Category: English

The night my nemesis, Angelica Monroe, made her grand return to New York, Wyatt Hayes—heir to half of Manhattan, it seemed—materialized at JFK. The society pages practically exploded. Before the ink was dry, rumors of their rekindled romance were the headline on every gossip blog. For the next two weeks, my social media feed was a minefield of their shared existence. Paparazzi shots of them slipping into the same exclusive Soho high-rise.“Sources close to the couple” spilling saccharine details of their reunion. Then, a photo I’d tried to forget resurfaced: me, presenting Wyatt with a birthday cake last year. It became the internet’s favorite punchline. “All those years Nina Parker spent chasing after Wyatt, and it took Angelica one day to get him back.” “Honestly, they should just get married already. Then maybe these desperate wannabes would stop buzzing around him like flies.” Angelica posted a picture to her private Instagram, a calculated leak of two hands clasped together, captioned with sickeningly sweet text: “We took the long way, but I’m so glad we found our way back to each other.” To make it easier for the star-crossed lovers, I packed my bags, left a signed divorce agreement on the bed, and walked away. The result? A complete and utter meltdown from the man in question. A voicemail, choked with something that sounded suspiciously like a sob, accused me, “When other guys get dragged through the mud online, their wives have their backs. You just leave. How could you be so cruel?” 1. My flight back from a business trip landed at the same time as Angelica’s triumphant return from Europe. Years apart had done nothing to dim her shine. She was still effortlessly incandescent, the kind of woman who becomes the gravitational center of any room she enters. The news of her split with Wyatt before she left had been the talk of the town. Now that she was back, every reporter with a pulse was scrambling for the scoop. A swarm of them surrounded her, a cacophony of questions and flashing cameras choking the exit. I pulled my mask up higher, sinking into the collar of my coat, and tried to slip past unnoticed. The last thing I needed was for her to recognize me. We’d been rivals since kindergarten, a constant, petty war of attrition waged over grades, friends, and social standing. But all our childhood squabbles paled in comparison to the one truly staggering fact: her first love was now my husband. A year after she left the country, Wyatt and I got married. This is the third year of our secret marriage. I overheard two journalists who hadn’t managed to break through the scrum, whispering excitedly beside me. “I got a shot of Wyatt Hayes’s car. That’s the real story.” “What’s he doing at the airport this late?” “What do you think? He hasn’t seriously dated anyone since Angelica. The queen is back; the king has to show up and kiss the ring, right?” My fingers, wrapped around the handle of my suitcase, went numb with cold. My flight was supposed to be tomorrow morning. Wyatt had changed it. “We have a family thing tomorrow,” he’d said. “Come back tonight.” He told me he was busy, that he’d sent his assistant to pick me up. “Are you sure it was him? It’s dark out.” “A license plate like that? In this city? My eyes might be shot, but my ten-thousand-dollar camera lens isn’t. Just wait. Tomorrow’s headlines are going to be epic.” The assistant, driving a nondescript black sedan, greeted me with a respectful, “Mrs. Hayes.” But his eyes wouldn’t quite meet mine, and I could practically smell the guilt rolling off him. “Is Wyatt still working?” “Yes… but Mr. Hayes said he’ll be home to see you tonight…” It was one in the morning. Wyatt Hayes didn’t work late. Ever. The subtext was loud and clear: He’ll be home eventually. Don’t ask where he’s been. 2. When Wyatt and I got married, we kept it quiet. Outside of our parents and a few close friends, no one knew. My mother complained about it privately. “The Hayes family is wonderful, yes, but to have my daughter marry in secret after I’ve raised her for twenty-something years… It just doesn’t sit right with me.” But this was the man I’d been in love with for more than a decade. No one knew the electric shock of joy that went through me when I heard he and Angelica had broken up. And no one could possibly understand how my heart hammered against my ribs when his father, drunk at a dinner party, started playing armchair matchmaker. For me, all the pomp and circumstance in the world couldn’t compare to the moment Wyatt nodded his assent. The secret marriage was my idea. The night before we went to City Hall, I found him with a friend who was teasing him. “The second news of this wedding gets out, Angelica’s going to be on the first flight back to New York.” Wyatt was lighting a cigarette and didn’t answer. When he saw me walk in, he just smiled, as if nothing had happened, and wrapped an arm around my waist. I met the friend’s shocked gaze as I gently plucked the cigarette from between Wyatt’s lips. “Let’s not announce our marriage to anyone,” I said. “I have no interest in being the catalyst for someone else’s drama.” From the very first day, I was honest with him about everything, except for the small fact that I’d loved him for most of my life. I told him flat-out that I couldn’t stand Angelica. I told him I was in this to build a real life with him. “I can accept that it will take time for you to get to know me, to maybe even grow to love me,” I’d said, my voice steadier than I felt. “But I cannot accept being with you if your heart is still with someone else. If you can’t do that, we should end this now, before it begins.” I remember he laughed, a low, soft sound. Then he dipped his head and his mouth found mine in a deep, possessive kiss. Just like now. He understood exactly what I was saying. He turned to his friend, a lazy grin playing on his lips. “You hear that? Watch what you say next time.” The next day, he made sure every detail was locked down. The city clerk came to our apartment to officiate. So, no, I couldn’t blame the internet for their speculation. But seeing that photo—the one of his car at JFK—still felt like a punch to the gut. The reporter claimed to have been in the car right next to his. I zoomed in on the image, and through the dark, tinted window, I could have sworn I saw the silhouette of his profile. Below it was a clip of Angelica’s airport interview. Someone had asked, feigning innocence, “It’s so late, Miss Monroe. Do you have someone special picking you up?” A blush bloomed across her perfect face. She answered with a coy little smile, “That’s a secret.” There’s nothing more dangerous than a half-answer and a well-timed coincidence. Together, they plant a seed of doubt that grows, twisting your thoughts down paths you can’t control. In that moment, I forgot the fierce, desperate way he’d made love to me when he got home, pressing his forehead to mine and murmuring that I was cruel for leaving him all alone. All I could remember was that he didn’t get home until three in the morning. I remembered the faint, sweet scent of roses clinging to his clothes. And I remembered how the gossip, which had been the top headline when I woke up, was scrubbed from the internet within half an hour, the search terms completely blocked. And his quiet phone call to his assistant, when he thought I was still asleep. “Get every mention of it taken down. If any of this gets out, it’ll be bad for her.” For her. Not for us. 3. Throughout the entire family dinner, Wyatt acted completely normal. I hated myself for it, but I just sat there, quiet. The old me would have thrown down my fork and started a fight right then and there. Back then, I thought I could stick to my principles: no matter how much you love a man, you always put yourself first. Now, I found I couldn’t even bring myself to ask the question. I was terrified he’d say yes. That’s when the humiliation would truly become unbearable. Wyatt was the first to finish. He stood, put on his jacket, said a quick goodbye to his parents, and then turned to me. “I’ve already spoken to the driver. He’ll take you home in a bit. I have something this afternoon.” He used to tell me where he was going. He never would have left me alone at a family event. He’d never said the words “I love you” outright, but for three years, his actions had screamed them. He was attentive, thoughtful to a fault. He remembered every anniversary, never let a word I said fall on deaf ears, and was so attuned to my moods he could preemptively avoid anything that might upset me. He had a wonderful temper, gently absorbing all my rough edges and bad habits. When I made a mistake, he never got angry. He’d just smile, smooth back my hair, and patiently show me the right way. So I believed he loved me. No one could be that patient, that tender, with someone they didn’t love. But I’d forgotten one crucial, fatal detail. Wyatt Hayes was a good person to his core. He was good to everyone. I just happened to have the title of “wife,” which meant he was simply better to me. I didn’t know it then, but that absurd thought, one I would have scoffed at just weeks ago, would soon wrap around me like a venomous snake. From that day on, Wyatt was always out early and back late. The only constant was the good morning kiss he’d demand before he left, a ritual he never skipped. I tried to use these “habits” of his to soothe the growing anxiety in my chest, but every day was a battle, oscillating between the urge to confront him and the need to stay silent. Sleep became a distant memory. One night, I tossed and turned so much I woke him. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, his lips warm against my neck. “Is it that time of the month? Is that why you can’t sleep? Does it help if I hold you?” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. Tears immediately pricked my eyes. I had always told myself I would never become one of those women, clinging and emotional, letting unfounded suspicions drive me crazy. But this was different. This was a real sense of crisis, the very feeling I used to look down on with such disdain. My mind was a slideshow of the “relationship details” Angelica had made sure I’d see, of the genuine affection I’d witnessed between them years ago. And the undeniable fact that she was the one who had ended things… “Wyatt…” “When you get back from your trip, let’s talk.” I fought to keep my voice even. I had to talk to him, openly. Whether he went to the airport or not, whatever his reasons were, I just needed an answer that would silence the storm of doubt in my head. He was so tired his eyes could barely stay open. He just nuzzled his head against mine and mumbled, “Mmm.” But we never got the chance to have that calm, rational conversation. 4. Wyatt had a five-day business trip. His flight was early, but he made a point of waking me up just to tie his tie. “You seem a little down lately. Is everything okay? When I get this deal closed, I’ll take you somewhere, just the two of us.” He was always like this—so attuned to my every emotion, always ready to give me the best of everything within his power. It was how he’d slowly dismantled my defenses, making me love him more, making me need him more, with each passing day. I didn’t want to start something right before he left. I shook my head and used work as an excuse, cutting off any further questions. For a split second, I even allowed myself to wonder if I was just imagining it all. That afternoon, an anonymous account posted on a gossip forum. No text, no commentary. Just two pictures, time-stamped, showing Wyatt and Angelica entering the same luxury apartment building in Soho, one after the other, late at night. The comments section exploded. Congratulations and shock in equal measure. “Oh my god, I knew they’d get back together!” “Didn’t she dump him? And he waited all these years? He’s willing to forgive that?” “You don’t get it. True love conquers all, duh.” Of course, there were a few skeptics. “These two pictures don’t really prove anything…” The original poster replied to only that one comment: “I have more. Just wait.” I saw the post late at night. A few minutes later, it was gone. I don’t know how to describe the feeling. I felt like a dying fish on a scorching sidewalk, my body wracked with shivers. For the next several days, the anonymous account posted new photos at the same time every night. Different outfits, same building, same pattern of entering one after the other. Then, as if on cue, a self-proclaimed “friend” of Angelica’s posted a screenshot of a vague, yet pointed, Instagram story: “So glad we found our way back to each other. ” I would recognize that profile picture anywhere. It had been rotting in my block list for years. Angelica and I had fought countless times, but I had never gone so far as to block her completely. That had happened years ago, the day she sent me a picture of Wyatt kissing her on the cheek, with a taunting message: “He’s not so hard to get, is he? To think you’ve been hung up on him for so long.” “If you put half the energy you spend fighting with me into chasing guys, you might not be so alone.” “Then again… even if you gave it your all with Wyatt, he’d still choose me. Hahaha.” “Nina, you’ll always be second best. Always.” For the first time, I didn’t fight back. I just stared at that picture, over and over, a pain like a physical blade twisting in my chest. The person I had cherished for more than a decade was, to someone else, just a game. What hurt even more was her willingness to use her sweet moments with him as a weapon to crush me. So, just as she’d predicted, I retreated like a defeated soldier. I deleted their numbers, blocked their accounts, and avoided any party or event where I might run into them. I never imagined that, years later, the same tactics would be used against me again, this time with a single, fatal blow that felt like a thousand arrows piercing my heart. 5. I hadn’t slept in days. I had no appetite, no energy for work. Every day, I stared at my phone, a self-destructive ritual of waiting for them to drop the next “big story.” I tried to invent a million other possibilities, clinging to any shred of hope, but when Angelica’s interview was released, that hope turned to ash. As the country’s youngest rising star in jewelry design, and with her family name and the gossip swirling around her, it wasn’t hard for her to find a spotlight. “Angelica, we’ve been hearing whispers of some good news lately. We all think you and he are a perfect match. Will you let us in on it when the time is right?” “I really didn’t expect to be photographed,” she’d said, a picture of demure surprise. “He’s always been very private about his personal life. As long as we’re happy behind the scenes, that’s what matters. But of course, if there’s any real news, you’ll be the first to know!” Her friend chimed in on the gossip forum right on schedule: “They’ve been through so much. He’s so devoted. The night she flew back, he waited at the airport for her until two in the morning. And he’s spent the last few weeks running around, helping her get settled in her new place. He’s been so incredibly attentive. True love can’t be broken.” My mind went numb. A dull, throbbing pain started in my chest, a suffocating weight pressing down on me. So all those days he was leaving early and coming home late, all those nights my calls went straight to voicemail… he was with Angelica? I thought back to my birthday last year. Because I’d mentioned wanting to see the ocean, he’d rented out an entire private island. He spent a fortune on a drone light show to celebrate. For three days and two nights, we were tangled together, the sound of the waves a constant backdrop to our lovemaking. He’d told me then, “Nina, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” In all my twenty-something years, I had never felt a moment of happiness so pure. A lifetime, he’d said. How could I reconcile that with this? How could I just let it go? I leaned against the wall and sobbed, a raw, wrenching sound that tore through my body until I was numb. My imagination ran wild, each thought a sharpened blade, flaying me alive, piece by piece. I couldn’t breathe. My hands fumbled through the medicine box on the nightstand, searching for something, anything, to calm the frantic beating of my heart. But before I could find it, the world went black, and I collapsed. I woke up in the hospital. It was five in the morning. The woman who cooks for us had found me and brought me here. The doctor said the extreme emotional distress had triggered a somatic symptom disorder. Our housekeeper, murmuring prayers of thanks, said she was going to call Wyatt to let him know I was okay. I reached out and stopped her. When I opened my phone, I saw a message from a friend: “What the hell is wrong with people online? Why don’t you just ask Wyatt what’s going on? You’ve been married for three years, and they’re still trying to pair him up with a girlfriend on the internet!” She’d sent a screenshot of the thread where my birthday picture had been posted. “I thought this was the real one? Their parents have known each other for decades.” “LMAO, I know her. Go ask her at work tomorrow if you want. That Nina Parker has been drooling over Wyatt for ages. Has he ever once acknowledged her? Look at how long Angelica has been back. He’s tripping over himself for her. He wants this.” “I agree. The handsome guy and the beautiful girl should just get married already. It would save us from all these flies trying to bother them!” I didn’t reply. I just waited quietly for the IV drip to finish. I didn’t want to think anymore. I was disgusted with the person I’d become. It was five in the afternoon when I got home. Wyatt was already back. He didn’t know I’d been in the hospital. He’d sent me a text when he got home: “Why aren’t you picking up your phone? Are you swamped with work?” “I’m heading home to get some rest. I’ll have the driver pick you up this afternoon.” He was fast asleep, clutching my pillow, so exhausted he was snoring lightly. My eyes fell on his briefcase. A file was sticking out. I pulled it out. A purchase agreement for a condo. In the exact same building he’d been photographed at. Everything clicked into place. Holding my breath, I quietly packed my things. I never thought it would end like this. After leaving the divorce papers on his nightstand, I finally broke down in the elevator, my sobs echoing in the small, silent space.

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My lease was up after three years, and my landlord refused to renew. I was scrambling to find a new place, which is a nightmare in this city. My best friend, Maya, saw the apartment listing online and was furious on my behalf. “This landlord is a total psycho,” she grumbled, scrolling through the pictures on her phone. “You offered to pay more, and you’ve kept the place spotless. Why is he so desperate to rent to someone else?” Impulsively, she stabbed the “call” button on the listing, planning to mess with him a little. But when the call connected, we both froze. The voice that answered was my boyfriend’s. 1 Maya had him on speaker. A familiar “Hello?” came through the phone. The voice was quiet, but it hit me like a lightning bolt. It was my boyfriend, Leo. I couldn’t believe it. I reached out to stop Maya, but my hand hovered uselessly over the screen. We just stared at each other, stunned. “Hello?” he said again, a little louder this time. Maya recovered first. Clearing her throat, she pinched her nose to disguise her voice. “Hi, are you the landlord for apartment 1204 at The Goldcrest?” “Yes, I am.” She shot me a look, then continued, “I saw your listing online, and I—” “Sorry,” he cut her off, “the apartment’s already taken. Someone put down a deposit.” He hung up. Maya shot up from the couch and threw her phone onto the cushions. “Holy crap! The apartment you’ve been renting for three years… the landlord is Leo?” she exclaimed. “This is like something out of a bad movie!” 2 The shock started to wear off, replaced by a cold, sinking feeling. I opened my utility app and pulled up the account for my apartment. Under “Account Holder,” it read: L. Hayes. Next, I called the building management office and asked for the owner’s name for my unit, pretending I needed it for a renter’s insurance claim. “The owner is Leo Hayes,” the woman on the phone confirmed cheerfully. I slumped onto the floor, the strength draining out of me. I leaned against the side of the bed, motionless. When I first signed the lease, the landlord had to reschedule at the last minute. I had a conflict and couldn’t make the new time, so Leo offered to go and sign the paperwork for me. I never once saw the owner’s information. Later, when I saw the name on the utility bill, I’d even joked with him about how common his name was. Looking back, I felt like the world’s biggest idiot. He was collecting rent from me, his girlfriend, for an apartment he owned. He was using me to pay his mortgage, while also crashing at “my” place whenever he wanted. It was a flawless setup, and I had been completely clueless. Maya’s words cut right to the bone. “That’s some next-level scheming. He’s got you paying off his mortgage, and he gets to live there for free. Girl, you’re not his girlfriend, you’re his sugar mama.” 3 My phone buzzed. It was a text from Leo, sent ten minutes ago. [Hey, I’m off work. On my way to pick you up so we can go apartment hunting.] He’d been telling me for weeks that he was about to be sent on a work trip for the better part of a month. He was worried I wouldn’t have time to find a place and move before he left. He kept pushing me to find something quickly so he wouldn’t have to “worry about me” while he was gone. It wasn’t concern. He was just in a hurry to get me out so he could get his next tenant in. A hot wave of anger washed over me. I almost called him right then and there to confront him. But Maya stopped me, a frown on her face. “Doesn’t this seem weird to you?” she asked. “You offered to pay more rent, and he still said no. Why do you think that is?” The answer hit me like a punch to the gut. He already had a new tenant lined up. And he was about to break up with me. The rental listing wasn’t for just anyone. It was for her. The girl he was cheating on me with. 4 In Leo’s car, I took Maya’s advice and tried to act normal, like nothing had happened. “You know,” I said casually, “I heard the apartment across the hall from me just went up for rent. Maybe I should just take that one. It would save me the trouble of moving everything.” I watched his face closely. I didn’t miss the flicker of panic in his eyes. “But you’ve always complained about the noise in that building,” he said, trying to sound reasonable. “This is a great chance to find a quieter place.” A sarcastic smile touched my lips. “I’ve lived there for three years. I’m used to the kids upstairs running around. It’s like a white noise machine at this point. I’d probably have trouble sleeping without it.” He chuckled, but it sounded forced. “What are you, a masochist? Don’t get attached to a bad situation. Come on, let’s find you a better place. It’s so loud, I swear the mom upstairs is always screaming at her kids whenever we’re trying to have a moment. It’s not exactly a mood-setter.” His words were like poison, every syllable a lie. I dug my fingernails into my palms, trying to keep my composure. 5 Leo and I met in college. He pursued me for a year before I finally agreed to go out with him our sophomore year. He was a local; I was from a small town a thousand miles away. I’d always assumed we’d break up after graduation. But then I landed an internship at a top ad agency right here in the city. It was a dream opportunity. I told him the good news, and he was ecstatic. “That’s amazing!” he’d said. “You can stay here! We don’t have to break up!” He helped me search for an apartment. Since he knew the city, I trusted his judgment. He was the one who sent me the link to the apartment I ended up renting. To be honest, I wasn’t thrilled with it when the realtor showed it to us. The walls were paper-thin. You could hear every stomp and crash from the family upstairs. I told Leo I thought we should keep looking, but he was unusually insistent. With all the other places we’d seen, he’d been the picky one, finding fault with the lighting, the amenities, the security. But this place, despite the obvious flaw, he loved. He argued that for the location and the price, it was the best we’d find. “If it weren’t for the noise,” he’d said, “the rent would be way higher.” At the time, it made sense. I was on a tight budget, and it really was a good deal. So, I took it. Looking back, I finally understood why he was so determined for me to live in that specific apartment. 6 The real estate agent showing us apartments today was the same woman from three years ago, a friendly, middle-aged local who owned her own small agency. After three hours of looking, I hadn’t liked a single place. No matter how much Leo tried to sell me on them, I found something wrong with each one. He was starting to get frustrated. “What exactly are you looking for?” he asked, his patience wearing thin. “Your lease is up in a week.” “If I can’t find anything, I’ll just crash with Maya for a while,” I said calmly. “I’m not in a rush. I want to find a place I actually like.” He frowned. “But we’ve seen all the suitable listings this agency has.” “Then we’ll find another agency,” I said with a shrug. Leo’s jaw tightened. “The agent has spent all afternoon with us. You can’t just ghost her now. That’s not right.” The agent quickly jumped in. “It’s no problem at all! We have plenty of other options. We’ll take our time. The right place will come along.” I looked at her then, really looked at her, and then back at Leo. A strange thought popped into my head. They looked alike. They had the same eyes. 7 The next day, I was sitting in a coffee shop waiting for Maya when I noticed a striking, long-haired girl at the table next to me. She was on the phone with a real estate agent, scheduling a time to sign a lease. After she hung up, she stood to leave and collided with Maya, who was rushing in with a coffee in each hand. The girl’s white dress was now covered in latte. Maya’s phone clattered to the floor, the screen shattering. I rushed over to help Maya apologize. The girl was surprisingly gracious and didn’t make a fuss. I insisted on getting her Venmo to pay for the dry cleaning. Back at our table, while I was sending the money, I casually said to Maya, “Why were you in such a hurry? You wrecked your phone.” As I opened the Venmo app, a little red dot appeared on my Instagram icon. A new story. I tapped on it instinctively. It was the girl from the coffee shop. [Found my new place! Ready for some sweet cohabitation adventures ~] The location tag was unmistakable: The Goldcrest. My building. Just then, Maya’s voice, loud and sharp, broke through my daze. “Oh my god! You are not going to believe what I found out!” she exclaimed. “That real estate agent? She’s Leo’s mom!” “This whole family is running a goddamn romance scam on you!” 8 After our apartment hunting trip, that crazy thought about the agent wouldn’t leave me alone. To check it out, I’d asked Maya’s mom to pay a visit to the real estate agency. Maya’s family was also local, and her mom could talk the ear off a statue. She could get a stranger’s life story in five minutes flat. Maya chugged a glass of iced tea, not even pausing for breath. “So, my mom went in pretending to be a buyer,” she reported. “She and the agent hit it off, started calling each other ‘sis.’ The agent even pulled out her phone and showed my mom pictures of her son. I showed my mom a picture of you and Leo, and she said, yup, that’s him. The agent’s son is Leo.” I’d been with Leo for five years, and I’d never met his parents. He told me they were business owners who lived out of state, in Arizona. He said they rarely came back, and he always flew out there for the holidays. And he did disappear for a few days every Christmas, always returning with some turquoise jewelry or a bag of local coffee for me. I never had a reason to doubt him. How many of his stories were lies? On a sweltering summer day, a chill ran down my spine. 9 “So then,” Maya continued, “my mom starts gushing about what a catch her son is and asks if he has a girlfriend, saying she has a niece who would be perfect for him. My mom is a master bullshitter. She invented a whole fake niece on the spot, from a super-rich family, and you could see the agent’s eyes light up.” Maya rolled her eyes. “And guess what she said? She said her son has a great job, owns his own place, drives a nice car, makes six figures, and has a great personality. The only thing missing is a girlfriend.” I laughed, a bitter sound. “Owns a place and a car, sure. Six figures is a stretch.” “Totally! Six figures my ass. He wishes.” He’d bought a used BMW his second year of work. The apartment was a small one-bedroom in a mid-rise building. He was a software developer at a mid-sized tech company. His salary was nowhere near “six figures.” His mom was really puffing him up to land a rich girl. 10 “So basically,” Maya said, her voice full of indignation, “you’ve been with him for five years, and his mom doesn’t even think you’re good enough for him. No wonder you’ve never met her.” My parents owned a small dermatology clinic in my hometown. It was a comfortable life, but nothing fancy. Leo must have told his mom about my family, and she’d written me off as not good enough. Leo was never serious about me. He was just keeping me around until something better came along. And instead of just breaking up with me, he and his mother were using me to pay his mortgage. And now, they were about to do the same thing to the next girl. 11 My phone vibrated, pulling me out of my thoughts. It was the girl from the coffee shop, accepting my Venmo payment. A second later, another message came through. [Hey, I saw your Instagram story. Small world! I’m the next tenant for your apartment!] I was stunned. I typed back quickly. [That’s crazy! When did you see the place?] [Last Sunday. The agent let me in. She said you were at work.] My lease wasn’t up for another week. He hadn’t even bothered to tell me he was showing the apartment. He just waited for me to be gone. He really couldn’t wait to get me out. She asked me a few questions about the apartment. [Can I ask you something privately? I loved the place, but is the noise from upstairs really bad?] I told her the truth about the thin walls. [Yeah, that’s what I was worried about,] she replied. [But my boyfriend really loves the location. It’s super close to his work. So I decided to take it.] I asked the million-dollar question. [Does your boyfriend work at the tech company nearby?] She confirmed it. I then asked her, trying to sound casual, if the agent who showed her the apartment was Leo’s mom. The answer she sent back was exactly what I expected. I didn’t need to ask anything else. I knew. Leo was her boyfriend. He and his mom were running the same scam all over again. 12 “Hello? Earth to Jane?” Maya said, waving a hand in front of my face. “What are you staring at? Did you hear a word I said?” I held up my phone and let her read the messages. Her eyes grew wider with every line. “No way! That girl from the coffee shop is Leo’s side piece?” she gasped. “And his mom showed her the apartment while you were at work!” I thought about it. “I don’t think she knows about me,” I said. “She seemed totally normal when she saw me. Leo probably told her he was single.” A thought occurred to me, and I quickly typed another message. [Have you signed the lease yet?] [Not yet, I’m signing it tomorrow.] [Don’t sign it!] I typed, my fingers flying. [Why not?] I sent her a picture of me and Leo, smiling together on vacation. Then, I typed out the truth, one word at a time. [Because he’s a liar.]

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The day before my wedding, the car I was in drove through a freak temporal anomaly. Eight hours for me was twenty years for the world. When the police asked if I had any family they could contact, I stared out the window at a billboard featuring my fiancé’s face and shook my head. “No one. My parents are gone. I have no one left.” The moment he pushed open the precinct doors, words scrolled across my vision, like comments on a livestream. 【Luna, hurry up and tell him who you are! Your fiancé is a titan of industry now.】 【The one that got away is back! Kick out that cheap replacement he married, and you’ll be set for life.】 They said he had become one of Crestview’s elite, that in twenty years, he had never forgotten me. I looked at the man before me, a stranger in a tailored suit, and my voice was hollow. “Who are you? I don’t know you.” 1 With bloodshot eyes, Lucas Hart crushed me in an embrace. “Luna, you’re finally back!” I fought my way out of his arms, my voice sharp and final. “Sir, I think you have the wrong person. I don’t know you.” He stood there, clad in a bespoke suit, a ridiculously expensive Rolex glinting on his wrist, his red-rimmed eyes locked on me. Across my vision, the ghostly comments flew by, lamenting the fortune I was so foolishly turning away. But they didn’t know. I’d lived this life before. In my last life, I had thrown myself into his arms in this very police station, weeping with joy. It was a joy that soured into the cruelest of tragedies. Lucas took a step forward, reaching for me again, but I flinched away. The officer beside me moved between us, his posture wary. “Mr. Hart, what exactly is your relationship to this woman?” Lucas’s gaze never left my face, a storm of emotions churning in his eyes before settling into a quiet calm. It was a long moment before he spoke. “Her parents were my mentors. I suppose that makes me something of a big brother to her.” The comments erupted again, insisting he was just easing me into the truth, using the “brother” angle so as not to overwhelm me. I lowered my eyes, a bitter smile touching my lips. I should have known. He wouldn’t acknowledge me as his fiancée. That girl was supposed to be a memory, tucked away and cherished, not a living, breathing complication. The Lucas of today was a wealthy man with a beautiful family. My reappearance was nothing but a problem. Last time, I was blind to this. I believed his love was as unwavering as mine. I’d rushed to reclaim my title as his fiancée, deluding myself into thinking I could take back everything he had built with his wife, Sophia. It was a delusion that led to a gruesome end, with not even a body to bury. So this time, I would play the part of the amnesiac. This time, I would not interfere with his perfect life. After verifying his identity, the police prepared to release me into his care. “I don’t know him,” I insisted, digging my heels in. “I’m not going with him.” He pulled out his wallet and from it, a faded photograph of me with my parents. “Come on, Luna. Your parents left some things for you at my house. Consider it a keepsake.” But I saw it clearly. Tucked into another fold of his wallet was a vibrant, happy photo of a family of three. As he pulled out the old picture, a small, laminated photo slipped out and fluttered to the floor. It was my old student ID. 【Oh my god! He’s kept her picture for twenty years! He’s so in love!】 【I knew it! He only ever loved her! That Sophia is just a stand-in!】 The comments lauded his undying devotion. All I felt was a searing irony. A man with a wife and child—what was the point of pretending to be a tragic, romantic hero? “Luna, if you don’t come with me, you can’t get your records updated. You’ll be a ghost in the system, unable to do anything.” I hesitated, then finally, I followed him. The ride back was suffocatingly quiet. The plush leather of the Rolls-Royce’s back seat felt vast, yet it couldn’t contain the turbulent current flowing between us. After what felt like an eternity, he broke the silence, his voice low. “You really don’t remember anything about me?” “Nothing at all.” I shook my head, meeting his probing gaze with a calm, practiced smile. I wasn’t lying. I truly didn’t know this man. The Lucas I knew was a poor but proud boy, twenty years old, who would blush at a single word from me. Love and jealousy were written plainly on his face. He didn’t have this man’s money or his cunning. A ride on his beat-up bicycle was enough to make his whole day. He would never have wavered between me and another woman. In my past life, this older Lucas had hidden me away in a lavish villa, a dirty secret, torn between his wife and me. In the end, his indecision destroyed us all. I glanced over. He was rubbing his eyes, a habit I remembered. I could see the silver creeping at his temples. I ran a thumb over my bare ring finger. He still hadn’t noticed the ring he gave me was gone. Once I find the person I need to find, I will walk away from him and never look back. 2 Sophia was impeccably preserved, looking barely over thirty. The animosity in her beautiful eyes was sharp and undisguised. Lucas was about to make introductions when his phone rang. He stepped away to take the call, leaving me alone with her in the grand foyer. I tried to force the word ‘Sophia’ out, to greet her as his wife, but the sound was trapped in my throat. She approached me with a bowl of what looked like hot pear cider. “Here, drink this. It’ll soothe your throat.” The moment I reached for it, her wrist tilted. The bowl crashed at my feet. Scalding liquid splashed onto my instep. It was autumn now, but I was still wearing the flimsy summer sandals I’d had on before I got in the car. When Lucas ended his call, he saw a tearful Sophia, a stunned me, and a floor littered with porcelain shards. “Luna, what did you do?!” he roared, his voice cracking like a whip. “Apologize to Sophia, now!” His hand clamped around my wrist, the force of his grip bruising the bone. The comments flared. 【Just you wait, Lucas! When her memory comes back, you’re going to regret this!】 【Maybe he thinks he’s too old for her now? Is that why he’s pushing her away?】 A chill settled deep in my bones. No, that wasn’t it. In the twenty years I was gone, he had fallen in love with someone else. The scales of his heart had long since tipped in favor of the wife and child who had stood by his side. Sophia quickly intervened. “It was nothing, I just lost my grip. Luna, are you alright? Did it burn you?” She retrieved an elegant shopping bag from a nearby closet. “I got you some new clothes. Why don’t you go change?” Lucas took the bag from her, glanced inside, and shoved it back into her arms. “This is the couture gown I had made for you. You can’t just give it to anyone.” His voice was cold. “I’ll get new clothes for Luna.” I kept my head down. “Thank you… brother,” I mumbled. I slipped on a pair of disposable slippers and followed them into the living room. I sat on the sofa, but my eyes were drawn to the room around me, a museum of their life together. In my last life, I was never allowed in this house. 3 Only now did I see the full, crushing weight of their happiness. In their wedding photo, Sophia was radiant, nestled against Lucas. The date in the corner was three years after the day I disappeared. An entire wall was a mosaic of their life, a dense collage of memories documenting two decades. There were photos of them traveling the world, from the Eiffel Tower to the pyramids of Giza. There were photos tracing their son’s growth, from a swaddled infant to a toddler taking his first steps, to the lanky teenager he was now. The steam from the cup of tea they’d placed before me blurred my vision as memories from my past life flooded back. When I first returned, I thought he was still the same Lucas I loved. He had held me, sobbing, telling me over and over how overjoyed he was to have me back. He said his life without me had been an agony, every second a torment. He said Sophia and their son were just a responsibility, a duty to appease his parents. And I believed him. I foolishly thought we could go back. But the one time I secretly went to see Sophia and their son, he flew into a rage. “You’re still such a child,” he’d snarled. “You can’t possibly understand the pressures a forty-year-old man faces.” My eight hours had been his twenty years. His habits had changed, his tastes had changed. I couldn’t keep up with the new world. I didn’t know how to use a smartphone, didn’t understand the new slang he used. I could see the impatience, the annoyance, hidden beneath his weary sighs. That annoyance peaked two years after my return. He suddenly announced he wanted to end things. “Luna, I have a wife and son. The twenty years we lost is a chasm we can never cross.” “I can compensate you,” he’d offered. “A car, a house, money… just name it.” I’d spent the entire night screaming, smashing everything in the house. He just sat on the sofa, chain-smoking until dawn. Neither of us would yield. So I took the fight to his office, to his company, and finally, to the press. Whether it was the weight of public opinion or my relentless campaign, I’ll never know. But one day, Sophia took their son and jumped from the roof of their high-rise apartment. From that day on, Lucas hated me with a passion that burned for thirty years. He never saw me again, instead leaving me to the mercy of his staff, who found creative ways to torment me. Just before he died, he sent a message: “If only we had agreed to just be brother and sister the day you came back.” So, in this life, no matter how the ghostly comments plead my case, I will stick to my story. I have amnesia. This time, I’m not chasing some phantom love. I just want to find my footing in this new world, reclaim what my parents left me, and then disappear from his life forever. Lucas’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “Luna, go apologize to Sophia.” I lifted my head, my gaze bypassing Sophia and landing squarely on him. “Are we… really brother and sister?” The comments scrolled faster. 【Whoa, whoa! Is this it? Is the big reveal coming?】 【She’s going to tell him! I knew she wasn’t an amnesiac!】 【Get ready for the groveling to begin!】 Lucas’s eyes flickered. “Yes,” he said, his voice firm. “We are.” Then, a little softer, “Did you remember something?” 4 I smiled and shook my head. “No. Just asking.” He let out a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh of relief. His fingers tapped a light rhythm on the tabletop. I knew that sound. It was the sound of his relief that I remembered nothing. The front door clicked open, and a young boy with a backpack walked in. “Dad, who is she?” Lucas opened his mouth, but seemed to struggle with how to introduce me. I spoke up first. “I’m your aunt.” The boy, Leo, eyed me suspiciously. “How come I’ve never seen you in any of the pictures?” he mumbled. Dinner was soon served. Sophia urged me to eat more. The table was laden with rich, elaborate dishes, but not a single one was something I liked. I felt a wave of dizziness. I remembered when Lucas and I were starting out, so poor we could barely scrape by. A single fancy meal was a cause for celebration that lasted for days. As I drifted in memory, the doorbell rang. A moment later, Lucas walked back in holding a McDonald’s bag. My eyes instantly flooded with tears. The comments went wild. 【She told him she wanted McDonald’s right before she got in the car!】 【He remembered for twenty years… I’m not crying, you’re crying.】 But in the next second, Leo leaped up and excitedly grabbed the bag from his father. “I knew you’d remember, Dad! It’s Wednesday—our family McDonald’s night!” Wednesday was McDonald’s night. That was my thing with Lucas. Our wedding was set for a Thursday, and the Wednesday before, we were so busy we never got a chance to eat. It was the one thing I kept complaining about. “I’ll get it for you as soon as I get off this thing, I promise,” he had laughed over the phone. “Luna, what’s wrong?” Sophia’s concerned voice cut through the haze. I lowered my head, forcing down a mouthful of rice. My voice was thick. “It’s nothing. I was just… thinking about my parents.” Lucas was gone from dawn till dusk, consumed by work. The household was Sophia’s domain. And she found endless reasons to torment me. One day, the dishes I washed were still greasy. The next, the floor I mopped wasn’t clean enough. Then, the clothes I hung had too many wrinkles and she had to re-iron everything. Before I could even defend myself, she would sigh, her eyes downcast. “It’s my fault, Lucas. I didn’t explain the house rules clearly enough… Oh, never mind. I’ll just go do it all again.” Lucas would only scowl at me and tell me to stop being so childish. Their son, Leo, was even worse. He secretly took photos of me changing and even tried to sell my underwear online. I brought it up once. Lucas’s face darkened instantly. “He’s a teenager, Luna. How can you even think something so vile about him?” Time truly changes a person. In my last life, sleeping next to the forty-year-old Lucas, my love had created a filter, obscuring the truth. I never realized he was no longer the twenty-year-old boy I adored. Ping. A notification on my phone. My official records were finally updated. That night, my phone rang. “City Hall. Ten a.m. tomorrow.” “I’ll be there.” The next morning, I ran into Lucas right outside the building. “Luna? What are you doing here?” I clutched the marriage certificate in my hand, its crisp edges digging into my palm. “Nothing. Just taking a walk.” If he had only asked one more question, he would have known I was there to get married. 5 Sophia’s voice called from the car. “Lucas, darling, hurry up! We’ll be late for work.” With them both gone for the day, I found the safe in Lucas’s study. Inside was the letter my parents had left me, along with the company’s original shareholder agreement. With these, I could take back what was mine. The password was still our anniversary. The first day of spring. The comments were still fawning over his supposed sentimentality. It just made me sick. I was dragging my suitcase down the street when a car careened out of control, heading straight for me. I collapsed in a pool of my own blood. My first instinct was to call Lucas. I dialed his number again and again, until the world went black. He never picked up. When I woke up, Sophia was sitting by my bed. “You’re finally awake, Luna.” Her voice was laced with faux concern. “Lucas and I were so busy with our fertility treatments for a second baby, we didn’t hear the phone.” I stared at her. “A second baby?” “We’re hoping for a girl this time,” she said, smiling sweetly. Her eyes fixed on me, and then, with a flick of her wrist, she smashed the jade bracelet she was wearing against the bedside table. Lucas walked in at that exact moment to the sound of Sophia’s theatrical sobs. “Lucas, darling! Luna… she broke the only thing your mother ever gave me!” He rushed to her side, shielding her with his body. It was the second time he’d fallen for such an obvious, pathetic trap. But this time, Sophia added a new twist. “Lucas, I don’t think she ever lost her memory. If she’s been faking it this whole time, then all of this… it would finally make sense.” His eyes snapped to me, filled with a dawning, terrible suspicion. I met his gaze. “She’s right, Lucas. I never lost my memory.” “And I never did a single thing to Sophia. The pear cider, the bracelet… it was all her.” His face contorted, a storm of shock and betrayal washing over him. His eyes reddened. I stared right back at him, my voice clear and steady. “I never wanted to destroy your family. That was your own self-important fantasy. Did you really think the twenty-year-old me would still be in love with a forty-year-old man?” The veins on the back of his hand stood out in sharp relief. “Stop it, Luna! Don’t say such things! I don’t believe you!” he roared. “If you never lost your memory, how could you be so calm? How could you not… not come running back to me?” The comments exploded. 【No way! Absolutely no way! If she remembered everything, with how much she loved him, she’d never be this cold!】 【I don’t buy it. She’s just saying this to get a reaction out of him, to make him jealous!】 My gaze shifted to the still-sobbing Sophia. I slapped her, hard, across the face. The sound echoed in the sterile room. “I was trying to be civil, but some people just keep shoving their face in for a slap.” “Luna!” Lucas lunged for my wrist. But his hand was caught mid-air, stopped by a grip of iron. A tall man with sharp, intelligent eyes stepped between us, pulling me gently behind him. His gaze on Lucas was like ice. “Allow me to introduce myself,” the man said, his voice a low baritone. “I’m Richard Vance. Luna’s husband. Legally.” I peeked out from behind him, holding up the marriage certificate. “It’s true. We’re legally married. And I have absolutely no interest in you.” “I never lost my memory, Lucas. I just lost interest.”

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The third time the System ordered me to humiliate Liam, the brooding, broke campus legend I had once adored, I hesitated. My voice was a guilty whisper in my own mind. “Do I really have to burn him with the cigarette?” The man kneeling on the floor, surrounded by scattered hundred-dollar bills, inexplicably looked up, his eyes dark and unreadable. The System’s voice was cold steel in my head. Deviation from the script will result in punishment. A chill crawled up my spine. But in the next second, something impossible happened. Liam lunged forward, snatching the smoldering cigarette from between my fingers. With a choked gasp, he pressed it into the back of his own hand. His eyes, blazing with a fierce, restrained disgust, met mine. “Stop the act,” he rasped, his voice raw. I froze. I hadn’t said a word out loud. How did he just play out the scene by himself? 1 The third time the System issued its directive—Humiliate Liam Walsh—I took the wad of cash he’d handed me and flung it into the air. The crisp hundred-dollar bills rained down around us like crimson confetti in the dim light of the club. His face, usually a mask of indifference, tightened for a fraction of a second. His thin lips pressed into a hard line. I curved my own lips into the sneer the script demanded. “Kneel,” I said, my voice dripping with manufactured scorn. “Pick up every last one. Do that, and maybe I’ll consider forgiving the interest you owe me.” It was a perfect, cliché villainess line. We were in Onyx, a place where the city’s elite came to burn through their trust funds. The colored light from the bar glinted off bottles of liquor that cost more than a semester’s tuition. In the velvet-draped booths of this gilded cage, anything could happen. Forcing a scholarship kid to his knees over a little debt? That was so mundane it wouldn’t even earn a second glance from the table next to us. Liam’s shadowed gaze darkened. A flash of anger, there and gone, replaced by that familiar, cold detachment. His obsidian eyes swept over me once, then he slowly, deliberately, knelt. He actually began gathering the scattered bills. A wave of snickering rippled through my friends. “No way, he’s actually doing it. So much for pride. I heard he was some kind of legend at Blackwood University. Doesn’t he have any self-respect?” Someone else scoffed. “Self-respect? Genevieve’s family paid for his scholarship. The guy doesn’t own the shirt on his back. What right does he have to self-respect?” “He really thought because Gen played with him for a couple of months, he could climb his way into the Sinclair fortune. Pathetic.” The people in my circle were all heirs to one fortune or another, but the Sinclair name carried more weight. They orbited me, and seeing me put Liam in his place was just another form of entertainment, another chance to get on my good side. The man on the floor didn’t even look up. His face was lost in the shadows, but I could see the tension in his hand as he gripped the money, his knuckles white. He could take it. Of course he could. This was the man who would one day become a ruthless titan of industry, cold and untouchable. The laughter around me continued. Laugh it up, I thought, a bitter taste in my mouth. You’re all on his hit list. Enjoy the party while it lasts. Oh, right. So was I. I reached for my cigarette, my hand trembling slightly. I tapped the ash into the crystal tray. Tapped it again. And again. Stop it. Stop shaking. On the outside, I was Genevieve Sinclair, the cruel, untouchable heiress. On the inside, I was out of options. I screamed at the System in the privacy of my mind. “Are you absolutely sure he won’t have me murdered the second he gets a chance?” We guarantee your safety upon completion of the plot, it replied, its tone maddeningly serene. “That’s not a no!” 2 The day I found out I was the villain—the “one that got away” who was destined to break him—I had just gotten Liam to finally admit he had feelings for me. Then the System appeared. It informed me that we were characters in a story. I thought I was living a romance novel cliché: the wealthy heiress relentlessly pursuing the brilliant, penniless boy with a wounded soul. It had been love at first sight for me. Liam was sensitive and cold, a fortress who pushed everyone away. He ignored my every attempt at kindness, actively resisted my affection. But I was persistent. For every step he took back, I took ten forward. I knew he was poor, so I secretly had gourmet meals delivered to his dorm. I saw that he had the grades for a top university, so I busted my ass to get into Blackwood with him. He worked three jobs to cover his expenses, so I anonymously paid his tuition and loaded his meal card with funds. I was determined to be the sun that melted his iceberg. But the System told me my role wasn’t the sun. I was the cautionary tale. The beautiful, cruel memory that would fuel his rise to power. I didn’t believe it. It gave me what it called “corrective electroshock therapy.” I believed it then. And my world shattered. The System explained my purpose: to give the hero a taste of warmth and acceptance, only to drag him down into an even deeper hell. This betrayal was the catalyst. It would forge him into the dark, obsessive, and ruthless CEO he was destined to become. Only then could the heroine appear to “save” him and unlock the main love story. The warmth part was done. Liam had fallen for me. Now came the torture. The part that would trigger his transformation. I refused. The System informed me that refusal meant erasure from existence. Okay, then. I guess I’d do it. I kind of wanted to live. Under its duress, I began the first act of humiliation. It was the day after we officially became a couple. He came to meet me, holding a small bouquet of flowers. They were perfect, delicate, with beads of morning dew clinging to the petals. I recognized a few of the blooms; they were outrageously expensive. I couldn’t imagine how long he must have saved. He believed I deserved the best. He walked toward me through the soft morning mist, a rare, gentle smile on his face that made him look impossibly young. I met his hopeful gaze, forced my lips into a cold line, and delivered the first line of the script. “Liam.” “I was just playing with you. You didn’t actually take it seriously, did you?” “I mean, look at yourself. Did you really think you were worthy of me?” In an instant, the light in his eyes vanished, leaving behind nothing but a cold, dead emptiness. 3 My heart clenched as if squeezed by an invisible fist. A sharp, searing pain. I pressed a hand to my chest, forcing the memory away. Back in the club, the last hundred-dollar bill lay at my feet. He reached for it, his expression unreadable. I hesitated for only a second before lifting my stiletto and placing it on the back of his hand, over the delicate bones of his fingers. I didn’t press down. I couldn’t. I just held it there, looking down at him. He looked up, and for a moment, his dark eyes were like a viper’s, coiled and ready to strike. A flicker of raw hurt crossed his face before he masked it, his gaze dropping, hiding his emotions beneath the shadow of his thick lashes. A sudden chill went through me, prickling the back of my neck. My fingers, still holding the cigarette, started to tremble again. My eyes fell to his hand pinned beneath my shoe. It was a beautiful hand, elegant and long-fingered, but so thin you could see the blue veins beneath the skin. I closed my eyes. I couldn’t stop myself. “Do I have to burn him with the cigarette?” I begged the System, my voice a pathetic whine in my head. After all, that hand had to type code for his computer science classes. It had to wash dishes at the campus diner, prep lesson plans for his tutoring gigs, and create latte art at the coffee shop… he was working four jobs to pay me back. This was just cruel. As I stood there, torn, the man on the floor suddenly looked up again, his expression sharp. A storm seemed to gather in his eyes, followed by a flicker of… confusion? It was gone as quickly as it appeared. The System’s voice was sharp, threatening. Host, your function as the villain is to make the protagonist despise you. This will catalyze his transformation. Any unnecessary displays of compassion are counterproductive. Complete the script, and not only will your safety be guaranteed, but you will also receive a substantial reward. But deviation… deviation has consequences. The thought of erasure made my blood run cold. But then, Liam moved. He shot to his feet, his shadow falling over me. He took a step closer, an aura of suppressed fury radiating from him. His dark eyes locked onto mine. In the next second, he snatched the cigarette from my fingers and pressed the glowing tip firmly into the back of his own hand. He hissed, a sharp intake of breath, but his eyes, filled with a profound and weary disgust, never left mine. “Stop the act,” he rasped. I stared, dumbfounded. I hadn’t spoken. He had just followed the script… on his own. And after I’d stepped on his hand, he was calling me the phony? Did that even make sense? Was I actually driving him crazy? He held the cigarette there, his handsome face contorted in pain, until a dark, ugly mark blistered his skin. Then, he dropped the extinguished butt at my feet and walked away without another word. A cold, mechanical voice echoed in my mind. Liam Walsh: Corruption Level 30%. 4 A good villain never rests. As the primary catalyst for the plot, even though I was an heiress, my life now revolved around stalking the protagonist and finding new ways to make his life miserable. At six p.m., Liam started his shift at Cornerstone Coffee. Outside the large, clean windows, the sky was ablaze with a spectacular sunset. The black apron he wore was tied neatly, accentuating his lean waist. The warm, golden light of the setting sun fell across his sculpted features, softening the perpetual chill in his expression. He was beautiful, like a figure in a painting. I, however, was a nervous wreck, picking at my perfect manicure. “You’re telling me,” I whispered to the air, “that I have to throw this coffee in his face?” Across the cafe, Liam, who had been expertly crafting a latte, suddenly went still, his expression turning icy. I shivered, frantically blowing on the surface of my coffee to cool it down. “Doesn’t my character have anything better to do than follow him around and bully him all day?” I complained to the System. No. I wanted to scream. But it was useless. Steeling myself, I called him over. When Liam stood beside my table, his presence quiet and watchful, I put on my mask of contempt. “What is this?” I sneered, gesturing at the cup. “It tastes like plastic.” I closed my eyes, forcing out the last line. “Just like you. Cheap. And worthless.” The words hung in the air. I felt hollowed out, a ghost in my own body. Liam was silent. His lashes were lowered, and his gaze on me was complicated, unreadable. He just watched me, and the intensity of it made my skin crawl. Finally, a bitter, self-mocking smile touched his lips. He looked directly at me, his eyes cold. “Is this the new torture you came up with for today, Genevieve?” His voice was a low, rough murmur. “Are you having fun?” I sat up straighter, meeting his gaze. “Is this how you treat your customers?” Throw it. You have to throw it. My hand, wrapped around the mug, was shaking. Damn you, System! I screamed internally. How am I supposed to do this? This is the face I fell in love with! The System remained silent, offering no reprieve. In the next moment, Liam calmly took the cup from my hand, and before I could react, he splashed its contents onto his own face. Brown liquid dripped from his sharp jawline. The air seemed to freeze. His dark eyes, full of a deep and profound weariness, locked onto mine. “Satisfied?” he asked. I could only stare. He was doing it again. He was following the script by himself. System, is this right? The only answer was the cold, mechanical voice. Liam Walsh: Corruption Level 50%. 5 Before I could process what had happened, a gentle female voice cut through the silence. “Are… are you two fighting?” A girl in a simple white dress stood there. She was so exquisitely beautiful it was hard to look away. Her face was etched with concern as she looked at the coffee-soaked Liam. “I have a handkerchief. Would you like to use it?” Liam seemed startled, as if he hadn’t expected anyone to intervene on his behalf. After a long moment, he slowly took the offered cloth, his hand closing around it. She smiled, a lovely, kind expression. Beautiful, gentle, empathetic. Even without the System’s input, I knew. This was the heroine. This was Sophia Hayes. The System’s tone, usually so clinical, was buzzing with excitement. The kind-hearted heroine has finally appeared! The plot is getting back on track! But I couldn’t breathe. My entire body went rigid. The scene before me seemed to unfold in slow motion. Sophia turned to me, her brow furrowed in disapproval. “I know who you are. You’re that rich girl from the campus forums. I heard you two were a couple, but even so, you shouldn’t humiliate someone in public like this. He’s a person with dignity, not a toy for you to play with.” I bit my lip, the sharp metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. I had no defense. Nothing I could say was true. “She’s not my girlfriend,” a quiet voice said from behind Sophia. Liam’s gaze was fixed on the back of her neck, an intense, predatory look. It held a dangerous combination of obsession and determination. Yes! This is it! The possessive, obsessive love story we wanted! the System cheered. I lowered my eyes, a dense, throbbing pain spreading through my chest. My mind was a blank slate of white noise. I turned and fled, my escape anything but graceful. As I stepped out of the coffee shop, the last rays of sun had vanished from the horizon. Dusk was settling over the city. The System issued a new command. Have Liam walk you back to campus. “Why are the missions coming so fast now?” We have to strike while the iron is hot! I sank onto a nearby bench, the cool evening air raising goosebumps on my bare arms. I didn’t know how long I waited. Finally, the lights inside the coffee shop went out, and the streetlight above flickered on, casting a lonely yellow glow. Liam emerged, having changed back into his plain black hoodie. He once again looked like the same cold, withdrawn boy I first met. I took a deep breath, summoned my courage, and walked toward him. I adopted my most imperious tone. “Liam. It’s dark. Walk me back to the dorms.” My heart was pounding. His cold eyes slid over to me. “And why would I do that?” He took one step away from me, then stopped abruptly, as if a thought had just struck him. He frowned. “Have you been waiting out here for three hours?” I nodded, stunned that he’d noticed. A flicker of irritation crossed his face. The fingers of his hand flexed and curled, as if he were fighting back some powerful impulse. He started walking again, his voice flat. “Let’s go.” Something was strange about him. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was there. I followed a few steps behind him, a silent shadow. “Is that the whole mission?” I asked the System. “Just have him walk me home? Nothing else?” It seemed too simple, too kind. I was right. Do you remember the construction foreman your father fired for incompetence? the System asked. I froze. Tonight, he and a few of his friends are planning to kidnap you for ransom. Your task is to threaten Liam into protecting you, and then, while they’re fighting, you run. My heart seized. “Run? And then call the police for him, right?” And then go wherever you please. Your part in this scene will be over. I stopped walking. “That’s inhuman.” After this, Liam will be hospitalized for at least two weeks. The heroine will visit and take care of him. Their relationship needs this time to develop. “And if I don’t do it?” Then you’ll be the one in that hospital bed for two weeks. Its voice was utterly devoid of emotion. He’s the protagonist, the System reasoned. He may suffer now, but he’s destined for greatness. You don’t need to feel guilty. You’re simply helping him through his trials. But Liam was already brilliant. He didn’t need these senseless, manufactured tragedies. They were nothing but cruel plot devices to set up a tortured romance. This kind of story needed a monster to be saved. And my job was to create that monster. For the first time, I didn’t argue. I just walked in silence. A heavy, suffocating silence. So when Liam suddenly spoke, his voice cutting through the quiet night, I was caught completely off guard. “Genevieve,” he asked, his tone strangely serious, “in this whole world, what is it that you want most?” The answer came out before I could think. “Freedom.” Freedom from this script. Freedom from hurting him. I stopped in my tracks, my breath catching. I looked up to call his name, but I realized we had turned into a dark, narrow alley. It was a shortcut to campus I’d taken a hundred times, but tonight it felt menacing, like the jaws of some hidden beast. Panic seized me. I lunged forward, grabbing the hem of his hoodie to pull him back. But it was too late. Several figures emerged from the shadows, moving fast. In an instant, the tall figure in front of me spun around, pulling me into his arms. His body was a warm, solid shield around me. I felt the sickening thud of a pipe hitting his back, the vibration traveling through his body into mine. I hadn’t even had to threaten him. I had been trying to save him. A dull, numb ache spread through my chest. I had hurt him again. The next second, he pushed me away, hard. “Run,” he choked out. “Go!” I stumbled, catching a glimpse of his face—pale and grim—before I turned and ran. I ran with everything I had, my lungs burning, my feet pounding against the pavement. The System’s voice was triumphant in my ear. Liam Walsh: Corruption Level 70%.

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At my boyfriend’s birthday party, his best friend suggested a game: blindfolded, he had to guess which girl was his girlfriend just by touching her hand. His childhood friend, Chloe, squeezed through the crowd and held out her hand with a mischievous grin. “Don’t mess around, kid,” he laughed, pushing her away. “Your hands get all dry and flaky in the winter. No way you’re my girlfriend.” He walked over to another girl, took her hand, and declared, “My girlfriend’s hands smell amazing.” The room erupted in laughter. They jeered at him for not even recognizing his own girlfriend. I was pushed to the side, watching as he tried to defend himself, his face flushed. He even grabbed Chloe, who was laughing the loudest, and pulled her into a headlock. “Tell them, you little punk! Did I recognize you or not?” Suddenly, the whole thing just felt… pointless. I turned and walked out of the room. 1. Asher’s family was ridiculously wealthy. I almost got lost trying to find my way out of the home theater. By the time I made it to the living room, Chloe was there, directing the staff on what fruit platters to prepare and which wines to bring up from the cellar. She was completely at ease, chatting and joking with them like she was the lady of the house. She saw me. Her eyes flickered over me for a second before she looked away, pretending to be busy. Right. When Asher was around, she was a completely different person, all sweet and calling me “Lily-sis” like she was my adoring little sister. I’d fought with Asher about her a few times. Their easy, natural chemistry made me feel like an outsider. The first time I tried to break up with him, he smashed his phone in a fit of rage and swore he’d never be the one to come crawling back. A day later, he was standing under my apartment window, his eyes red-rimmed, begging me not to leave him. His voice, a deep, magnetic baritone, cracked with emotion. It was impossible not to feel my resolve crumble. He explained that he and Chloe had been friends since they were kids. They were practically family. Her family had recently gone bankrupt, and his mom had specifically asked him to look out for her. He saw her as a little sister, nothing more. “If you’re really, really uncomfortable with it, I’ll delete her number,” he’d said, his voice pleading. “Baby, you’re the only one that matters to me.” And right there, in front of me, he blocked her on everything. I couldn’t stay mad at him. I gave in. A few days later, Chloe was kneeling outside my apartment building in the pouring rain. I don’t know how long she’d been there, but I only found out when Asher showed up. “Baby, don’t you think this is a little much?” he’d asked, holding his umbrella over her head, getting soaked himself. “Go home, kid,” he’d said to her gently. “Don’t make a scene. What if you get sick? I’ll have to answer to your mom…” 2. He sighed, but he didn’t unblock her. Chloe just kept crying, her shoulders shaking, drawing the attention of my nosy neighbors. “Lily-sis, I swear on my life, I only see him as a brother,” she’d sobbed. “I’ve never crossed any lines. Please don’t make him do this to me. My mom thinks I did something to hurt him, and she cries all the time…” “My family is broke, Lily-sis. My life is already so hard. Are you trying to push me over the edge?” “Don’t I deserve to have friends? I was happy for you two! What did I do to deserve this?” Her words, choked with tears, echoed in my ears. I tried to pinpoint why she bothered me so much. It was the way she so effortlessly inserted herself between us. If Asher and I were sharing a drink, she’d squeeze in and tease him. She’d rummage through his bag, bring up inside jokes from their childhood that I couldn’t understand, and make me feel completely left out. Whenever he brought me to his parents’ house, she’d “coincidentally” drop by and act all chummy with his mom. So, was it my fault? Was I being too sensitive? I stood there in the rain, holding my own umbrella, silent. 3. After a while, my mom came down and brought us all inside. She gave Chloe a change of clothes. “My daughter can be a little stubborn,” she’d said, looking from me to Asher. “If you two are making her feel uncomfortable, then there’s a problem. Don’t push her, Asher. Until you figure this out, you and Lily should just break up.” “No!” Asher’s eyes were red as he immediately rejected the idea. My mom pulled me aside. She looked at me and sighed. “Honey, I don’t think blocking her is the answer. It’s just a temporary fix. Why don’t you give it another chance, see how things go? Or, if it’s too much, just end it now.” I was torn. In the end, when I walked back into the living room, Asher looked like he was about to fall apart. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t break up with him. So I compromised. They went back to how they were before, except now, Chloe made a conscious effort to keep her distance when I was around. What they did when I wasn’t there, I didn’t want to know. But tonight’s little party game was a stark reminder. The bond between childhood friends, even if you try to sever it, just comes back stronger. Whatever. I didn’t care anymore. My mom had seen it from the beginning. It was my own fault for dragging it out. I should have ended it the first time. As I was leaving, Chloe was humming a cheerful tune as she went upstairs, like a victorious general. A little while later, my phone rang. It was Asher, sounding a little drunk. I thought I’d be angry, or hurt, or that I’d cry. But looking at his name on the screen, I just felt… calm. “Baby, where are you? Are you mad at me? I’m so sorry. I didn’t know Joe’s girlfriend used your hand cream. I just guessed wrong. You can punish me, okay?” He was drunk, and his voice had that playful, pleading tone he knew I couldn’t resist. “We should break up…” 4. Before I could finish, Chloe’s voice cut in. “Seriously, Asher, are you hiding in the bathroom? You’re the birthday boy, what are you doing out here? Everyone’s waiting for you to cut the cake.” “Don’t mess around, kid, I’m on the phone.” “Don’t ‘kid’ me. Stop hiding. Joe and his girlfriend are fighting because of you. You need to go fix it.” I heard the rustle of clothes, the sound of a scuffle. He was probably laughing as she playfully hit him. “You wanna die, kid?” he said, still laughing. “Yes, yes, I do,” she retorted. “Now get in there. Joe’s girlfriend is crying.” He brought the phone back to his ear, his voice clearer now, the drunken slur gone. “Baby, what did you just say? Never mind, just come back inside. We’re cutting the cake.” He hung up. He and his childhood friend went back to the party. I rolled down the car window, the night air feeling cool against my skin. The call had ended a while ago, but I kept turning my phone screen on and off. My wallpaper was a picture of us. His profile was ridiculously handsome, and he was sneaking a kiss on my cheek, looking at the camera like he was showing me off to the world. After a long moment, I changed the wallpaper to a picture of a cat I had saved a while ago. It was a beautiful, lazy-looking cat, one paw raised in a beckoning gesture. Its eyes were so serene, so detached. I was actually chuckling at the picture when I got a text from one of Asher’s friends. 5. Asher’s Friend: *Lily, your boyfriend just got into a fight with Joe. Where are you? Can you come back and explain? It’s getting really awkward here.* I wasn’t going to reply, but then I remembered my hand cream. It was a special blend my grandmother made for me, with rare ingredients. You couldn’t buy it anywhere. I had our driver, Mr. Wilson, take me back. When I walked in, the room was a mess. Broken glass littered the floor. A lot of people had left, but a few familiar faces remained. Joe’s girlfriend was sobbing in a corner, with Chloe comforting her, handing her tissues and draping a jacket over her shoulders. Asher was sitting with one foot propped up on a stool. He glanced up when I came in, looking annoyed, then looked away. He looked like he wanted to say something but was holding himself back. He’d always been the pampered golden boy. This was probably the first time he’d ever had a real fight with a friend. Joe was being held back by a couple of guys. He was drunk and angry. Normally, he was Asher’s biggest hype man. He would never have laid a hand on him. I remembered he was the one who had suggested the guessing game in the first place, and the one who had cheered the loudest. “Lily, you’re here,” the friend who had texted me said. “You’re Asher’s girlfriend. Can you say something?” 6. He gave me a look, trying to get me to smooth things over. I smiled faintly. “Excuse me,” I said, looking at Joe’s girlfriend. “Where is my hand cream?” She stared at me, stunned. “Lily-sis,” Chloe cut in. “I don’t think that’s the most important thing right now.” I shot her a look. “You’re not going to tell me? Fine. I’ll just call the police and have them check the security footage. You probably don’t know this, but the ingredients in that little bottle of hand cream cost over five hundred dollars. That’s enough to press charges.” “So, you can either give it to me now, and we can pretend I just ‘misplaced’ it, or we can call the police and let them find it. Your choice.” Joe’s girlfriend immediately stopped crying. She pulled my hand cream out of her purse. “Is this it? I’m so sorry.” I took it, checked it, and put it in my bag. Asher’s friend tried to play peacemaker. “See? It was all a misunderstanding! Your girlfriend just accidentally used Lily’s hand cream, that’s why Asher guessed wrong. You know Asher, he’d never mistake anyone for his girl! He loves her more than anything!” “Yeah, yeah, he even recognized Chloe, there’s no way he wouldn’t recognize his own girlfriend! It was just a mix-up!” another friend chimed in. Joe’s girlfriend looked at Joe, then at Chloe. “Chloe gave me this hand cream,” she said quietly. “She said if I liked it, I could have it. I didn’t think anything of it, but now… maybe I should have.” Chloe laughed. “Don’t make it so complicated. I thought it was Asher’s, and you liked it, so I gave it to you. It’s just a bottle of hand cream, Asher wouldn’t mind, right? Don’t be so dramatic…” She looked so innocent, so helpless. Joe, enraged, slapped his girlfriend across the face. “Did I say you could take it?! Are you that pathetic? And now you’re blaming Chloe for your own mistake?” Chloe gasped and rushed to pull Joe away. 7. The room descended into chaos again as everyone tried to pull them apart. But they were all comforting Joe’s girlfriend, telling her he was just drunk. “I’m so sorry, Stacey,” Chloe was saying, holding Joe back while trying to calm her down. “He’s just had too much to drink. Tomorrow, he’ll be on his knees, begging for your forgiveness.” She even threw a glass of water in Joe’s face to get him to calm down. And he did. Stacey just stood there, her hand on her cheek, her eyes wide with disbelief. This time, she wasn’t crying. I was already at the door, but I couldn’t just leave. I walked back and stood in front of her. “Do you want to hit him back, or do you want me to call the police?” I said. “I’m here. I’ll help you.” She hadn’t been crying, but at my words, tears started streaming down her face. “Lily-sis, don’t you think calling the police is a bit much?” one of the guys said. “We’re all friends here. Joe didn’t mean it. If you let her hit him back, I promise he won’t fight back.” I had been bottling up my anger for so long. My hand was itching. So, while he was still talking, I slapped him. SLAP! The room went completely silent.

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After we got back together, I shed all the bad habits Seraphina hated. The constant check-ins, the baseless jealousy, the petty score-keeping—all gone. I was a new man. So new, in fact, that when I found a pair of lace panties that weren’t mine on the passenger seat floor, I just calmly picked them up and set them aside for her. But Seraphina’s face hardened, and she slammed on the brakes, the car lurching to a halt. 1 Seraphina Rankin was a striking woman. With her sharp, aristocratic brow and vividly beautiful features, she radiated an alpha’s intensity. But right now, pinching the bridge of her nose, she just looked exhausted. “They’re Gilderoy’s,” she said, her voice strained. “The client dinner ran late last night. He took a few drinks for me and was in no state to drive, so I gave him a ride.” She paused, forcing herself through an explanation she clearly disdained. “He got sick in the car, so he changed in here. I keep a spare set of clothes in the trunk.” She looked at me, her gaze unwavering. “I’ve told you a million times, Asher. He’s the son of a family associate. I have to look out for him. That’s it. There was never anything between us, there isn’t now, and there never will be.” My silence seemed to unnerve her. A rare crack appeared in her usual composure, a flicker of helplessness I’d never seen on her face before. “What do I have to do to make you believe me?” “I do believe you,” I said calmly. “I’m not mad.” My words landed like a fist punching a cloud. Her expression went blank for a split second. “…Then why have you been quiet this whole ride?” I glanced at my watch, mentally calculating the time to the airport. “You once said you hated pointless chatter,” I deflected. “And I’m about to be late for work. Why don’t you just drop me off at this corner?” My eyes were on the traffic, completely missing the way her face darkened. “You always get off at the next light.” Her voice was low, suspicious. “The office is still two miles from here.” I hadn’t thought of that. Trapped, I met her searching gaze. “It’s early. If you’re not going to the office, where are you going?” Just as the doubt in her eyes began to crystallize… Ding—! The custom ringtone. Gilderoy’s ringtone. Seraphina’s interrogation instantly ceased. Her eyes darted away, a tell-tale sign of guilt. “It’s a work call. I need to take this.” She immediately unlocked the doors, all suspicion of me forgotten. “You can get out here.” I nodded and quickly unbuckled my seatbelt, but she stopped me. “Don’t be so reckless. Watch the road when you’re walking.” Her voice softened, taking on a placating tone she sometimes used. “That restaurant you wanted to try? I made a reservation.” Her gaze met mine in the rearview mirror. “I promised you I would never miss another anniversary. Happy seventh, Asher. I’ll see you tonight.” My hand froze on the door handle. Last year, on our anniversary, she’d left me for Gilderoy. The memory, once a source of searing pain, now felt distant, stirring nothing within me. “You should get that,” I said softly, my voice barely a whisper. “Don’t keep him waiting.” After all, Gilderoy couldn’t be kept waiting. And neither could my flight. As for our anniversary… this year, next year, and every year after, I would be absent. 2 I made it to the airport just in time. Once seated on the plane, a wave of dizziness washed over me; I’d skipped breakfast in my rush. My hand instinctively went to my pocket, and sure enough, my fingers closed around three small chocolates. Ever since I fainted from low blood sugar once, a long time ago, Seraphina had made it a habit to slip a few pieces of chocolate into my pocket every morning. The sweetness melted on my tongue, and the dizziness began to fade. But it was quickly followed by a lingering, cloying bitterness that coated my throat. Seven years together. How had Seraphina and I ended up here? At first, I truly believed Gilderoy was just a nepotism hire she had to accommodate because of his family connections. I told myself that was why she was so strictly professional with me at work while giving him special treatment. Rhonda, a senior manager in our department, constantly made my life hell with no consequences. But the moment she was slightly rude to Gilderoy, she was fired. Behind my back, everyone—knowing I was Seraphina’s secret boyfriend—had a nickname for Gilderoy: “the future Mr. Rankin.” I forced myself to accept her reasons, but then the “special treatment” bled into our home life. Time and again, she would drop everything we were doing to answer his call, to go to him. The explosion finally came one night. I was scrolling through a private work chat when a photo popped up. It was Seraphina, who had told me she was working late, with Gilderoy at a midnight movie screening. It was the very movie I had begged her to see with me, only to be flatly rejected. I had cupped her face, my eyes shining with hope. “Everyone says you’re supposed to see this with the one you love! Your one true love! We have to go.” Seraphina hadn’t even bothered to look up from her laptop. “Watching that kind of sappy romance is a waste of life,” she’d said. But in the photo, she was the picture of tenderness, smiling warmly at him, without a hint of impatience. The messages in the chat flew by, blurring before my eyes. When Seraphina came home, I asked her, my voice devoid of emotion, “How was The Last Vow?” A flicker of surprise—or maybe I imagined it—crossed her eyes. More likely, it was nothing. Indifference. “Were you following me?” My heart felt like it was being smothered by a heavy, wet towel. I couldn’t breathe. “Do I need to? That sweet little picture of you two is already making the rounds in the company group chat!” My chest heaved, my breath coming in ragged gasps. “Seraphina, if you want to break up, just say it! You don’t have to lie to me like this!” Her expression didn’t change. She was as calm as a spectator at a play. “If you don’t have even the most basic trust in me, then there’s nothing more to say. I’ve had a long day, Asher. I don’t have the energy to fight with you.” No guilt. No explanation. Compared to my wretched state, she was the epitome of grace. She even remembered to carefully place the paper bag she was holding on the table. The words “The Last Vow” on the bag were like razor-sharp shards of ice, stabbing straight through my heart. Every suppressed emotion, every ounce of resentment, crashed down on me at once, finally snapping the last thread of my sanity. I snatched the bag and, in a fit of rage, hurled it to the floor. It wasn’t sealed. The contents scattered, rolling across the hardwood with a series of soft thuds. I didn’t even look. My eyes, red and burning, were locked on hers. We stared at each other, locked in a silent standoff. A moment later, she turned and slammed the door behind her. I stood frozen, a statue of despair. It wasn’t until something small rolled to a stop against my foot that I finally moved. I looked down, my breath catching in my throat. It was chocolate. The floor was covered in round, handmade chocolates. 3 My resolve softened. I wanted to talk to her, to fix this. But for three whole days, Seraphina didn’t answer my calls. She didn’t come home. Swallowing my pride, I sent her a text. “I was wrong to lose my temper without talking to you first.” “But it’s also true that you said you were working late, but you were with him at the movies.” “Tonight is our sixth anniversary. I’ll be waiting for you at home.” “Can we please just sit down and talk this out?” I waited from morning until night, but she never came. As the clock neared eleven, I decided I had to go to her. I would find her at the office. On my way there, I ran into Rhonda, the manager Seraphina had fired over Gilderoy. She grabbed me, dragging me into a dark alley. “That bitch! I don’t dare touch Ms. Rankin’s precious boy, but I can sure as hell touch you!” My unanswered calls, my desperate cries for help—they were all useless. If a bystander hadn’t happened to pass by and scare her off, I would have been left with far more than a bruised face and a split lip. When my phone suddenly rang, I screamed, a raw, terrified sound ripped from my throat. I was a cornered animal. But then I saw the name on the screen, and the tension that had held my spine rigid all night finally crumbled. A wave of near-hysterical relief washed over me. “Sera—” I sobbed. “Hello?” Gilderoy’s smooth, cheerful voice came through the line. “Sera’s in the shower right now,” he chirped. “I saw you’d called a few times. Who is this? Is it important?” It felt like a hot coal had been shoved down my throat, searing the flesh, melting it away. The pain was so intense I wanted to carve out my own vocal cords. The simple act of hanging up the phone seemed to take every last bit of my strength. I limped to the nearest police station to file a report, a pathetic, broken figure. By the time it was all over, the clock showed 12:01 AM. A new day. That’s when Seraphina finally called. Her voice was as imperious as ever. “Have you learned your lesson?” And in that instant, I understood. She had done it on purpose. All those unanswered calls on our anniversary… it was my punishment for not trusting her enough. Tears streamed down my swollen face, stinging my wounds like acid. When I finally spoke, my voice was a raw, broken rasp. “Seraphina,” I said. “Let’s break up.” There was only a second of silence on the other end. Then, a cold laugh. “Fine. Don’t you come crying back to me.” She hung up without another word. She agreed to end it all, without a shred of hesitation. 4 At first, it was just the sleeplessness. I’d lie awake for hours, replaying every detail of our life together, terrified I had misjudged her, that I had condemned her unfairly. I reread our old messages, searching for clues, for anything. But the more I looked, the more the pain and resentment grew. I started to hate her. Six years. Six entire years of my life. I hated her for tossing me aside like a piece of trash, for being so utterly unaffected. At 4 AM one morning, consumed by grief, I deleted her from every app, every contact list. I dragged myself out of bed and, in a fury, gathered all her belongings—every last thing that reminded me of her. I stuffed them into giant trash bags and heaved them into the dumpster below. When it was done, I thought I would feel relief. But it was like I had finally swatted a mosquito that had been tormenting me for weeks, only to find that the blood splattered on the wall was my own. I went to work on time, acting as if nothing had happened. But only I knew that a huge chunk of my heart had been gouged out. Seraphina had grown there, but the flesh had turned rotten. To survive, I had to carve that putrid piece of me away. I just forgot that a wound that large is fatal, too. The full force of my emotional collapse hit me when I saw her at a company-wide meeting. Seraphina was as poised and self-assured as ever. In fact, she seemed even more vibrant, more powerful. It was as if losing me had no effect on her at all. Across the room, Gilderoy shot her a look he thought was secret, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. I stopped sleeping entirely. I couldn’t keep any food down. Seraphina didn’t use social media, so I became obsessed with stalking Gilderoy’s accounts, dissecting every post, every cryptic quote for any mention of her. It ended with me collapsing from hypoglycemia at work and being rushed to the hospital. That’s when Seraphina deigned to visit me. It was the twenty-ninth day since our breakup. She casually twirled the matching couple’s ring on her finger, admiring her manicure. “You’ve lost weight, Asher.” My gaze was empty. I opened my mouth, a hollowed-out puppet. “I’m sorry.” A triumphant smile spread across her face. And just like that, we were back together. 5 They say it’s better to rip the bandage off quickly. But that doesn’t work for everyone. For someone with a weak will, the best method is a slow, quiet withdrawal. You keep the person in the same place in your life, but you gradually, deliberately, stop expecting anything from them. You boil your own heart, slowly. The process isn’t so difficult that way. The end isn’t so painful. In the beginning, when I first started pretending to be magnanimous, my heart would still ache with a dull throb. But Seraphina seemed pleased with the change. She’d stroke my head, the way you’d pet a well-behaved dog, a small smile playing on her lips. “You’ve grown up, Asher.” After about six months of this self-prescribed therapy, it started to work. I truly became the person she wanted me to be. She’d stay out all night, and I wouldn’t call. Whatever she was doing with Gilderoy, I no longer asked. By the time I realized what had happened, that rotten piece of my heart had fallen away on its own, like overripe fruit dropping from a branch. I paused for a moment, then smiled. I immediately sent my resume to a company in France. They’d made me an offer once before, but I’d turned it down to stay with Seraphina. Luckily, they still wanted me. My flight was booked for two weeks from now. I had no intention of telling her. Our relationship had always been disposable to her anyway. The more understanding and agreeable I became, the less happy Seraphina seemed to be. I brushed it off, thinking I was imagining things, and continued working late as usual. One night, I came home, ready for a shower, when she stopped me. Her eyes lifted slowly to meet mine. “Is there anything you want to tell me lately?” I yawned, shaking my head in confusion. “No. What’s up?” “Nothing,” she said, her voice flat. “Go on.” But I soon learned that something was, indeed, up. Later that night, she wrapped her arms around me from behind, her breath hot against my neck. Her whispers were as soft as feathers, but her touch was bruising, like an interrogation. “Gilderoy’s been giving you a hard time at work, making you work all this overtime. Why didn’t you tell me, hm?” Her grip on me was relentless, a punishing rhythm that left me breathless. I had no idea what she was so angry about. All I could do was gasp for mercy. “Work is work… personal is personal… I-I’m being good.” Years ago, my old manager Rhonda—the one who assaulted me—was constantly sabotaging me. Once, she made me the scapegoat for a massive error. In a meeting with hundreds of people, Seraphina had torn into me without mercy. “Even an idiot wouldn’t make a mistake like this.” That night, I’d choked back my frustration. “You can check the email records. Why wouldn’t you even let me explain in the meeting?” Her face was a mask, just as it had been at the office. “Work is work, personal is personal. Asher, I only care about results. At the company, I’m your boss, not your girlfriend. I can’t play favorites.” But two days later, Rhonda was fired. The reason? She had been rude to Gilderoy. I was a top performer, consistently exceeding my targets. When Rhonda was gone, everyone assumed I would get the promotion. But instead, Seraphina promoted Gilderoy, who wasn’t even out of his probationary period. He took Rhonda’s position and became my boss. … Now, here I was, finally understanding my place. I wasn’t causing trouble. I wasn’t emotional. I was keeping work and our personal life separate. At my words, Seraphina’s movements froze. She released me. The light in the room was too bright. I covered my eyes, a physiological tear escaping from the corner. She tried to pull my hand away. I tried to resist, but I was too weak. “What are you doing?” She pried my hand from my face and stared into my eyes, her voice laced with a strange insistence. “You used to look at me.” I had no idea what had gotten into her. Annoyed, I met her gaze. In that instant, a flicker of anxiety, of pure panic, crossed her face. She suddenly covered my eyes with her own hand, as if shielding me from something. Then she leaned down and kissed me, murmuring my name over and over again, a desperate chant. “Asher. Asher.” 6 The next day, Seraphina called Gilderoy into a meeting and demanded a full report on his department’s progress. Of course, I had done all the work, and Gilderoy just stood there, stammering, unable to answer a single question. “If you can’t even speak to the basic functions of your role,” Seraphina said, her face an emotionless mask, “then perhaps you shouldn’t be in it.” The entire conference room was dead silent. You could have heard a pin drop. Gilderoy clapped a hand over his mouth and ran out of the room, sobbing. After the meeting, the breakroom on our floor was buzzing. “God, did you see the boss’s face today?” “You think the ‘future Mr. Rankin’ is about to be dethroned?” The gossip flew thick and fast. I was quietly making a cup of instant coffee when someone nudged me. “Aurora, why so quiet?” My English name at the new company was Aurora. It was a fresh start. Here, back in my old life, I was Asher. The code-switch was jarring. “Man, you’ve got nerves of steel,” the colleague continued. “The way Ms. Rankin laid into you that one time… you didn’t even flinch!” Honestly, I couldn’t care less about their drama. But in a den of gossiping coworkers, silence is betrayal. It would make me a target. So, I played along with a laugh. “Hey, I’m just a corporate drone. How can I compare to the heir apparent? Besides, lovers’ quarrels are just foreplay. A little drama is the ultimate spice for an office romance.” I fumbled with my mug as someone playfully shoved me. “Hey, knock it off.” Lowering my head to steady the ceramic cup, I added for good measure, “They’re a perfect match, honestly. Talented, beautiful… you know what? I’m totally shipping them.” Only after the words left my mouth did I notice the breakroom had fallen into an eerie, unnatural silence. I looked up. And met Seraphina’s glacial stare.

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1 The company retreat was supposed to end with a fireworks display, but my fiancée’s pet assistant, Chad, decided to provide his own. There, under the cascading explosions of light, he dropped to one knee. He held out a diamond ring. “Willow,” he declared for all to hear, “marry me.” He was proposing to my fiancée, right in front of me. My colleagues shot me a fleeting glance, a flicker of pity, before turning back to the main event, instantly erasing me from the scene. “Say yes! Say yes!” they chanted. As I walked toward them, Chad shot me a venomous, triumphant smirk. “You’re not married yet,” he sneered. “Trash like you doesn’t deserve her.” I kept my eyes fixed on Willow. “He’s right, we’re not married. That means you have a choice to make. Me, or him.” “And why the hell would she choose you?” Chad’s voice dripped with arrogance. “Because you’re a high school dropout? Or because you’re nothing more than a glorified guard dog?” A wave of sycophantic laughter rippled through the crowd. “Choose you?” one colleague jeered. “You should take a good look in the mirror. If it weren’t for Ms. Donovan, you wouldn’t even have a job as a security guard.” “Exactly,” another chimed in, eager to curry favor with Chad. “He gets a pity job as head of security and has the gall to ask who she’ll choose.” I said nothing more. I just waited for Willow’s answer. Our engagement wasn’t born from passion. It was a promise I made to her grandfather. He’d asked for three years, a trial period for us to cultivate feelings. If we found love, we’d marry. But in three years, I hadn’t managed to thaw the ice around her heart. Willow didn’t need words. Her actions spoke for her. She extended her hand to Chad. He slid the ring onto her finger, pulled her into a deep kiss, and the world—including me—ceased to exist for them. I watched them, a strange calm settling over me. They held the kiss for an unnaturally long time, as if they wanted to be sure I was thoroughly disgusted. For three years, Willow had relentlessly tested my limits, maintaining zero boundaries with other men. I’d grown used to it. Numb to it. When they finally broke apart, Chad looked at me, his lip curled. “Are you still here? Get lost, unless you’re waiting for an invitation to the wedding.” I walked up to Willow, unclasped the watch on my wrist, and held it out to her. “This was your engagement gift to me. I’d like mine back, please.” Three years ago, at her grandfather’s insistence, we had exchanged watches. A symbol of loyalty and devotion to the time we would share. “Ugh, I don’t want anything you’ve touched,” Chad snapped, slapping my hand away. “Deal with it yourself.” He then turned to Willow. “As for the watch she wore… you have no right to it.” Willow understood immediately. She opened her purse and pulled out the watch I’d given her, handing it to Chad. She only ever wore it when visiting her grandfather; the rest of the time, it lived in her bag. With a dramatic flourish, Chad hurled my watch into the nearby lake. “You really want this piece of junk back? You’ll be a clown your whole life, nothing more.” My gaze sharpened. “I suggest you go fish that out of the water right now,” I said, my voice low and even. “And you’d better pray it’s not damaged. Because if it is, you couldn’t afford to pay me back if you sold your own soul.” “A cheap replica, and you’re acting like you’re the mysterious billionaire who bought the real thing at auction?” Chad scoffed. “You want to know why Willow never liked you? Because you gave her a fake. A tacky, worthless fake.” He was on a roll now, playing to the crowd. “If it were just some generic knock-off, fine. But you had to buy a replica of the Timeless Vow, the one-of-a-kind watch that sold for twenty-five million dollars! Do you have any idea how much people laughed at her behind her back?” “That’s because none of you know what you’re looking at,” I stated flatly. “That watch is the one I bought for twenty-five million. Now, I suggest you get it out of the lake.” “Did you hear that?” Chad howled with laughter, turning to his audience. “This guy, who’s only head of security because our CEO took pity on him, just said he spent twenty-five million on a watch!” The crowd erupted again. Willow finally spoke, her tone dripping with condescension. “Mason, I know you have feelings for me, but you can’t force love. I don’t know how you convinced my grandfather to agree to this engagement, but arranged marriages are a thing of the past.” She looked me up and down. “I was never interested in you. The man for Willow Donovan could never be someone as painfully ordinary as you. Now, please leave. Don’t embarrass yourself further.” “Willow, let me clarify a few things for you,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise. “First, it was your grandfather who begged me to get engaged to you. Second, I genuinely tried to build something with you. But for three years, you ignored every effort I made. A relationship is a two-way street. You never made it into my heart, either. I don’t love you. I was simply honoring a promise I made to an old man.” “Your ‘effort’?” she sneered. “You mean sucking up to my grandpa? Helping him in his garden, playing chess with him, all so he’d emotionally blackmail me into this farce?” She waved a dismissive hand. “Fine, whatever. You ‘made an effort.’ You didn’t love me. Happy now? Just go.” If it weren’t for the watch, I would have already been gone. “You and Chad are together now. This isn’t about our feelings anymore,” I said, turning my attention to him. “This is about you throwing my property into a lake. I will have it appraised, and you will compensate me for any and all damages.” “Are you kidding me?” Chad’s face darkened. “You’re wearing clothes that cost less than fifty bucks combined, and you’re trying to shake me down for money?” He puffed out his chest. “You said you bought a twenty-five-million-dollar watch, right? Fine. Show me a receipt. Show me any proof of purchase. You do that, and I won’t just pay you twenty-five million. I’ll pay you fifty.” He paused, a cruel glint in his eye. “But let’s be clear. If you can’t produce that proof…” He picked up a paper cup, filled it halfway with champagne, and then deliberately spat a thick glob of phlegm into it. He passed the cup around, inviting the other snickering colleagues to do the same. Soon, the cup was full. He held it out, his eyes locked on mine. “If you can’t prove that watch is real, you drink this. Every last drop. Do we have a deal?” “Deal,” I said, pulling out my phone. The sight of Willow and Chad together didn’t stir a thing in me. But that watch… that watch was different. It held a significance they could never comprehend. I’d paid a fortune for it at auction for a reason—for a person. And it was that same person who had asked me to give it to Willow. Now that this arrangement was over, I was taking it back. If Chad had damaged it, he would pay. As I made the call, Chad continued his performance. “Look at him, putting on a show! Who do you think he’s calling? He probably didn’t even dial a number.” “Hey, Chad,” one of his cronies yelled. “You should probably put a time limit on it, or that cocktail’s gonna ferment!” After I hung up, Chad swaggered over. “So, when are your people getting here?” “An hour, tops.” “I’ll give you two,” he declared magnanimously. “Two hours. If your ‘proof’ isn’t here by then, you drink the cup. Deal?” “Deal,” I agreed without hesitation. “And if the receipts are all in order, you pay for the damages in full.” “Don’t worry,” he sneered. “If you have a receipt, I’ll pay you for ten of them.” For the next while, Chad, Willow, and their pack of followers played party games, pointedly excluding me. Chad even made a grand announcement that once the two hours were up, not only would I drink the cup, but I would also be fired. Then, a low thrumming sound began to fill the air. I checked my watch. It had only been forty minutes since my call. I looked up, my eyes finding the helicopter as it sliced through the night sky, rapidly approaching. Everyone else saw it too. It descended with a deafening roar, landing on a nearby clearing and drawing the attention of everyone at the retreat. “Now that’s real money,” a colleague whispered in awe. “Arriving by helicopter.” When the passenger door opened and a man stepped out, Chad’s eyes lit up. “Willow, look! It’s Chairman Sterling, from the Eternity Group! I can’t believe he’s here. This is a golden opportunity.” Willow straightened her dress, her confidence radiating. “Just watch. Once I introduce myself, even a man like him will be charmed. He’ll be a valuable friend.” Timeless Legacy, Legendary Craft. The Eternity Group was a centennial institution, a titan in the world of luxury watchmaking, revered globally. The watch now sitting at the bottom of the lake was one of their bespoke creations. Willow’s family company, Elysian Beauty, had seen a meteoric rise. In just three years, it had gone from a startup to a publicly-traded company—a legend in its own right. What she didn’t know was that its success was fueled by the anonymous formulas and covert support I had provided. But next to the Eternity Group, Elysian Beauty was a minnow. Naturally, she was eager to network with a titan like Sterling. Being at the same retreat was fate, she thought. She and Chad walked toward him, Willow’s posture perfect, her gait exuding the unshakeable confidence of someone who had never known failure. In her world, at galas and functions, no one ever refused her. She believed that if Sterling had been based in Bayview City, they would have been friends long ago. All the powerful figures she once admired were now in her circle, ready to grant any request. She was certain this would be no different. “Mr. Sterling, what a pleasure,” Willow said, extending a perfectly manicured hand. “I’m Willow Donovan, CEO of Elysian Beauty.” Chairman Sterling took her hand in both of his. “Ms. Donovan, the pleasure is all mine! I’ve heard so much about the legendary CEO from Bayview. I’ve been meaning to pay you a visit, but a long illness has kept me away. To meet you here… it feels like destiny.” His deference was palpable, exactly like all the other powerful men she’d charmed. The colleagues watching were stunned. They knew Willow was a legend, but to see the great Chairman Sterling treat her with such reverence was mind-boggling. Willow’s smile widened. She introduced Chad, making a point to say, “Mr. Sterling, this is my fiancé, Chad Foster.” At the word “fiancé,” Sterling’s expression flickered. When Chad extended his hand, the chairman’s warmth vanished. He gave it a perfunctory shake, his eyes darting toward me with a look of utter confusion. “Ah, I see you’ve heard about the situation with Mason,” Chad said smoothly, misinterpreting the look. “That’s all in the past now.” “Actually,” Chad continued, a malicious idea taking shape, “speaking of the past, Mr. Sterling, if I recall correctly, your company’s masterpiece, the Timeless Vow, sold for a staggering twenty-five million dollars.” He pointed a thumb at me. “This guy, Mason, bought a cheap replica of it for Willow. A few minutes ago, I threw that piece of trash in the lake, and now he’s demanding I pay him twenty-five million for it.” He smirked. “He even pretended to call your company, asking for receipts and proof of purchase to be delivered.” Chad looked Sterling right in the eye. “I’m sure you know the person who actually bought the Timeless Vow. Tell me, Mr. Sterling… was it Mason Hill?” He turned his smug, expectant gaze back to me.

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Leo and I had been married for three years. To the outside world, we were the perfect couple, deeply in love. But only I knew the truth. He’d slept in the guest room for all one thousand and ninety-five nights of our marriage. He had never touched me. I placed the divorce papers on his desk, ready to set him free. But as I did, my eyes caught on the journal lying open. She left her things in the bathroom again after her shower. The scent of her still clinging to them. I held out for as long as I could. Then I took the lace thing. Hid it. God, I hope she doesn’t notice. I froze. All this time. All the lingerie I thought I’d lost. He took it. 1 A black and gold fountain pen, not the one I’d given him, lay across the middle of the open journal. But the lingerie he’d written about—that was the set I’d bought just last week. My mind raced, tumbling back through the last three years. The silk nightgowns, the lace bras… all told, it had to be more than twenty pieces. I’d always found a rational explanation. A strong gust of wind on the clothesline. Left behind in a hotel room during a trip. Never once did I suspect Leo. He was too reserved, too stoic for something like this. After we were married, we treated each other with the careful politeness of cordial strangers. When he spoke to me, his gaze was direct, never straying, never lingering. How could he be capable of something so… furtive? But just last night, Leo had said the faucet in the guest bathroom wasn’t producing hot water. He asked if he could use my shower. He was in and out in thirty minutes, a quiet “thank you” as he left. I hadn’t thought a thing of it. But now I knew. He had taken it then. My own husband. Stealing my underwear. He couldn’t wear it, so what on earth was he doing with it? An unsettling image flashed through my mind, and a hot blush crept up my neck. I couldn’t let myself think about it. A powerful urge washed over me—to flip back through the journal, to read everything. To storm into the guest room and tear through his closet. But that would be a violation. A betrayal of the very civility we’d built our marriage on. I took a deep breath, forcing a calm I didn’t feel. I would pretend I saw nothing. Turning, I quietly closed the study door behind me. And the divorce papers, the neatly folded end of my marriage, found a new home in the back of my dresser drawer. True or not, I was about to find out. 2 Leo came home early that evening. The living room was dark, and he called my name as he stepped inside. “Audrey.” I steeled myself and walked out of the bedroom. “You’re back. I, uh, I didn’t make dinner tonight.” He wore the same impassive expression as always. Calling my name, my full name, never a nickname, never a term of endearment. But I had read his journal. The thought of him, with that cool, detached face, secretly using my nightgowns to— I couldn’t meet his eyes. He, of course, noticed nothing. He held out a Tiffany blue gift bag. “That’s fine. We can go out. This is for you.” I reached for it, and the back of my hand brushed against his fingertips. I pulled back as if I’d been burned. Leo’s eyes darkened for a split second, then returned to their usual calm. Today was our third anniversary. My gift to him was supposed to be his freedom. His was a pearl necklace. I swallowed down the knot of complicated emotions in my throat. “I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I forgot to get you something.” He didn’t seem to mind. “It’s fine. I don’t need anything. This necklace looked like you, so I bought it.” “Thank you,” I whispered. “Of course,” he said, his tone even. “Get ready. I’ll book a reservation.” I chose a strapless velvet dress and a faux fur shawl, then clasped the pearl necklace he’d given me around my neck. The look wasn’t overly flashy, but it was elegant. When I opened the door, Leo looked up, and for a brief, startling moment, he just stared. Our eyes met, and my heart gave a sudden, hard thump against my ribs. Before I could speak, he had already looked away. “Let’s go.” I watched his cool, retreating back and thought to myself, Let’s see how long you can keep up this act. … The restaurant was warm, and I was about to slip the shawl from my shoulders when he looked up, his gaze sharp and intense. Leo’s features were naturally severe, his brow strong, his eyes deep-set. His glasses usually softened his intensity, giving him a more scholarly air. But right now, in the dim light of the restaurant, I saw something dangerous in his eyes. “Wh-what is it?” I stammered. “Nothing,” he said, pushing his chair back. “I’m going out for a cigarette.” The moment he left, the suffocating tension in the air eased. For a second there, I thought he was going to devour me whole. 3 Over dinner, Leo mentioned he was taking a few days off. He asked if I wanted to go visit my father. According to my original plan, I would have presented him with the divorce papers before going home. My dad hadn’t been well since his business went bankrupt. He’d moved back to our hometown, renting a small house where he spent his days gardening. It was his therapy. He was slowly getting better, but he was under the impression that Leo and I were happy. I hadn’t found the words to tell him the truth. If I went home with Leo, the divorce would have to wait. He was waiting for my answer. I forced a smile. “Sure. If you’re not too busy, that sounds nice.” As we were leaving the restaurant, Leo stopped at the door. I looked at him. “Did you forget something?” His gaze, dark and unreadable, fell to my shoulders. “Put your shawl on.” His tone was so sharp it was almost a command. Then, as if realizing how harsh he sounded, he softened his voice. “It’s cold outside.” “…” After my shower that night, I stared at the clothes in my laundry basket, thinking of my most recently vanished bra—a low-cut style, trimmed with white lace. I really loved that one. I wondered where Leo had hidden it. An idea formed. I deliberately left the nightgown I’d just taken off on the floor of the bathroom. Leo would be coming to use the shower again tonight. If the nightgown disappeared, I’d have my proof. Sure enough, a few minutes later, there was a knock on my door. It was Leo, his face as cool and unreadable as ever. “Sorry to bother you again tonight.” I smiled at him, a picture of generosity. “It’s no problem. Go right ahead.” Listening to the sound of the running water, I felt like every second was an hour. I stared at the same page of my book, not reading a single word. Finally, he emerged. He looked completely normal. “Sleep well, Audrey. Goodnight.” “You too. Goodnight.” The moment he was gone, I bolted into the bathroom. And there it was. Or, rather, there it wasn’t. My nightgown. Gone. I was a mess of humiliation and anger. I stormed to the guest room door, my hand raised to knock. But then I heard it—a low, muffled sound from within. A strained, guttural groan. Oh my God. He wouldn’t be… right now… would he? My face was burning. Terrified of what I might see, I spun around and fled back to my room.

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The same day I won the Golden Muse, I was accused of sleeping with the heir to the Lockwood empire. My rival, a rising starlet named Scarlett Hayes, posted the question for the whole world to see: 【What exactly were you trying to do, sneaking into my boyfriend’s room in the middle of the night?】 【Some people just don’t know their place!】 Her followers descended on me like wolves. Endorsement deals vanished overnight. I was, in the blunt and brutal language of the internet, canceled. Later, Liam Lockwood—the so-called heir—would broadcast his engagement party to Scarlett, a lavish affair streamed live for millions. But the celebration couldn’t begin. It couldn’t start because the true power of the Lockwood family, and the woman he worshiped, had not yet arrived. 1 #AudreyThorne: Homewrecker?# #AudreyAndLiamLockwood# #CancelAudreyThorne# The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes were the trending topics, glowing like poison on my phone screen. The second was the non-stop flood of calls from my agent. My head was spinning. I had no idea what was happening. I clicked the top hashtag. Dozens of gossip sites were circulating the same grainy photograph: me, alone, slipping into Liam Lockwood’s hotel room late last night. The story was technically true, but stripped of all context. After my acceptance speech, the studio had called. Liam Lockwood, the family’s notorious playboy heir, wanted to discuss a collaboration. They gave me a room number. On any other night, with any other man, I would have refused. A midnight meeting? Please. But Liam was Arthur’s nephew. And Liam had a reputation for being erratic, for playing by his own rules. A spontaneous, late-night business discussion wasn’t entirely out of character for him. When I got there, he claimed it was a mistake, that he’d been expecting someone else. I was in and out of that room in less than thirty seconds, utterly confused. But according to the internet, I was a predator, sinking my claws into Scarlett Hayes’s man. The worst part? I hadn’t even gone alone. My agent, Dana, had been right beside me. They’d just cropped her out of the picture. I was about to type out a clarification when a new hashtag shot to number one. It was Scarlett. She’d posted a new statement, aimed directly at me. 【What exactly were you trying to do, sneaking into my boyfriend’s room in the middle of the night?】 【Liam and I are rock solid. Some people should learn their place.】 Liam himself replied in the comments. I’ll only ever love my baby girl. Sent her packing last night, btw. Tell me I’m a good boy If there had been any doubt before, the golden boy of New York high society had just confirmed the narrative. The internet exploded. 【WHOA. I never would have guessed Audrey Thorne was that kind of person.】 【Always knew there was something off about her. So desperate. I bet she slept her way to that award, too.】 【My girl Scarlett is the real deal, the heir’s actual girlfriend, and she never uses her connections to get ahead. She relies on talent. Audrey is just disgusting.】 I saw it clearly then. This wasn’t just a misunderstanding. This was a calculated hit, designed to use my new-found fame as a stepping stone for theirs. Dana’s call finally broke through. “Those little shits!” she screamed, her voice cracking with rage. “Scarlett Hayes doesn’t have the talent to win a goddamn raffle, so she pulls this? After you beat her for the Muse? This is capital-B Bullshit! Our people can’t even post a comment defending you. They’re being silenced, accounts suspended. The bots are working overtime. I’m going to kill someone!” I started to speak, but a strong hand wrapped around my waist and gave me a playful squeeze. “Don’t,” I mumbled. There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line, followed by an even louder roar. “Did you just tell me not to?! Audrey, have you SEEN what’s happening?!” “Sorry, Dana. Not you,” I sighed. I shot a glare at the man beside me, but he just nuzzled his face against my cheek, his morning stubble scratching gently. “Morning, my love…” His voice was a low, sleep-gravelly murmur, but it was close enough for the phone to pick it up. Before Dana could detonate, I ended the call. I turned to face Arthur, who just grinned and planted a soft kiss on my forehead. “Kisses, please…” “Kisses, my ass! Look at what your wonderful nephew has done!” I shoved my phone into his hands. Arthur took it, his smile fading as his eyes scanned the screen. The warmth in his expression vanished, replaced by a cold, quiet fury. His entire demeanor shifted. “I will make him kneel and apologize to you.” “Don’t.” I let out a short, sharp laugh and held up a hand to stop him. “I’ll handle this myself.” I looked at Arthur’s face, that handsome, infuriating face, and snapped a quick picture. Then I opened my social media. 【Not interested, already married, and way out of your league. My husband, for the record.】 2 Arthur Lockwood. The youngest son of the Lockwood patriarch, and the true, undisputed head of the family. His father had sent him abroad for his education, and even after returning to the States, he rarely set foot in the family’s ancestral Manhattan townhouse. The press knew the reclusive powerhouse was married, but no one knew what he or his wife looked like. Even within the Lockwood clan, only the old man himself knew the truth. The moment I posted that photo, the internet—and my agent—collectively lost their minds. Dana showed up at my front door an hour later, radiating pure fury. She stormed into the foyer, ready for war, and then froze solid when she saw Arthur standing in the living room. “Hello. I’m Arthur Lockwood,” he said, his voice calm and polite. Even though she’d just seen his picture, the man in person was another story entirely. Dana’s jaw went slack. “You… hi… hello,” she stammered, fumbling in her purse. “I’m, uh, Audrey’s agent. Dana. Here’s my card.” She practically threw it at him. Then, her professional instincts kicked in. “That face. You were born to be in front of a camera. Mr. Lockwood, have you ever considered acting? Give me a year—no, six months—and I’ll make you the biggest star on the planet.” Arthur offered a gracious, small smile. “Thank you, but no.” With that, he turned and headed for the kitchen. “My love, I’m making you breakfast.” Dana’s attention snapped back to me. “What is going on?! When did you get married? Why didn’t I know about this?!” “Well,” I said with a cough, “it’s been about three years.” “Three years?!” Her voice climbed an octave. “THREE YEARS?! You kept this from me for three years! Oh my god!” I tried to soothe her. “Look on the bright side. If you’d found out later, I would have kept it from you for even longer.” Dana slapped her thigh in frustration. I grabbed her arm, trying to calm her down. Once she’d caught her breath, she got back to business. “Do you have any idea how many sponsors have dropped you because of Liam’s little stunt? The studio wants to cut its losses. They’re planning to stick you and your… husband… on a reality show. One last paycheck before they terminate your contract.” “Absolutely not.” The refusal was automatic. I could go on a reality show. But putting Arthur in that kind of spotlight? Exposing him to that world? I’d have to be insane. “If you refuse, the studio will sue you for breach of contract. The penalty clause will wipe out everything you’ve earned for the last decade.” Dana looked at me, her expression a mix of pity and exasperation. I opened my mouth to argue, but Arthur re-emerged from the kitchen. “A reality show?” he said, a thoughtful look on his face. “Alright. It might be interesting to see what my wife’s work is actually like.” Hearing his consent, Dana’s face split into a wide grin. “It’s settled, then!” Before I could protest, she was already backing out the door. “No take-backs!” she yelled, then paused as if remembering something. “Oh, by the way. Scarlett Hayes and Liam Lockwood are going to be on it, too. Those two are snakes, and Liam has the family name behind him. You need to be careful, you hear me? Don’t pick a fight you can’t win.” And with that, she was gone. 3 The news that I would be appearing on a reality show with Scarlett and Liam—and my mystery husband—sent the gossip blogs into a frenzy. The comments were a special kind of brutal. 【Seriously? That train wreck is going on TV now? With her photoshopped husband? Does the network have zero consideration for its viewers?】 【That guy’s photo is so obviously filtered. And even if he does look like that, why would he be with her?】 【You can say what you want about Audrey’s character, but you can’t deny she’s beautiful…】 【Who cares if she’s beautiful? She’s a homewrecker! Besides, there’s never been a single rumor about her being married. She probably just hired some actor to clean up her image.】 【Audrey’s always been a serious actress, not an influencer. It’s not like she’s obligated to announce a marriage to the public.】 【She’s not obligated to tell us, but she shouldn’t lie! I don’t believe for a second that she’s married. A woman who chases after rich men like that would never tie herself down to just one.】 I still had a bad feeling about Arthur doing the show. It felt wrong. And seeing the vicious things people were writing about him online made my stomach turn. He, on the other hand, seemed completely unbothered. He leaned over my shoulder, reading the comments on my phone. “What’s wrong?” he murmured, a teasing note in his voice. “Are you worried your husband won’t hold up in person?” I just rolled my eyes at him. 4 Filming began three days later. The second Arthur and I arrived on set, the director had a camera crew swarm us. The show was being live-streamed, with a massive screen nearby displaying the real-time comment feed for all the cast members to see. As the camera zoomed in for a close-up on Arthur, he gave it a cool, indifferent glance. Most of the audience had tuned in expecting a freak show, but the moment they saw Arthur’s face, the chat feed erupted. 【OMG OMG, he’s actually that hot?! It’s not a filter?! Where did Audrey find this guy? I want one!】 【Okay, he’s definitely hotter than Liam Lockwood…】 【Audrey, move. It’s my turn.】 【So what if he’s hot? Scarlett’s boyfriend is the heir to the Lockwood fortune! Does Audrey really think parading some hot guy around is going to make everyone forget what she did?】 【Pathetic. Just go away already!】 Arthur and I took our designated seats. Scarlett and Liam were already there. Liam was dressed head-to-toe in bespoke designer clothes, a watch worth more than my first apartment strapped to his wrist. He shot us a look of pure disdain, his face a mask of cold arrogance. He was trying to intimidate us. But whatever pressure he thought he was projecting, it dissolved the moment it met Arthur’s calm gaze. It was like watching a housecat try to stare down a panther. After a few seconds, Liam’s composure cracked. He broke eye contact, his expression souring. The tight line of his mouth was a clear sign that the great Lockwood heir was annoyed. Scarlett, nestled against his side, smiled sweetly. When she saw me, she stood up and waved. “Audrey! You made it! Come, sit.” The live-feed comments scrolled by. 【Scarlett is just so kind and classy. Even after everything Audrey did, she’s still so polite.】 【She’s just rising above it. She doesn’t want to sink to that trashy woman’s level.】 I ignored her. On camera, Scarlett didn’t let her smile falter. But as I sat down, she leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper in my ear. “I have to hand it to you, I underestimated your nerve. Finding some pretty boy to play your husband just to save your career.” She looked Arthur up and down. “Mm, he is handsome. But these days, looks aren’t enough. You need power, connections. I hope you two enjoy starving together.” She pulled back just as quickly, her public smile snapping back into place. “We’re so happy you could join us.” I opened my mouth to respond, but Arthur put a hand on my shoulder, pulling me closer. “Audrey, my love,” he said, his voice carrying just enough for the microphones to pick it up. “Do you hear a dog barking?” A smile touched my lips. “I do,” I replied. “A rabid one, it sounds like.” Scarlett’s face hardened. She clearly hadn’t expected us to be so openly dismissive. There were three couples on the show. Besides us and Scarlett and Liam, there was a popular starlet named Tinsley and a young actor from her studio, Jason. They weren’t a real couple, just a work pairing. Before Scarlett could retort, Tinsley jumped to her defense. “Audrey, that is so out of line! Scarlett is a respected artist! How dare you and your… kept man… insult her like that!” Scarlett’s eyes welled up with crocodile tears. She tugged on Tinsley’s sleeve. “It’s okay, Tins. Audrey’s always had a bit of a temper. We all know that behind the scenes. Liam and I don’t mind.” And there it was. Another label pinned on me: the angry, difficult diva. Tinsley shot me a dirty look and put a protective arm around Scarlett. “Well, you and Mr. Lockwood are generous for putting up with her.” Scarlett just smiled graciously. Seeing his opening, the director hurried over to prevent me from speaking. “Alright, everyone! Let’s get the show started!” 5 The show was being filmed in a small, rustic village upstate. The producers had originally booked a standard bus for transport, but with the arrival of Liam Lockwood, they’d upgraded to a fleet of luxury SUVs. As soon as we settled into the plush leather seats, Tinsley sighed dramatically. “Oh, this is so much better. I’m a regular on this show, and let me tell you, the bus they usually give us is a nightmare. We have Scarlett and the Prince of New York to thank for this upgrade!” She then shot a smug look at Arthur, who was sitting beside me. “I bet some people have never ridden in a car this nice in their entire lives.” I nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. We haven’t.” Not one this cheap, anyway. I turned to Arthur, my expression full of mock sympathy. “You must be suffering.” A slow smile spread across his face as he toyed with my fingers. “As long as I’m with my wife, I’m not suffering at all.” Seeing us laughing together seemed to infuriate Tinsley, who was left sputtering, unable to think of a comeback. Scarlett, meanwhile, rested her head on Liam’s shoulder. “Liam, honey. Audrey and her husband seem to get along so well.” A smirk played on Liam’s lips. “She didn’t seem so happily married the other night.” The comments on the live-feed went wild. 【LOL, Liam’s burns are legendary! How does that feel, Audrey?】 【I wonder how much Audrey is paying that guy per day to be so cooperative.】 【Can I get his number? I’d book him for a month.】 Scarlett and Tinsley giggled, delighted by Liam’s jab. Scarlett gave Tinsley a subtle nod. Tinsley, ever the loyal attack dog, turned her attention back to me. “Audrey, the internet is blowing up with people calling you a shameless homewrecker for what you did. What are your thoughts on that?” A cold smile touched my lips. “My thoughts? I think it’s fascinating to watch a pack of hyenas invent a narrative out of thin air. It’s like watching someone sprint to catch a turd someone else just dropped. You know why the delivery guy only ever brings you one package at a time?” Tinsley instinctively asked, “Why?” “Because you’re a single-use tool.” “You—!” It took her a second, but when it landed, she looked like she wanted to lunge at me. Scarlett quickly grabbed her arm. “Audrey, you should really try to be more humble. I can forgive how you treat me, but we’re on a show right now. We all have to get along. Bullying Tinsley like this is just too much.” Tinsley immediately started playing the victim, slumping against Scarlett with a pained expression. 【OMG, I am so mad right now I could literally slap that bitch through the screen!】 【My poor Tinsley was just telling the truth, and Audrey goes nuclear on her!】 I turned my gaze slowly to Scarlett. “You can forgive how I treat you? No matter what? Then kneel and kiss my feet. Let’s see how forgiving you are then.” The color drained from Scarlett’s face, leaving it a blotchy mess of white and red. Liam pulled her protectively into his arms, his eyes, dark and menacing, fixed on me. “Scarlett wanted to do this show, so I’m not going to shut it down. But once this is over, you will pay for every single word you’ve said today.” Arthur’s hand tightened around mine. He met Liam’s glare with a look of utter calm. “We’ll be waiting.” 【Liam is so protective! A true Prince Charming!】 【Only our Scarlett could inspire that kind of devotion. She’s beautiful, kind, and patient, and she never wanted to stoop to Audrey’s level. But that witch pushed her too far!】 【I bet we never see Audrey Thorne again after this show wraps.】 【Does anyone else feel like Audrey’s husband is a little too calm? If it were me, I’d be terrified hearing that from the Lockwood heir.】 【It’s called bluffing. A lot of guys do it. He’s acting tough, but I bet he’s pissing his pants right now.】 The director scurried over to me, his eyes wide with panic. He leaned in and hissed, “Audrey, you and your husband need to tone it down, right now! You can’t afford to offend Liam Lockwood and Scarlett Hayes. If you piss him off and he pulls out, ruining my show, I swear I will make your life a living hell.” After his threat, he turned back to Liam and Scarlett, his face plastered with a sycophantic smile. “Mr. Lockwood, Scarlett! Shall we begin our first game?” Liam just tilted his chin up, a gesture of royal assent. 6 The first game was “Truth or Dare” via a spinning wheel. If you couldn’t complete the task, you had to drink a glass of bitter melon juice. The spinner landed on Liam first. His lips curved into a smirk. “Truth.” “I’ll ask! I’ll ask!” Tinsley’s hand shot up. “Mr. Lockwood, when are you planning to make our beautiful Scarlett an honest woman?” Scarlett blushed on cue, the picture of shy delight. The question sent a ripple through the live-stream audience. Scarlett’s fans immediately started cheering for a wedding, but some viewers were skeptical. 【A family like the Lockwoods… would they really let him marry an actress? Dating is one thing, but marriage…】 【That’s true. I haven’t heard anything about Scarlett coming from a powerful family…】 【What are you talking about? My girl Scarlett is beautiful and kind, why wouldn’t he marry her?】 【She’s at the height of her career! She makes more money than all of you keyboard warriors combined! How dare you say she’s not worthy? Are you?】 【Get real… no matter how famous Scarlett is, she’s still an employee… Liam Lockwood is true capital. He’s part of an empire.】 The debate raged in the comments until Liam spoke. “Scarlett is not beneath me,” he said, his voice laced with indignation. “Our families are of equal standing.” His words silenced the chat for a beat, then caused a full-blown explosion. 【EQUAL STANDING?! OMG!】 【The only family on par with the Lockwoods right now is the Devonshire dynasty… Don’t tell me Scarlett is… a Devonshire?!】 【NO WAY! Our girl never said a word about her family! She built her entire career on her own. She’s a true inspiration!】 Tinsley had clearly put the pieces together. She gasped, looking at Scarlett with wide, envious eyes. “Scarlett, you’re the Devonshire heiress? Is Hayes your mother’s name?” Scarlett looked down, the very image of humble modesty. “Yes…” “I never would have guessed! You kept that hidden so well!” I was taking a sip of water and choked, sputtering. Arthur gently patted my back, handing me a napkin to wipe my chin. I shot him a look. Does my father have a secret daughter I don’t know about? Arthur gave a slight shake of his head, indicating he had no idea either. As if to prove her claim, Scarlett announced, “Let me give my little brother a quick video call, see what he’s up to.” She borrowed her phone from a producer and called a contact simply listed as ‘Leo.’ A few seconds later, Leo’s face appeared on the giant screen. 【OMG! That’s Leo Devonshire! The Devonshire heir!】 Leo was clearly on a yacht somewhere, sun-drenched and carefree. “Hey, Scar. What’s up?” he asked. Scarlett smiled warmly. “Nothing, just on set with Liam. Wanted to say hi and see what you were doing.” Liam leaned into the frame and waved. 【Everyone knows the Devonshire family has two children. The son, Leo, is a total playboy and always in the tabloids. But the daughter is notoriously private, there’s almost no information about her online. I can’t believe it’s been our Scarlett this whole time!】 【This is the best surprise ever for us Scarlett fans!】 It was a big surprise for me, too. So big my jaw nearly hit the floor. Did my dad really have a secret family? And my brother knew about it? My mind started racing, playing out a hundred different dramatic scenarios. My expression darkened. If my father had actually betrayed my mother… “Alright, Scar, I gotta go. Talk later,” Leo said. “Okay, Leo. Have fun!” Scarlett ended the call. Leo Devonshire’s appearance had completely convinced the crew, the director, and the entire online audience. The director, in particular, looked like he’d won the lottery. He thought he’d just landed the Lockwood heir, but now he had the mysterious Devonshire heiress, too. This was a ratings goldmine. He immediately had his team create a new trending topic. #DevonshireHeiressMakesHerDebut# The show’s popularity surged. But the real bombshell was yet to come. Liam cleared his throat, a smug look on his face. “This Sunday is our engagement party,” he announced. “I’m having the entire event live-streamed, and you’re all invited to watch. “Oh, and by the way,” he added casually, “my uncle will be there.” A collective gasp went through the crew. The live chat went into meltdown. 【His uncle? Does he mean THE Lockwood? The one who actually runs everything?!】 【Holy shit! That guy is the real deal. I heard that even though he’s the uncle, he’s only a couple of years older than Liam…】 【Two years older and he’s already in charge of that entire empire? That’s insane!】 Tinsley practically vibrated with excitement. “Scarlett, can I come, too?!” “Of course,” Scarlett said magnanimously. “YES!” Tinsley cheered. I frowned and whispered to Arthur, “Are you going to that?” He shook his head. “First I’m hearing of it.” I just stared at him. After the excitement died down, the game continued. The spinner landed on Jason, the quiet actor paired with Tinsley. Since Liam had picked truth, Jason had to take a dare: pinch his nose and spin in a circle ten times. He did it quickly. On the third spin, the pointer landed on me. I, too, had to choose truth. This time, Scarlett asked the question. “Audrey,” she said, her voice dripping with false sincerity. “Is the man sitting next to you really your husband?” I laughed. “How many times do I have to say it? Are you having trouble processing?” 【God, Audrey is so infuriating. It’s a game, and she’s still lying! What’s the point?】 【If you can’t play, don’t play. She picked truth and still tells a lie. Is it that hard to admit you hired an actor?】 The producers announced the fourth round, but Scarlett held up a hand. “This is boring. I’m done.” Tinsley quickly chimed in. “Me too. What’s the point of playing a game if someone’s just going to cheat?” The director shot me a death glare. Just then, we arrived at the village. He ordered everyone out of the cars. 7 Once we were in the village, the director announced the first task. We had to help the local farmers harvest corn. The team that harvested the most within the time limit would get first choice of the houses provided for our stay. There were three levels: excellent, good, and poor. The moment the timer started, Arthur and I got to work. He tried to tell me to rest while he handled it, but I shook my head. This was a two-person challenge; I wasn’t going to let him do it alone. 【LOL, Audrey looks like a natural doing farm work. You can tell she didn’t grow up with money.】 【Right? And she’s so damn competitive. It’s just a game. Why does she have to try so hard? She should be more relaxed like Scarlett and Liam.】 At that moment, Scarlett and Liam were lounging in patio chairs, sipping iced tea under the shade of a portable fan. 【Did Scarlett just give up on getting the good house?】 【They’re royalty. They’re obviously not going to do manual labor.】 【LOL, look at them just staring at the cornfield, they look so lost. It’s adorable!】 【They’re hilarious. Such a breath of fresh air.】 Time was up. Scarlett and Liam hadn’t picked a single ear of corn. Tinsley and Jason had been working, but Tinsley had put her harvest in a separate pile. Jason had filled two large sacks. Tinsley had only managed half a sack. Without even asking him, she dragged both of Jason’s sacks over and presented them to Scarlett and Liam. Jason’s face fell, but he glanced at Liam, then at Scarlett, and said nothing. Scarlett beamed. “Oh, Tinsley, thank you! How sweet of you.” Then, she turned to me. “Audrey,” she said pointedly. “What about yours…?” “Ours? We got first place.” I smiled. Arthur and I had each filled two sacks. Without another word, I walked over and claimed the key to the best house. Scarlett’s smile vanished. Liam stood up, his voice dripping with condescension. “Interesting. Some people really don’t know how to take a hint.” “You’re right,” I shot back without missing a beat. “Some people are interesting. Do absolutely nothing and then expect a handout from others? Who died and made you king?” The live chat froze, then exploded. 【WHAT DID SHE JUST SAY?! IS AUDREY INSANE?】 【Did she just insult Liam Lockwood? TO HIS FACE?!】 【Who does she think she is?! He could end her with a single phone call!】 【Is this her new strategy? Playing the ‘blunt’ and ‘outspoken’ character? Trying to get famous by tearing down Scarlett and Liam?】 My words hit their mark. Liam shot up from his chair. His face was thunderous, the air around him turning cold. “What did you just say to me?” Arthur moved smoothly, stepping behind me and wrapping an arm around my waist. He gently pulled me behind him, shielding me. He was a full head taller than Liam, and as he looked down at his nephew, his face was calm, but his dark, deep-set eyes were anything but. His voice was quiet, yet it carried a chilling weight.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384975”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was broke when I was in college, but I was dating a guy who was anything but. He was Leo Rhodes, of the New York Rhodes family. An heir to a fortune so old it was practically woven into the city’s DNA. Everyone in his circle called him by his last name, a title in itself. No one, from my world or his, saw our relationship as anything more than a temporary spectacle. Even he said it once, his voice a casual murmur over the rim of a whiskey glass: “We’re just having fun, Willa. Don’t make it serious.” So when I ended it, I did it for my pride. I lied and told him I’d fallen for someone else. That I didn’t want him anymore. The fury in his eyes was eclipsed only by the raw hurt that turned the edges of them red. He told me if I walked away, I’d better not live to regret it. I never looked back. Five years later, we met again. And the man the tabloids now called the cold, imperious head of the Rhodes Corporation cornered me on a dark film set. His voice was a raw whisper. “I told you to go, and you just… left?” He took another step, trapping me against the wall. “How could you be so goddamn cruel?” A tremor ran through his powerful frame, and his voice broke. “I’m the one who regrets it, Willa. I am.” 1 When the director announced that one of our investors was visiting the set, the name Leo Rhodes never even crossed my mind. At that moment, I was standing with my back to him, running lines with another actor. I could feel his presence more than see it, a gravitational pull surrounded by a hushed entourage of producers and executives. He was just a few feet away, standing behind the monitors. I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. My fingers tightened on my script, the cheap paper crinkling into permanent folds. Thankfully, the lead producer, a man named Stan, scurried over to greet the star of our film. He gestured grandly in Leo’s direction. “Mr. Rhodes, I’d like you to meet our leading lady. She’s one of the hottest rising stars right now.” The woman, her makeup a flawless mask of ambition, turned a brilliant, practiced smile on Leo. “Mr. Rhodes, we met once at a gala at the Met. I don’t know if you’d remember?” Leo barely acknowledged her. He lifted his gaze for a fraction of a second before it dropped back to the monitors, his expression unreadable. He stared at the screen, his eyes dark and intense. For a split second, I saw a storm gather in their depths—a tidal wave of something fierce and unnamable—before it was gone, leaving behind only a calm, chilling surface. The producer, flustered by the dismissal, glanced at the monitor, trying to see what had captured the titan’s attention. He cleared his throat. “Mr. Rhodes? Is everything alright?” A slow, cool smile touched Leo’s lips. “Everything’s fine,” he said, his voice a low murmur that still managed to cut through the set’s low hum. “I just saw someone I know.” The words were casual, but they hit me like a physical blow. The back of my neck prickled. My heart began to pound a frantic, panicked rhythm against my ribs. “Oh! You have a friend in our cast? That’s wonderful! Who might that be?” Stan’s voice was slick with manufactured delight. In that instant, I felt a dozen pairs of eyes sweep over the set, searching. And then, I heard Leo’s voice again, as cool and sharp as ice. “Her.” 2 “Her. Maya.” The young actress standing in front of me, whose lines I had been running, gasped. I blinked, my mind struggling to catch up. For a disorienting moment, I had been certain he meant me. Stan practically shoved me aside as he rushed forward, enthusiastically guiding Maya toward Leo. Watching them interact, a wave of dizzying relief washed over me, and the breath I’d been holding escaped in a silent rush. Thank God. Thank God it wasn’t me. All these years, and this was how we met again. The idea of some dramatic reunion of old flames wasn’t just cliché; it felt… rude. Disrespectful to the lives we’d built separately. Besides, they looked like old friends. Maya, completely unfazed by his reputation, playfully swatted his arm. “Leo! What are you doing here? I’m trying to run lines!” A lazy, familiar grin spread across his face, softening the hard edges of the man he’d become. “Your brother sent me,” he replied, his voice a low rumble. “Said to tell you to stop messing around and come home.” He looked nothing like the volatile, short-tempered man I remembered. And from the sycophantic grin on Stan’s face, it was clear this reunion was a welcome one. So welcome, in fact, that the director and producers immediately suggested they continue their conversation over dinner at a nearby restaurant. Leo, surprisingly, didn’t refuse. I watched their retreating figures, a small crowd parting before them like the Red Sea. I clutched the script, now mangled beyond recognition, and let out another slow breath. I had survived. The day was finally over. But just as the group was about to round the corner, Maya suddenly turned back. Her bright, youthful voice echoed across the now-quiet set. “Willa! Hey, Willa! You want to come to dinner with us?” 3 For a heartbeat, time froze. The world went silent, and every face on set turned to look at me. When my brain finally rebooted, my first instinct was to hide. I ducked my head, letting my hair fall forward to shield my face. “No, thanks! You guys go ahead. I’ve got plans tonight,” I called back, my voice sounding strained and unfamiliar. I didn’t wait for a reply. I turned and walked away, my steps quick and clumsy, bordering on a run. I had no idea if he’d recognized me. The lighting on set had been dim, chaotic. Maybe he never got a clear look. Or maybe he did, and the woman he saw now held no significance for him. The girl from five years ago was a ghost, and he had no interest in acknowledging her. After all, our breakup had been a public humiliation. I had wounded the pride of a man who had never known anything but victory. I had dumped him, coldly and decisively, in a way that had shocked everyone in our orbit. I was the one who walked away. But I was also the one who cried myself to sleep for months afterward. I could still hear his voice from that day, laced with a pain so deep it had curdled into rage. “Willa Hayes, if you walk out that door today, don’t you dare regret it.” His jaw was tight, his eyes burning. “Because if I ever see you again, I swear to God I will not let you go.” I knew he was capable of making my life a living hell. So I packed my bags that night and disappeared. I never looked back. Until now. Five years later, and we were breathing the same air. I chewed on my thumbnail, a nervous habit I thought I’d kicked years ago. A cold dread seeped into my bones. Surely, after all this time… he wouldn’t still want revenge, would he? 4 Leo Rhodes had a bad temper. That wasn’t just my opinion; it was a universally acknowledged fact by anyone who knew him during our college years at NYU. He was the crown prince of New York City, the kind of guy who commanded respect and fear with a single glance. He had the family name, the looks, and a mind so sharp he never seemed to have to try. If it weren’t for the fact that I was drowning in my mom’s medical bills, forcing me to take a gig as a promotional model at a luxury car event, our paths would never have crossed. I met him for the first time in a private, members-only club in SoHo. He was perched on a high stool at the bar, legs crossed, lazily propping his chin on one hand as he watched me on a small stage, trying to smile my way through a Q&A with the event’s host. The friend who got me the gig had said there was a bonus—a big one—for staying for the “private viewing” afterward, an exclusive showcase for the city’s young and wealthy elite. The word “bonus” was a siren song I couldn’t resist. So there I was, in a borrowed cocktail dress that was a size too small, teetering on heels and smiling at million-dollar cars until my face felt like it would crack. I knew I was pretty. My roommates always said I had the face of an ice queen but the eyes of a lost fawn, a combination that disarmed people who didn’t know the steel underneath. But I was naive. I had no idea how predatory their world could be. Before I had even stepped off the stage, a man with a fleshy, red face and a leering grin called out to me. “You’re one of those NYU girls, right? Need a little extra spending money? I can help with that.” A hot wave of shame washed over me. I wanted to scream, but the thought of that bonus kept my mouth shut. I pretended I hadn’t heard him. But in a place like this, a den of gilded excess, silence was encouragement. The murmurs around him turned into jeers and laughter. Just as the man lurched forward, his hands reaching for my waist, a barstool sailed through the air from the second-floor mezzanine. It crashed into him with a sickening thud, sending him sprawling to the floor, blood instantly matting his hair. He scrambled to his feet, clutching his head and roaring, “What the fuck? Who the hell threw that? You got a death wish?” That’s when Leo Rhodes descended the stairs. He calmly stubbed out a cigarette in a nearby ashtray, the smoke curling around him like a shroud. He scanned the room with a look of bored indifference until his eyes finally landed on me, cowering in the corner. He turned his gaze to the bleeding man. “That would be me.” His voice was quiet, but it silenced the entire room. His lips were pressed into a thin, merciless line. For a wild second, I was terrified they were going to brawl, right there, because of me. But the man, who seconds ago had been a raging bull, suddenly transformed. His face went pale, and a sycophantic, terrified smile stretched his lips. He started bowing and scraping, his hands wringing together. “A misunderstanding, Mr. Rhodes! A complete misunderstanding!” he stammered. “My apologies, sir!” He looked like a grotesque, bobble-headed doll. It was pathetic. And terrifying. That was the moment I understood. “Crown prince” wasn’t just a nickname his friends used. It was his reality. And it was the first time I saw his legendary temper up close. He completely ignored the man’s apologies. He simply nodded to the two security guards who had materialized at his side. “Break his arm,” he said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. “The one he was about to touch her with.” After it was done, he sank into a chair, lit another cigarette, and rested the sole of his expensive shoe on the man’s chest, pinning him to the floor. “Do me a favor,” Leo said, exhaling a stream of smoke. “Try to keep the filth in your head from now on. Otherwise, I might just have to arrange a little procedure for you. To make sure your particular brand of stupidity doesn’t get passed on to another generation.” 5 A cold night wind whipped around the trailers. I waited until I was sure they would have finished dinner, then pulled on a jacket and slipped out of the RV. The film set was blessedly quiet during the lull before the night shoot. I walked down the familiar path toward the small diner I frequented, a comforting routine in a chaotic world. As I rounded a corner, I saw a silhouette standing in the narrow, moonlit alley. At first, I thought it was a crew member returning from a break. But as I got closer, a jolt of recognition made me stop dead in my tracks. Under the stark glow of the moon, dressed in all black, Leo Rhodes was almost one with the shadows. A cigarette dangled from his lips. He looked up as I approached, his eyes meeting mine across the short distance. In the ethereal light, surrounded by a halo of smoke, his dark, painted-on eyes looked exactly as they had the first night we met. The night he saved me. The night he ruined me. 6 The wind rustled through the trees, the only sound in the unnerving silence. My body went rigid. My first instinct was to turn and run. But his voice stopped me. “You’re an actress on this film?” I froze, my back still to him. I managed a small, tight sound. “Mmm-hmm.” “What role?” “The third lead.” “Going to get dinner?” “Yes.” “You know who I am?” “Yes.” The investor. The man who holds my career in the palm of his hand. His rapid-fire questions made my palms sweat. I had no idea what he was doing, what game he was playing. Before I could process it, he asked another. “Are you afraid of me?” … “No.” “Then why are you looking at the ground?” “The… the wind is strong tonight.” A low chuckle, raspy from the smoke, rumbled in his chest. “You look like someone I used to know.” My heart leaped into my throat. “Is that so?” I forced a lightness I didn’t feel. “What an honor. I guess I just have one of those faces.” “Maybe,” he mused. “Happens all the time in your industry, right? People looking alike.” I had nothing to add, so I just nodded into the darkness. Silence fell again, thick and heavy. I watched him light another cigarette, the flare of the lighter briefly illuminating the hard lines of his face. He seemed to be holding something back, a dangerous energy simmering just beneath the surface. A chill ran down my spine. I couldn’t understand the point of this conversation. I’d been in the entertainment business for three years. I looked different now, of course—more polished, more guarded. But I hadn’t changed that much. The dim light and his strange line of questioning left me utterly confused. Had he truly not recognized me? Or was I simply so insignificant to him now that I wasn’t worth remembering? Either way, it didn’t matter. This kind of casual, heart-to-heart chat was not something we were capable of. Not anymore. I pulled my jacket tighter around me. “Mr. Rhodes,” I said, my voice muffled. “I have a night shoot soon. If you’ll excuse me.” I stepped around him and started to walk away, my stride purposefully fast. “Willa Hayes.” The sound of my full name, spoken in his voice, made my heart stop. … 7 “Willa Hayes.” He said it again, tasting the syllables. “That’s your name, right? Maya mentioned it at dinner.” He paused, then added, as if it were an afterthought, “Same name as my ex-girlfriend.” “…” For a moment, my usually quick mind went completely blank. “What a… what a coincidence,” I stammered. “Yeah, a real coincidence,” he said, and in the darkness, I could almost see the ghost of a smile in his eyes. “Except she wasn’t as beautiful as you, Miss Hayes. Or as talented.” “…” The glint in his eyes, the subtle shift in his tone—it was like looking through a tear in time, seeing the boy he used to be. The boy I had loved. I was raised by a single mom. Her life was a sad, unlucky story. A cheating, gambling, abusive husband when she was young. She finally got a divorce, raised me on her own, and then, just as I was getting to college, she was diagnosed with brain cancer. So when people whispered that I was only with Leo for his money, I never denied it. Because it was true. I was desperate for money. And money was the one thing Leo Rhodes had in infinite supply. We were from two different universes. My world was scholarships and part-time jobs. His was trust funds and reckless freedom. The only things I had going for me were my grades and a face that people called beautiful. Everything I fought tooth and nail for, he possessed without a second thought. Even in academics, he could glance at a textbook once and ace an exam that I’d pulled all-nighters to study for. No one believed our absurd, mismatched love story would last. “He’s just playing with her,” they’d say. “There’s no way a Rhodes would ever get serious with a girl from her background.” Even I believed it. This was just a diversion for him, a way to kill time between parties and trips to Europe. But Leo… when Leo gave you three ounces of affection, he made it feel like a pound. I mentioned once, just in passing, that I missed the fall colors back home. Two days later, after flying for twenty hours straight from a business trip in London without any sleep, he showed up at my dorm, exhausted and rumpled, just to take me for a drive upstate. When I was delirious with the flu, he, a man who had probably never made himself a piece of toast, stayed by my side, clumsily trying to take care of me, on the phone with his family’s doctor one minute and trying to make me soup the next. He constantly made fun of my taste, calling it childish and boring. But he was always the one who showed up with a carefully chosen, ridiculously expensive gift that was exactly what I’d secretly wanted. He was the one who took me to the top of the Rockefeller Center, to the private observation deck, and attached a lock engraved with our names to the railing, right in the most prominent spot. He had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in his world. That he saw you, and only you. With my complete lack of romantic experience, I fell. Hard. I even let myself start to believe that maybe, just maybe, I was different. Maybe I was special to him. All of those illusions shattered the day a girl named Sloane appeared. … 8 “Willa! Willa, snap out of it!” “Huh?” I blinked, yanked back to the present. Maya was tugging on my arm, and I realized it was my cue. The director was waiting. I shook my head, forcing myself to focus, and dove into the scene with Maya. During a break, her face suddenly scrunched up in annoyance. She muttered under her breath, gesturing toward the director’s chairs, “Ugh, why is she here?” I followed her gaze. Standing next to Leo, who was holding court like a king, was a woman smiling demurely. Sloane. Five years had passed, and she looked even more polished, more expensive. Standing next to Leo, they looked like a perfectly matched set. A power couple. Even the crew members were sighing. “They look so good together.” I tuned back in to Maya’s bitter commentary. “She’s like his shadow. Everywhere Leo goes, she’s right there. Why doesn’t she just have a house built on his belt?” “Look at her, smiling and smiling. Her mouth is going to crack from all that fake, innocent-little-princess crap.” I listened with a small smile, amused by the sheer force of her dislike for this woman. Perhaps sensing her vitriol, or maybe just feeling our stares, the couple looked over in our direction. Suddenly, my eyes met Leo’s. Remembering our tense conversation from the night before, the unspoken things hanging in the air, I quickly looked away. But my gaze landed directly on Sloane. Her brow furrowed in displeasure. Her eyes raked over me, up and down, with an undisguised hostility that hadn’t faded one bit in five years. It was the exact same look she’d given me the first time we met. … 9 It was three months into my relationship with Leo. My mom’s condition was stable, for the time being. The money from my part-time jobs, combined with our meager savings, was just enough to get by. As my boyfriend, the guy who could solve any problem with a checkbook, Leo handled it with a surprising amount of grace. He never just threw money at me, the way people assumed he would. He respected me. He had asked once, his voice gentle, “Do you need my help?” I said no. He nodded. “Okay. But when you do, you come to me.” He wanted me to turn to him not because he was a bank, but because he was my boyfriend, the first person I should think of when I needed someone. I remember he used to come with me to my waitressing job. I was stunned that he never complained about the grime or the long hours. He’d just slouch in a booth, looking bored, and then without a word, he’d take the heavy crate of beer bottles from my hands. “What can I say?” he’d mumble through a yawn, his voice raspy with fatigue. “You’re my girlfriend, aren’t you?” The words were a complaint, but the tone was laced with an undeniable, baffling tenderness. I’d watch him, with his pouting lips and weary eyes, and think that maybe he wasn’t the spoiled brat everyone made him out to be. That illusion was shattered on a rainy night, when I was cleaning up the last table. Sloane appeared out of nowhere. “So you’re the new girlfriend.” Her eyes, full of a strange mix of confusion and disgust, scanned me from head to toe. “His taste really has gone downhill.” She didn’t wait for me to respond. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Leo’s fiancée.” She let that hang in the air. “Yes, one of those old-fashioned family arrangements you see in the movies. A merger of dynasties. There’s no love between us, but let me be honest with you. Even if it weren’t me, it would never be you. Your… situation? Their family would never allow it. You’re not from the same world.” She smiled, a sharp, cruel thing. “Do you know why he isn’t here with you tonight?” She pulled out her phone and held it out to me. “Because he’s out street racing. You know what that is? Driving a car that costs more than your mother’s life.” I looked down at the screen. Leo’s defiant, handsome face filled the frame. The boy in the video was a stranger. Wild, reckless, and drenched in the kind of casual wealth I couldn’t even comprehend. It was exactly as Sloane had said: a world I could never touch. “Is he being patient with you right now? Gentle?” she cooed. “Don’t be a fool. You think you’re special to him? Everyone in our circle knows. He’s like that with everyone.” Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard, making my skin crawl. But I still went to him. I had to ask. When I asked him about Sloane, he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. After a long moment, he told me she was just some obsessed girl who was in love with him, that she wasn’t mentally stable, and that I shouldn’t believe a word she said. At the time, I chose to believe him. 10 Then my mother passed away. I was lost in a fog of grief for over a month. I barely saw Leo. When I finally picked up my phone, it was flooded with messages from him. A one-sided conversation of his growing worry. Sweetheart, are you feeling any better today? I miss you. I’m at a bar with some friends. If you see this, can you come get me? I sighed, a hollow ache in my chest. I took the cash I had scraped together from working nonstop since the funeral and went to the address he’d sent. I found the private room, but I stopped outside the door. I could hear their voices, loud and boisterous. “Rhodes, it’s only been a few days since your girl stopped calling. You look like hell. Don’t tell me you’ve actually fallen for her.” “That Willa girl is gorgeous, no doubt,” another voice chimed in. “But you’re about to be engaged to Sloane. Don’t you dare bring that one home. Your old man would skin you alive.” Then I heard Leo’s voice, low and raspy. “We’re just having fun. Don’t make it serious.” Laughter. Then another question. “She’s so broke. You’re just throwing money down the drain lending it to her. You think she’s ever gonna pay you back?” Leo’s reply was impatient. “I never expected her to.” His words, so clear, so casual, pierced through me, one after another. My hand, clutching the wad of cash in my pocket, tightened until my knuckles were white. I knew Sloane had been trying to manipulate me. But I couldn’t deny the truth in what she’d said. The gap between Leo and me wasn’t just about family background. It was about worlds. So I borrowed money from everyone I knew, scraped together every last cent, and paid him back. And to salvage the last shred of my pride, I lied. I told him I’d fallen for someone else. I told him I didn’t want him anymore. His face contorted with rage. He demanded to know who it was, swore he would kill him. I couldn’t tell him a name because there wasn’t one. I never expected what happened next. Leo Rhodes, the proudest man I had ever met, grabbed my hand in front of all his friends, the edges of his eyes red with unshed tears, and begged me not to go. “Willa, please. Please don’t like someone else.” His voice was a broken whisper. “Please don’t leave me.” But I was cold. I pulled my hand away. “I have to.” The hurt in his eyes hardened into something dangerous. He spat the words at me, the final blow. “Fine. Go. But if you walk out that door, don’t you dare regret it.” And so I left. And I never looked back.

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