing. Rage and grief intertwined in my heart. I clenched my fists. “You want me to sign that settlement? In your dreams.” I pushed myself to my feet and looked past him, directly at Aria. “Murder is murder,” I said, my voice ringing with conviction. “You can’t hide it. Even if no one in this city will take my case, I won’t give up.” If I couldn’t find a lawyer in Crestfall, I’d go somewhere else. There had to be someone in this world who wasn’t afraid of Asher Howard. “Elara, are you sure you want to do this?” His eyes were cold with warning. I met his gaze without flinching. “I will never stop fighting for my sister.” “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He took Aria’s hand and left. A few minutes later, the law firm threw me out. I knew Asher’s threats were never empty. I just didn’t expect him to move so quickly. The story of my sister’s death was suddenly all over the internet. But it was a twisted version. She was painted as a home-wrecker, a teenage seductress who had been chased down at school and pushed to her death by a scorned wife. They posted her photo, alongside doctored images of her with strange men, checking into hotels. The internet exploded. The comments were a torrent of hate. “So the victim wasn’t so innocent after all. Figures.” “Wow, only sixteen and already stealing husbands. What kind of family raises a girl like that?” “A bitch like that deserved to die. You mess with someone’s family, you pay the price.” “I hate homewreckers more than anything. Good riddance!” 4 In the court of public opinion, my sister had gone from victim to villain. Her photo was turned into cruel memes, spreading like wildfire. Then, I got a text from Aria. [See how powerful my brother is? Get over here and beg for my forgiveness, and maybe I’ll call off the dogs.] [Or else.] A moment later, a video came through. It was a picture of my sister’s funeral portrait, with the word WHORE scrawled across it in red, being scattered like confetti on a busy street. An icy rage consumed me. I ran. When I got to the location from the video, a swarm of reporters surrounded me. “Are you the sister of the girl who was killed for having an affair? What’s your take on your sister’s death?” “Is it true that no lawyer in the city will represent you?” “They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Do you agree?” They pushed and shoved, their cameras flashing in my face. Over their heads, I saw Aria on a second-floor balcony, watching with a smug smile. This was a trap. I tried to push my way through the crowd to get to her, but someone blocked my path. A large, furious woman marched up to me and slapped me across the face. Before I could react, she grabbed a handful of my hair. “You bitch! So you’re the one who’s been sleeping with my husband!” I was stunned. “What husband? I don’t—” “Don’t you dare lie to me, you whore!” Another slap. My head was spinning. The crowd grew larger, phones held high, recording everything. “No wonder the sister was a homewrecker. It runs in the family.” “A whole family of sluts. Are they that desperate for men?” “I can’t stand women who break up homes. Her sister got what she deserved, and now it’s her turn!” The woman yanked my hair, the pain searing. I tried to speak, to defend myself, but the crowd surged forward. “Let’s get her! It’s our civic duty to punish a homewrecker!” I was pushed to the ground. Fists and feet rained down on me. I instinctively curled into a ball, covering my stomach. “Stop,” I gasped. “Please, I’m pregnant. Don’t kick my stomach.” That only seemed to fuel their rage. “What? You got pregnant with another woman’s husband?” “We can’t let that little bastard be born!” “Get her!” A heavy boot slammed into my abdomen. A wave of agonizing pain washed over me. I felt a warm gush of liquid, and a pool of blood began to spread beneath me. I clutched my stomach, the pain unbearable. But they didn’t stop. They kept kicking, over and over. Through the forest of legs, I saw him. Asher, walking away, flanked by bodyguards, with Aria by his side. I tried to push through the mob, to crawl toward them.

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