Category: English

On our third anniversary, I put on a wedding dress and asked Liam to marry me. His face went cold. He told me to stop screwing around. I wiped away a tear and managed a smile. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, Liam.” “But… I’m dying. You might want to start looking for my replacement.” He told me I was sick in the head, then slammed the door on his way out. But I wasn’t kidding. I really am dying. 1 I’d been with Liam Carter for three years, and for three years, he spoiled me rotten. If it weren’t for the bubble of his affection, I don’t think I could have lasted this long. I remember the first time he took me to a party with his friends. He’d only been gone, off to the restroom, for a few minutes before the whispers started. They said Liam moved on too fast. That his wife, Annabelle, had barely been gone before he found a new plaything. They said I was from the wrong side of the tracks, that I couldn’t hold a candle to the woman he’d lost. Everyone in that room was dripping with old money and Ivy League degrees. I didn’t want to make trouble for Liam. So I just stared at my lap and said nothing. I let them talk. When Liam came back, he knew instantly that something was wrong. He found my hand under the table and gave it a tight squeeze. “What is it? Who upset you?” The wall I’d built around my feelings, the one I thought was so strong, crumbled at the gentle timber of his voice. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I snatched my hand away, fighting to keep the tears from spilling over. “It’s nothing. The AC is just blasting in here. I’m freezing.” He watched me for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. Then he stood, took his jacket from the back of his chair, and draped it over my shoulders. He took my hand again, this time lacing his fingers through mine, a silent declaration on top of the polished mahogany table. Across from us, a younger guy with a smirk couldn’t help himself. He lifted his bourbon, swirled it, and took a theatrical sniff. “Wow,” he said loudly. “Smells like some serious drama in here.” A few others snickered. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, the shame so hot I just wanted to disappear. “Liam, I think I need to use the restroom…” But he held my hand tighter, refusing to let go. His eyes swept across the table, finally landing on the self-appointed comedian. “Caleb,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Apologize to Stella.” 2 The mood in the room curdled. Caleb and Liam went way back. No one could believe he’d call out one of his oldest friends for a girl he’d just started seeing. After a stunned silence, Caleb scoffed. “You want me to apologize to her? Liam, what the hell is she?” Liam’s gaze never left Caleb, but his thumb began to gently stroke the back of my hand. “Stella is my girlfriend. If you still want to call me a friend, you’ll apologize.” I tugged on his arm, whispering, “It’s okay, really.” The last thing I wanted was for him to blow up a friendship over me. It would only make things worse. But Liam just patted my hand, a silent command to stay quiet. Caleb’s face flushed with anger. He shot to his feet, pointing a finger at Liam. “Then what about Annabelle? What was she? She’s been gone six months, and you’re already showing off some cheap replacement!” he spat. “Have you forgotten how she died?” Liam’s grip on my hand became a vise. The pressure was so intense I thought my bones would snap. I winced but didn’t dare make a sound. His face, however, remained a mask of calm. “Stella is Stella. Annabelle is Annabelle. Don’t compare them,” he said, his voice flat. “She’s gone. I have to move on.” His bluntness silenced the entire room. My own heart felt like it had been squeezed in a fist. Tears pricked my eyes again. Liam, however, simply wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me to my feet. “Don’t invite me to things like this anymore,” he said to the silent table. “It upsets Stella.” From that day on, I had a reputation in his circle. They all said Liam Carter had found a girl who was a dead ringer for Annabelle. And that he was spoiling her beyond all reason. 3 I knew Liam had been married. I knew a car accident had cut it short. He’d told me all of it himself the night he asked me to be his girlfriend. He was single, and I was single. I hadn’t broken anything up. So I refused to be branded a homewrecker. After we left the party that night, I quietly tried to end things. “Liam, maybe we should just forget it. I don’t want people looking at me like that.” He stopped walking and turned to face me, tipping my chin up so he could look into my eyes. The streetlight cast long shadows across his face. “Are you angry?” It wasn’t anger, not really. But being called a replacement felt like a splinter under my skin. Every time I thought about it, the pain was sharp and fresh. Since we’d been together, I’d never once brought up his late wife. I figured some chapters were best left closed. But tonight, the way he’d crushed my hand under the table… it planted a seed of doubt. I had never seen a photo of Annabelle. There were no pictures of her in his apartment, not even on his phone. It was a complete blank slate. If Caleb hadn’t said anything, I never would have known. That I looked just like her. “You and Annabelle—” He cut me off, his tone suddenly sharp. “You are you. She is she.” The sudden chill in his voice startled me. I just stared at him, speechless. A moment later, the ice in his eyes thawed, and he let out a soft sigh. “Are you saying you’re breaking up with me? Found someone without a limp?” 4 The accident had left Liam with a permanent injury in his left leg. If you watched closely when he walked, you could see a slight, almost imperceptible limp. But he had been completely transparent about it from the beginning. How could I possibly hold it against him? He was twisting my words, and I fell right into his trap. “What are you talking about? I would never think that!” I said, rushing to defend myself. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. He pulled me into his arms, his mouth finding mine in the cool night air. “Good girl,” he murmured against my lips. “Don’t overthink things.” … Later, in the bedroom, he pinned me to the sheets, overwhelming my senses. When we made love, he had this habit of staring deep into my eyes, as if he were falling into them. It was unnerving, heartbreakingly intense. I couldn’t handle his heated gaze. I’d hide my face in the crook of his arm and gently bite his tense bicep. He would just laugh and ask me why I was so shy. In those moments, the sweetness was enough to wash away all the bitterness, all the doubt. Liam’s fierce, protective love became my armor. The next time someone said something, I echoed his words back at them: “You have to move on. You can’t expect him to be alone forever, can you?” The response was always laced with scorn. “Oh, that’s rich! You really think you’re something special, don’t you? You think Liam Carter is going to marry you? Keep dreaming,” one of them sneered. It was Brooke, Caleb’s girlfriend. “Everyone knows what Annabelle meant to him. She was with him through everything, from nothing to the top. And that car accident? If she hadn’t shielded him, Liam would be the one who’s dead!” “Exactly,” another girl chimed in. “She was the one that got away. And you can’t replace a ghost. The only reason he even looks at you is because you have her face.” It was Brooke who led the charge, cornering me with her little posse. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. As they left, she deliberately stepped on my foot. “You can put a designer dress on a piece of trash,” she said, looking me up and down. “But it’s still trash.” 5 I crouched down, frantically trying to wipe the smudge from my shoe. As I scrubbed, tears started to fall. Liam had picked these shoes for me. They were covered in tiny, glittering crystals, like something out of a fairytale. Before we left the apartment, he had knelt down and put them on my feet himself. He said they were beautiful. Liam never lied to me. The way he cared for me was something I’d never experienced before. But… every time they compared me to Annabelle, I was defenseless. She was gone. Anything I said would be seen as disrespecting the dead. I wiped my tears and hid in a quiet corner to make a call. They had their friends, but so did I. After thirty minutes on the phone with Maya, I felt a little better. I looked up and saw Liam across the room, effortlessly charming, laughing with a group of men in suits. The glittering lights of the chandelier separated us, casting us in two different worlds. As if he could feel my gaze, he turned his head and shot me a smile. It was warm and intimate, a secret just for me. I knew I would never truly fit into his world. But I also knew I couldn’t bear to be anyone’s ghost. … On the anniversary of Annabelle’s death, Liam prepared to visit her grave. I asked if I could go with him. He refused without a second thought. “This has nothing to do with you,” he said. “Just stay home and wait for me. Or go shopping, whatever you want.” I held onto his hand, trying to be playful. “I just want to see her, you know? Bring her some flowers—” Liam pulled his hand away, his tone hardening. “Stella, I know what you’re doing. Do you really care that much about what other people say? Can’t you just let it go with a dead woman?” Tears welled in my eyes and fell before I could stop them. Yes, I cared. I cared if he would ever marry me. I cared if he was only with me because I was a stand-in. I looked him in the eye, my voice trembling but stubborn. “Will you marry me then?” Liam went silent. As he turned to leave, he threw the words over his shoulder. “Stella, I don’t want to get married. If you can’t accept that, you can leave.” 6 It was the first real fight we ever had. I sat alone in our sprawling living room and listened to the rain fall all night long. He came back the next morning. The walk from the front door to the living room was only a dozen steps, but he took them with agonizing slowness. His limp was more pronounced than I had ever seen it. “Stella,” he said, his voice strained. “My leg is killing me. Can you… can you come hold me?” It was the old injury from the crash. A deep, chronic pain that never truly healed. It flared up on damp, rainy days like this, torturing him, keeping him awake all night. Sometimes it was so bad he had to rely on painkillers just to get through it. I couldn’t stand to see him suffer. I had even taken a course in therapeutic massage just for him. Whenever the weather turned, I would spend hours rubbing his leg, trying to ease the ache. He sank onto the sofa beside me. He took my hand, his own feeling cold and tired. “Stella, please don’t be angry anymore,” he sighed. “Can we just… not fight again? Ever?” He was surrendering. He knew I would soften, that I would forgive him. He knew I was powerless against his pain. You can’t win a fight against a ghost. And we had a lifetime ahead of us. What was the rush? After that day, I never said the name “Annabelle” again. And we never fought again. For three years, he gave me everything I could ever want. Our relationship felt unshakable. Today was our third anniversary. I put on a wedding dress, held a bouquet of white roses, and waited for him to come home. I’d been planning this surprise for a month. I couldn’t wait to see the look on his face. The door opened. Liam’s voice, laced with a bit of weariness from a long day, drifted in from the foyer. “Stella, guess what I got for you—” His words died in his throat the moment he saw me. I opened my arms wide, a brilliant smile on my face. “Liam! Surprise!” But I watched the light in his eyes extinguish, ember by ember, until only cold ash remained. “Stella, don’t do this. Take it off.” “I told you,” he said, his voice flat. “I don’t want to get married.” 7 We stood on opposite ends of the living room, staring at each other like strangers. The air was thick, heavy, almost impossible to breathe. Finally, he loosened his tie and tossed the bouquet and gift box he was holding onto the coffee table. He lit a cigarette, the flare of the lighter sharp in the dimming light. I was frozen in place, forcing my lips into a smile, desperate to salvage the evening. “Liam, this dress… I went to every bridal shop in the city to find it. Isn’t it beautiful?” His cheek hollowed as he took a long drag from the cigarette. He exhaled slowly, the smoke billowing out and obscuring his face. The fragile hope I’d been clinging to dissolved with the smoke. All he said was, “Change.” In that instant, the light, airy tulle of the dress felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, pulling me down, making it hard to stand. “Liam, we’ve been together for three years… Don’t you like the surprise?” He leaned back against the sofa, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Stella, the plan was a quiet dinner, maybe some candles. Tomorrow, we were supposed to be on a plane to Bali. Everything was perfect. Why… why did you have to do this?” He was right. A three-year anniversary trip to Bali. That was the plan. But plans change. I gathered the skirt in my hands and walked toward him. It was a form of self-torture, but I couldn’t stop myself. I smiled. “Liam, the reason you won’t marry me… it’s because of her, isn’t it? You can’t let her go. You’re still living in the past with Annabelle—” His head snapped up. “Stella,” he said, his voice a low warning. “I told you not to talk about her.” 8 Don’t talk about her. As if that would make him stop thinking about her. Then why did you make me grow my hair out? Why are the shoes you buy for me always a size too big? Why do you go to the house you shared with her on her birthday and on the anniversary of her death, and stay there all night, alone? Liam. Who are you trying to fool? Me, or yourself? My eyes burned, and his face blurred through a film of tears. I wiped them away furiously, pulling my lips into a tight, humorless smile. “You know, Liam, if you’re honest with yourself, you didn’t even love her that much.” “If you truly loved someone,” I said, my voice shaking, “you wouldn’t tolerate a replacement.” That hit a nerve. He shot up from the sofa and his hands were around my neck before I could even register he had moved. “You’ve crossed a line, Stella,” he hissed, his face inches from mine. “Your job is to stay by my side, to look like her, to make me happy. It’s so simple. Why can’t you do that? Why do you have to be so greedy and ask for marriage?” “I told you! You are you, and she is she! You can’t compare yourselves! Why can’t you get that through your head?” He was losing control, his eyes bloodshot, his grip tightening. For a terrifying second, I thought he was actually going to kill me. But then his eyes met mine—the eyes that looked so much like Annabelle’s—and his resolve faltered. He let go. I stumbled backward, collapsing onto the floor in a heap of white tulle. I looked up at him and laughed, a ragged, broken sound. “Does it hurt? Having your little fantasy exposed after all this time? Tell me,” I gasped, “if I died, could you find another girl who looks this much like her?” “Enough,” he growled. “Stop this nonsense. Stay here and think about what you’ve done. This will not happen again.” He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. He even forgot to take his anniversary gift with him. I destroyed everything in the living room. Then I sank to the floor amidst the wreckage, laughing and crying until I had nothing left. He said I was being dramatic.

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I was nine months pregnant when I cleared the memory on the dashcam. That’s when I found it: a saved location, a strange apartment complex in the West End, woven into the fabric of my husband’s daily commute home. The footage showed him getting out of the car with bags of groceries, his back disappearing into the building with an ease that spoke of routine. Once, I even heard a woman’s voice, a soft, melodic complaint drifting through the open car window. “What took you so long? You’re ten minutes late. I’m starving.” Five years of marriage. Four rounds of IVF to get this baby. I couldn’t bring myself to detonate our world. So I did nothing. I pretended I saw nothing. A week later, I was in the delivery room, the birth turning complicated, when Michael’s phone rang. A frantic voice crackled through the speaker. “Chloe’s on the roof. She says if you don’t come right now, she’s going to jump.” His hand pulled away from mine before his brain could even process the choice. “She’s the daughter of my late mentor…” He couldn’t meet my eyes. “I just have to talk her down.” “If you walk out that door today,” I screamed, my voice tearing from my throat, raw and desperate, “this baby will not have a father.” He paused at the door, his shoulders tight. He threw a look back at me, a flicker of something—pity, maybe, or regret. But then his resolve hardened, and he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the hall as he ran. 1 I knew the woman on the phone. Chloe. I’d seen her face countless times on Michael’s dashcam. I lay on the operating table, my gown soaked through with sweat, clinging to me like a second skin. My child wasn’t even born yet, and his father had already abandoned him. Through a haze of pain and fear, I could hear shouting in the hallway. My parents, his parents, their voices clashing in a storm of anger and disbelief. Another contraction ripped through me, a tidal wave of agony, but it was nothing compared to the shattering of my heart. My mother’s voice, choked with tears, was the loudest. “Who the hell is that woman? Is Michael insane? Leaving his wife while she’s in labor?” Michael’s parents were desperately making calls, their voices trembling. “Claire, honey, just hold on. We’ve sent someone to find that damn fool. If he doesn’t come back today, we don’t have a son!” In my struggle, my wedding band slipped from my finger, falling to the floor. A nurse’s shoe kicked it into the shadows under the bed. The contractions were coming faster now, a frantic, punishing rhythm. The alarms on the machines began to shriek, one after another. “Fetal heart rate is dropping!” A doctor’s shout cut through the chaos, and then, my world went black. When I woke up, the sterile scent of antiseptic filled my nose. A nurse was adjusting my IV drip. Seeing my eyes open, she spoke in a hushed, gentle tone. “You lost a lot of blood. You’re lucky we were able to save you. As for the baby… you can always have another.” A bomb went off inside my chest, leaving a gaping, silent crater where my heart used to be. My mother sat beside me, her eyes brimming with unshed tears as she gently wiped my own away. “Oh, my sweet girl. You’ve been through so much.” My father stood by the bed, his face a mask of pain. Michael’s parents hovered in the corner, their faces etched with guilt. I stared at the blank white ceiling, silent tears tracking a path back into my hair. The last five years of my life played out in my mind like a silent film. Michael’s proposal at our college graduation. The way he stayed up all night researching recipes for my morning sickness. The look of pure joy on his face as he meticulously recorded the baby’s heartbeat at every check-up. Every single one of those tender moments was now a bitter joke. Michael’s best friend, Leo, stood hesitating in the doorway, his guilt radiating off him in waves. “Claire… Chloe, she… she had a depressive episode. Said she’d jump if Michael didn’t go. He didn’t have a choice… you…” He trailed off, unable to finish, as if he finally heard how hollow the words sounded. “And what?” I asked, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. “I’m supposed to be understanding?” I wanted to ask him how many times he’d covered for Michael. How many of their “guys’ nights” were really something else entirely. But then, suddenly, I didn’t want to know. I waited for my husband to come back. I waited as the sun set and the moon rose, as the darkness of night gave way to the pale light of dawn, and then as night fell once more. At eight p.m., after twenty full hours of silence, Michael finally appeared. His suit was rumpled, and his gaze skittered away from mine. “Claire, I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice raspy. “Chloe was in a really bad place. Her father made me promise I’d look after her before he passed. I had to…” I cut him off. My voice was a shredded whisper. “Do you know that our baby is gone?” My words hung in the air, heavy and sharp. “You knew I was having a C-section yesterday. You knew, and you still chose to go to her.” I could feel the last threads of my control starting to fray. “Michael, that was our child.” Silence stretched across the sterile room. He reached for my hand; his palm was cold as ice. “Claire, in five years, I’ve never asked you for anything. Not really. But this one time, I am begging you not to make a scene.” My blood ran cold. “Chloe just lost her father,” he continued, his voice low and urgent. “If she gets accused of breaking up a marriage on top of that, her depression will get so much worse.” I looked at the desperate plea in his eyes, and my heart felt like it was being ripped into confetti. He shouldn’t be begging me for this. He should be on his knees outside the NICU, sobbing his heart out. A person’s first instinct doesn’t lie. He hadn’t asked the doctors why I’d hemorrhaged. He hadn’t asked how scared I was during the surgery. His first words, his only concern, were for another woman. Tears streamed from my eyes, soaking the pillowcase. It took every ounce of strength I had left to force a single word from my throat. “Fine.” He let out a breath he was clearly holding. “Chloe can’t be alone right now,” he said, as if discussing a business arrangement. “I’m going to move in with her for a little while. Just until she’s more stable. Maybe five months or so. Then I’ll come back, and we can start trying for another baby. Okay?” His tone was so casual, like he was rescheduling a meeting. My eyes snapped wide open. It was like having a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. The child we had waited five years for was gone, and my husband was already making five-month plans for another woman. In that instant, my world didn’t just crack. It imploded. 2 My hand instinctively went to my flat stomach. Just days ago, it had held a new life, the living proof of the love we once shared. Now, it was just an empty, mocking space. I slowly pulled my hand from his grasp. My voice was terrifyingly calm. “Michael.” He looked at me, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “The first time you tried to make soup for my morning sickness, you filled the entire kitchen with smoke. You secretly recorded the baby’s heartbeat and made it your ringtone, showing it off to anyone who would listen. You stood outside the ultrasound room and shouted, ‘Don’t be scared, honey!’ until a nurse chased you away three times.” My voice started to break. “For five years, you spoiled me so completely I barely knew how to function. You insisted on tying my shoes for me… I really, truly believed we would be happy forever.” I lifted my tear-streaked face to his. “But now… when I look at you, I can’t see a single trace of that man. There’s no concern for me in your eyes at all.” The weight of five years of memories washed over us. Michael’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “But Claire,” he finally choked out, “Chloe really needs me right now.” She needs me. Those three words pulverized the last glittering shard of hope I had left. I stared at him, at this man who had suddenly become a stranger. My voice trembled as I bit out the words. “Get. Out.” He flinched, took a half-step toward me as if to embrace me, but then he turned. Without another word, he walked away, his figure disappearing down the long, empty hallway. On the day that would have been our baby’s three-month memorial, I knelt at the tiny grave. Michael wasn’t there. “Hi, sweetie. Mommy’s here to see you.” My voice was a soft whisper, but I couldn’t stop it from shaking. My mother wrapped an arm around my shoulders, her own tears falling freely. “I’m here, Claire. Mom’s right here.” I leaned into her, my voice thick with grief. “It’s okay. At least I had him with me for a little while. And… maybe, with things being the way they are… maybe it’s better that he didn’t have to come into this family.” Just as the words left my lips, Michael arrived. He knelt beside me. “My sweet boy, Daddy’s…” “I told you that day,” I cut him off, my voice cold as stone. “If you walked out, this child wouldn’t have a father.” He frowned, a look of pained exasperation on his face, as if I were a petulant child throwing a tantrum and he was the magnanimous adult, tolerating my outburst. “Claire, I know you’re hurting, but don’t say things like that. I’m his father, and I’m hurting too. You…” My mother’s hand shot out, the sharp crack of her palm against his cheek echoing in the quiet cemetery. “Hurting?” she spat. “Is your idea of hurting abandoning your wife during a high-risk delivery to go take care of some tramp?” Michael’s face darkened instantly. But before he could speak, Chloe herself came rushing toward us from the cemetery gates, her eyes red and swollen. She looked only at Michael, her voice catching on a sob. “Michael? Are you done? Are we… are we finally going home now?” My father surged forward. “Michael! What day is it? Do you have any idea what you’re doing, bringing her here?” Michael seemed to realize how terrible this looked. He stammered, “Dad, I didn’t have a choice. Chloe’s not been well. I couldn’t leave her at home alone.” “Not well? And it’s your job, a married man’s job, to take care of her? Do you know what today is for your son? Do you have any idea what your wife has been going through?” Chloe immediately bowed her head, her voice as faint as a mosquito’s buzz. “I’m so sorry, sir… I didn’t mean to. It’s just, Michael said he was coming out here today, and I got scared being alone, so I followed him.” It was a masterful performance of fragile victimhood. And, of course, it worked. Michael immediately stepped in front of her, shielding her. “Dad, if you’re angry, take it out on me. Don’t blame her.” My father, incandescent with rage, turned to Michael’s parents. “This is the fine son you two raised!” My mother helped me to my feet, her whole body trembling with fury. “Michael, are you even human?” His parents were frantic now. “Michael, this really isn’t the place,” his mother pleaded. “Please, just have someone take Chloe home.” But Michael acted as if he hadn’t heard a word. Instead, he took Chloe’s hand, his grip tightening. “Her mental state is finally stabilizing. She can’t handle any more stress.” I stared at him, my voice cracking. “So… in your world, she can’t be stressed, but I can? I’m just supposed to handle the death of our child on my own, is that it?” Before he could answer, Chloe spoke up, her voice laced with wounded nobility. “It’s okay, Michael. Claire’s right. It was thoughtless of me. You… you should go back to her. Take care of your wife.” She sniffled. “I’ll… I’ll go home right now and pack your things.” She turned, stumbled, her high heel catching on the edge of a headstone, and she went down hard. Michael’s hand, which was still holding mine, clenched so tightly I thought my bones would snap. He almost let go, almost lunged for her. But he stopped himself, watching as Leo rushed over to help her up. A long moment passed. Then he spoke, his voice low and heavy. “I’ll stay with you a little while longer.” He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at Chloe. “But you need to remember something, Chloe. Claire is my wife. The one I married. The day she needs me to come home, I have to leave. No tears, no scenes. I’ve done more than enough for you over the years.” Chloe bit her lip, and then, as if she could no longer hold it in, she burst into tears and ran from the cemetery. Michael didn’t move. He didn’t chase her. He just stood there, his expression unreadable. But the hand holding mine was trembling. You can’t hide what you truly care about. Years ago, I was hospitalized with acute gastritis, and he drove all night from a business trip to be with me. His eyes were red with worry, but he put on a stern face and lectured me about eating street food. He was just like this then, too. Saying harsh words with his mouth, while his thumb gently, unconsciously, stroked the back of my hand. 3 That evening, in the private dining room of a restaurant, the air was thick with tension. Our parents sat around the large circular table, the silence broken only by the clinking of silverware. Leo leaned over and whispered in Michael’s ear. “Chloe’s still in the parking lot. The valet said she’s just sitting in her car, crying.” Michael didn’t even look up. He was spooning soup into a bowl for me, his movements steady and deliberate. “Let her,” he said, his voice flat. The tension in the room ratcheted up another notch. The meal was tasteless. It felt no different from all the meals I had eaten alone lately. Chloe was the daughter of Michael and Leo’s beloved professor, a man who had been a mentor to them both. They had all grown up together. Leo never said it outright, but he always looked out for her more than he ever did for me, his supposed sister-in-law. When the main courses arrived, the final dish, a steamed snapper, was placed in front of me. Leo suddenly spoke up. “We should save some of that for Chloe. Fish is her favorite. If you want more, Claire, we can just order another one.” Michael let out a short, cold laugh. He reached out and pulled the entire platter of fish directly in front of my plate. His voice was hard as ice. “What my wife likes to eat is not for outsiders to share.” He said the words. But after he put down his chopsticks, his eyes kept darting toward the door of the private room. A waiter came in to clear the empty dishes. As he was about to take the scraps to the kitchen, Michael, who had been silent for a long time, suddenly stood up. “I’ll do it.” The waiter stared, baffled, but handed over the trash bag. After Michael left, Leo quickly moved to the farthest seat at the table and pretended to be engrossed in an email on his phone. Our parents lapsed back into an awkward, mechanical silence. The tightness in my chest was becoming unbearable. I stood up and walked into the hallway, needing fresh air. Without thinking, I found myself walking down to the underground parking garage. That’s when I heard it: Chloe’s soft, aggrieved sobs, mingled with Michael’s low, comforting murmurs. I ducked behind a concrete pillar. Outside, a light snow had begun to fall. Michael and Chloe were sitting side-by-side on the hood of his car, sharing a takeout container. He reached up and gently wiped a tear from her cheek. Chloe, her eyes red, balled her fist and hit his chest playfully, a pout on her face. “You’re going back to her anyway, so why are you still acting like you care about me?” Michael let her hit him, his expression filled with an endless, patient indulgence. It was a look of pure, unguarded tenderness—completely different from the careful, deliberate kindness he always showed me. “Don’t be silly,” he said, his voice laced with resignation. “I promised your father I’d take care of you for the rest of my life. You know I’m not going to abandon you, don’t you?” Chloe’s sobs subsided as she leaned into his side. Michael picked up a piece of pork rib with his chopsticks and held it to her lips. “I had this sent over from that private kitchen you like,” he murmured. “It’s much better than the food at the restaurant.” She took a bite, and her crying finally stopped. Michael began to explain, his voice low. “Claire just lost the baby. She’s emotionally unstable. This is just one dinner to keep the peace. Once she’s satisfied, she won’t keep pushing me to come home all the time.” So that was it. That was his calculation. All those times, over five years, when he’d sided with me in small, insignificant arguments—it wasn’t about love. It was just a strategy to keep me quiet, to stop me from making trouble for Chloe. A few crumbs of affection were enough to make me feel grateful, to keep me docilely by his side. I looked at the two of them, huddled together against the falling snow. Michael had a sensitive stomach and a small appetite. He’d eaten a full meal upstairs in the dining room, yet he was now eating most of the food in the takeout container. Maybe it’s true what they say. You can only truly enjoy a meal with someone who shares your heart. Whether it was a childhood sweetheart or the great love of his life, one thing was clear. That person wasn’t me. 4 I turned and walked away silently. From my purse, I pulled out the divorce papers I’d had drawn up days ago. When I returned to the private room, divorce papers in hand, both sets of parents stood up. After the spectacle in the cemetery, even Michael’s parents didn’t know how to argue for their son anymore. My own parents just sighed and told me, “If you want a divorce, you have our support.” Michael’s mother hesitated, then gripped my hand, her eyes pleading. “Claire, can’t you just give him one more chance? He’s only like this because he feels so indebted to his mentor.” I said nothing. I just placed the papers on the table. Just as tears started to well in her eyes, the door swung open. Michael was back. And he had brought Chloe with him. She was wearing his suit jacket, and she surveyed the room with an air of entitlement, as if she were the incoming Mrs. Davies. The room fell dead silent. Every eye was on them. “Michael,” his mother’s voice trembled. “Why is she back here?” His father slammed his wine glass on the table. “Michael, have you lost your mind?!” Michael didn’t answer them. His gaze swept over the coat I was wearing and finally landed on my face. “Finished eating?” “Yes,” I replied calmly. “I’m going home.” He seemed to relax. “Okay. Text me when you get there.” He said it so casually, then turned and gently guided Chloe forward. “Mom, Dad, you know my mentor passed away. Before he died, he entrusted Chloe to me. I can’t go back on my word. For the next little while, I need to give her a job, so she’ll be starting at the company.” His brazen honesty made our earlier outrage seem petty and overwrought. Chloe smiled politely and reached for his mother’s arm. “It’s so nice to meet you, ma’am. Michael has taken such good care of me. He wanted me to meet all of you tonight. Since everyone is here, perhaps I could offer a toast?” Michael’s mother looked at me, her face a mess of conflicting emotions. “Claire, why don’t you… sit down and we can talk about this?” I was about to refuse, but Chloe cut in, her eyes glinting with challenge. “Yes, Claire. You should sit. You’re still his wife, after all. There are some things you should be aware of, don’t you think?” CRACK. The sound of the slap was sharp and clean in the silent room. I stared in shock as my mother lowered her hand from Chloe’s face. “Mom!” My mother turned to me, her eyes blazing, her voice shaking with a rage I had never seen before. “I carried you for ten months. Do you think I don’t know my own daughter? You married him when you were twenty-two. You’re twenty-seven now. Five years! You gave up a scholarship to study abroad for him. You managed his company socials for him. When he had stress-induced gastritis from drinking too much, you stayed by his hospital bed for three days without sleep. You loved him that much. You wouldn’t be letting go unless your heart was completely dead.” Her voice broke. “I don’t need you to be rich or famous. But I will not stand here and watch him humiliate you with his mistress. If you won’t do it, I’ll do it for you!” Her words were like a hammer blow, and the tears I had been holding back finally broke free. Chloe cradled her cheek, tears pooling in her eyes. Michael immediately pulled her behind him, his expression dark and terrifyingly angry. “Claire,” he seethed. “When did you learn to hide behind your parents to…” “Do you know what I find most disgusting about you?” I cut him off, stepping forward and slapping him across the face with all the strength I had. “Michael, you’re the one who deserves to be hit!” I snatched the divorce papers from the table and threw them at his chest. He caught them automatically. His eyes widened as he read the title. His pupils contracted. “Claire… you want a divorce?”

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As our whole class watched the game stream together, the vice president, Caden, sneered at the female player on screen. “Man, it must be nice not having balls. Just spread your legs and the mission’s done. Wish I was a girl!” Just as everyone was about to argue with him, we were all suddenly dragged into the game. 【Welcome to the Live Chat Battle Royale!】 【Survive by completing the game according to the rules set by your own live chat comments!】 The moment the voice faded, Caden’s crude comment materialized as a crimson banner above his head. The next second, his crotch erupted in a mist of blood. 1 We were in the international program at Northwood Prep—just twelve of us, all set to head to universities abroad this summer. The usual pre-exam tension was nonexistent. The day before our finals, we were all gathered, watching a horror battle royale stream. The game was set in an abandoned school. The female streamer was being coddled by her teammates, never having to lift a finger for any of the tasks. My classmates’ fingers flew across their keyboards, flooding the live chat with a storm of complaints. 【What a fucking useless leader, all he does is hide with the girl. Man up and fight!】 【God, I hate it when couples drag the team down. Can’t they just break up before playing?】 【Not to be sexist, but I hate teaming up with girls. So much drama!】 【A true leading lady does it alone. No need for teammates!】 And Caden, the vice president sitting next to me, just had to shout his opinion out loud with a contemptuous smirk. “Man, it must be nice not having balls. No need to grind, just spread your legs and someone else does the work for you. Wish I was a girl!” As he spoke, he typed the exact same words into the chat and hit send. Several of the girls in the room instantly blew up. “What the hell is wrong with you, Caden? What did girls ever do to you?” “Did you just crawl out of a sewer? Your mouth stinks. Go brush your teeth!” But Caden was completely unfazed. “People just can’t handle the truth. It’s a fact you girls don’t have anything between your legs. Did I say a single word that was wrong?” He had that smug, self-satisfied look of someone who thinks they’re the only sane person in a world of fools. It made me sick. But in the next instant, the world warped. The clean white walls of our classroom were suddenly smeared with dark, crimson stains. “What’s going on?” “Holy shit, don’t scare me like that…” “Why… why does this look exactly like the game?” I lifted my head to the blackboard. In the stream we’d been watching, that’s where all the clues appeared. Sure enough, glowing green text materialized on its surface. 【Welcome to the Live Chat Battle Royale!】 【Survive by completing the game according to the rules set by your own live chat comments!】 2 Confusion swept through the room. “Live Chat Battle Royale? What the hell is that?” “Someone explain this! I don’t get it!” A moment later, Caden’s scream provided all the explanation we needed. A sharp, wet pop echoed in the classroom, and Caden’s lower body was instantly shrouded in a cloud of red mist. The comment he’d just posted hovered ominously above his head, a translucent, blood-red banner that seared itself into our eyes. 【Man, it must be nice not having balls. No need to grind, just spread your legs and it’s over. Wish I was a girl!】 Not having balls. It clicked. I suddenly understood. Caden said he wished he didn’t have anything between his legs, and the game had made it a reality. A few students, their faces drained of all color, stumbled into a corner and started retching. A cold sweat broke out on my own skin. I was just thankful I’d been so focused on Caden’s disgusting rant that I hadn’t typed anything myself. In his condition, he probably wouldn’t last the day. Oh, not even a day. His legs began to spread apart at a horrifyingly unnatural angle. He seemed to realize what was happening and desperately tried to pull them back together. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have said it! I know I was wrong!” he shrieked, his voice cracking with terror. “I shouldn’t have insulted women! Please, stop, don’t—” A sound like a pig being slaughtered filled the room as his bones groaned with an audible, sickening crack. He was already in a full split, but his legs kept pulling, slowly, relentlessly, in opposite directions. I heard the sound of tearing flesh and squeezed my eyes shut. Behind me, one of the boys screamed, his voice breaking into a high-pitched squeal. “He’s being ripped in half!” Students at the back of the room were frantically pounding on the door and windows, trying to escape, but nothing budged. Caden was torn apart, starting from his legs. His insides spilled out onto the floor in a grotesque heap. His eyes were wide with horror, staring blankly even after he stopped breathing. The bloody text above his head slowly faded until it vanished completely. Amidst the chaos, a speaker crackled to life from above. 【Warm-up complete. The general rules for this game will now be announced.】 3 The sudden voice made me jump. You call that pool of guts a warm-up? 【This Battle Royale will last for four days and four nights. During the day, players may move freely. At 8 PM every evening, all players must gather for a mandatory discussion, followed by a vote to determine that night’s eliminated player. At night, all players must rest separately; prolonged grouping is a violation.】 【Each comment has corresponding sub-rules that must be strictly followed. The game will only reveal the comment’s content, not its owner. When a player dies, their corresponding comment and its rules will disappear.】 【There are a total of six Item Cards hidden throughout the school. Three ‘Cancel Cards’ can eliminate a designated comment (your own or someone else’s). Two ‘Swap Cards’ can randomly exchange the ownership of two comments. One ‘Generator Card’ can create a new comment, but its rules cannot override or contradict the general rules.】 【Surviving for four days and four nights constitutes victory. The winners will split a prize of twenty million dollars.】 I let out a small sigh of relief. In principle, multiple people could survive. And for kids in the international program, none of us were hurting for money. 【The system has identified 9 valid comments. Player Caden has been eliminated. The remaining 8 comments are now displayed on the blackboard. Please review them.】 Eight blocks of large, green text appeared on the board. Below each, smaller red text detailed the specific rules. Everyone had more or less pulled themselves together and we all started reading. Comment 1: 【I never trust random probability. With precise calculation, you can’t lose!】 Rule: The owner of this comment has a passive skill that grants a one-time immunity to the effect of any Item Card. We all knew who this had to be. Leo, our resident academic star. A 24-karat nerd who believed every problem in the universe could be solved with an equation. This had his name written all over it. I glanced over at him; he looked as calm as ever. Comment 2: 【If you’re a man, play with your chest out! No hiding!】 Rule: All male players must remain in motion during the day. Hiding in the same location for more than thirty minutes will result in elimination. One of the guys cursed under his breath. “Which son of a bitch posted that? What kind of asshole drags all the other guys down with him?” My heart skipped a beat. A comment could actually affect other players. Comment 3: 【I wish I had a see-through item. A god’s-eye view would be sick!】 Rule: Each night, you may choose one person and learn the content of their comment. So, a Seer, like in a game of Mafia. I sighed internally. People with that kind of power never lasted long. Comment 4: 【A true leading lady does it alone. No need for teammates!】 Rule: This player must act alone at all times, except during the discussion phase. A girl, then. Comment 5: 【If I’m playing, no one touches my woman before I die!】 This one was basically a confession. There was only one couple in our class: Asher, our class president, and his girlfriend, Mia. It could only be Asher, trying to protect her. Comment 6: 【Not to be sexist, but I hate teaming up with girls. So much drama!】 Rule: Outside of discussion and voting, this player cannot be alone in the same space with any female player for more than 10 minutes. If this rule is broken, the other female player will die. That familiar knot of tension tightened in my stomach. Another comment targeting female players. My first thought was that some other idiot guy had posted it, but then I reconsidered. This felt… different. It sounded more like a pick-me girl. Comment 7: 【Just kill everyone else, right?】 Rule: This player must kill one person each night. Every face in the room went pale. 4 Son of a bitch. This really was a game of Mafia. We were already set to lose four people to the votes over four days, and now we had a nightly murderer on top of that. Unless this ‘Wolf’ was voted out or had their comment canceled with a card, they might be the only one left standing. I quickly calculated in my head. As soon as we could, we had to find a Cancel Card and get rid of that comment. I was so engrossed in my thoughts that I hadn’t even looked at the eighth and final comment. It was the shocked gasps from two classmates beside me that snapped me out of it. Asher and Mia had collapsed to the floor, their faces masks of pure despair. The last comment on the blackboard was especially cruel. Comment 8: 【God, couples who drag the team down are the worst. Can’t they just break up before playing?】 Rule: At the start of the game, all couples must internally vote to eliminate one member. Asher and Mia… one of them had to die. Right now. It was possible? You could post a comment that forced someone else to die? Amidst the heavy silence, a girl named Skylar folded her arms and sneered, “Come on, hurry it up. Don’t waste everyone’s time.” She was the school’s resident bad girl, known for bullying others. Most people steered clear of her. There had been rumors she’d pursued Asher before, and seeing her now, it seemed plausible. Her eyes were filled with nothing but gleeful malice. “Aren’t you two just so in love? Time to prove it.” No one spoke. Mia clung to Asher, her voice choked with sobs. “No, baby, please, you can’t…” Asher held her tight. “I’m so sorry, my love.” Tears streamed down Mia’s face as she desperately tried to stand up first, to take the fall herself. But Asher was well over six feet tall and easily broke her grip. He pushed her away, gently but firmly, and rose to his feet. “Everyone,” he said, his voice steady, “please, look after my Mia. I’m begging you.” As Mia’s cries filled the room, he raised his hand. “I choose to eliminate myself.” Snap. With a faint, sickening crack, Asher’s neck twisted at an impossible angle. The comment he’d made to protect his girlfriend appeared above his head as a bloody halo, then slowly faded away. Mia’s sobs turned into silent, ragged gasps. She somehow found the strength to catch her boyfriend’s falling body with her own small frame, her hands gently closing his lifeless eyes. I sighed. Our president was a true man. He deserved respect. A few other students were quietly crying. “Asher lived a good life. He didn’t go out without a fight.” But there’s always someone with a sick mind. Skylar, for instance, shot a final, bitter remark at Mia. “You’re a curse. Asher was just unlucky to have ever dated you.” And then there was Leo, who chose that moment to “comfort” everyone. “Actually, this was the only optimal solution. The president’s comment contained a logical constraint…” “Because Mia couldn’t be harmed before he died, if she were chosen for elimination, he would have died with her. The proposition had only one unique solution…” “Shut up!” a guy named Rhys snapped. “You goddamn nerd, you’re sick in the head!” Another boy, Quentin, slammed his fist against the doorframe. “Enough with the bullshit. Let’s go explore and find those items!” As if on cue, the speaker crackled. 【The game has begun. All players may now act freely according to their respective rules.】 The lock on the door clicked open. Everyone who could move scrambled out of the suffocating classroom as if fleeing a plague. After one last look at the blackboard, I left too, my mind already racing, analyzing the seven remaining comments. Leo, the calculation freak, was a known quantity with a one-time immunity. The couple-breaker comment was now useless. That left one comment forcing guys to keep moving, one pick-me comment that could kill lone girls, and one lone-wolf girl comment. And somewhere among us, a Wolf who had to kill, and a Seer who could see. There were ten of us left. That meant besides me, there were two other “vanilla” players with no comments. I started running through the personalities of my classmates. With the president and vice president dead, we were down to five boys and five girls. Among the other four girls, Ruby was quiet and introverted; I didn’t know her well. Mia was usually sweet and easygoing, but now she was a wreck, impossible to analyze. That left Skylar and the stunning, mixed-race Lillian. My gut told me one of them was the pick-me, and the other was the lone wolf. Of the five remaining boys, Leo was too clinical for me to even want to understand. Silas was quiet and reserved, but I always felt there was a turbulent current beneath his calm exterior. Rhys, Liam, and Quentin were the more outgoing types. Maybe I could get some useful information by focusing on them during the discussions. Right now, the priority was to scout the area, find items and clues, and figure out how to stay alive. The moment I stepped out of the school building, a chilling wind hit me. The air was thick with the smell of blood and decay, making my stomach churn again. Four days. Besides the game rules, starvation and dehydration might not be fatal, but I knew my hypoglycemia could be a serious problem. If my blood sugar dropped too low, I could just pass out and die. I had to find supplies. Even a few pieces of candy could be the difference between life and death for me over the next four days. This school was completely enclosed. The rulebook I’d seen mentioned a military-style management, so I wasn’t surprised when I couldn’t find a convenience store or supermarket anywhere. My only option was the cafeteria. As I walked, a grim thought crossed my mind. If there was no food or water, this game would truly force us to kill each other. But all my worries vanished the moment I stepped inside. Ten exquisite meals were laid out on the tables. Steak, mashed potatoes, creamy mushroom soup, and two small pastries for each setting. The silverware was ornate, the sense of ceremony a cruel irony in this place. I picked up a steak knife and made a small cut. Pink juices oozed out. Medium rare. The sight of blood and flesh brought back the image of Caden’s mangled body. I turned and threw up again, the bitter taste of bile filling my mouth. In the end, I just wrapped the two pastries in a napkin and stuffed them in my pocket. I searched several storage rooms but found no Item Cards. I was feeling weak and utterly drained. I took the key from one of the janitor’s closets, locked the door from the inside, and unrolled a yoga mat I found to lie down for a while. For the first time, I felt a small sliver of relief. At least the girls didn’t have to be constantly on the move. We could find a place to hide and rest. When I woke up, my hypoglycemia had kicked in as expected. I ate half a pastry, but my appetite was gone. I hid the rest under the yoga mat and headed to the classroom for the first discussion and vote. 5 Within ten minutes, everyone had trickled back into the classroom. 【The discussion will now begin. After the discussion, a vote will be held. No player may abstain from voting twice in a row. Good luck to all players.】 My stomach dropped. Can’t abstain twice in a row. That meant we would be forced to make enemies. Silence hung in the air. Leo was the first to speak. “Is anyone willing to reveal their comment?” He held up his hand. “Mine is the calculation one, with the immunity. I think you all figured that out.” Skylar immediately stood up. “I’m not one to hide. I’m the one who doesn’t like playing with girls.” Of course. The pick-me herself. Judging by the lack of reaction, no one was surprised. “Anyone else?” I stayed silent as a mouse, huddled in my corner, afraid that speaking up would make me a target. Skylar scanned the other girls. “Look at you all, a bunch of whiny, scared little bitches.” Just then, Mia, her face pale, raised a trembling hand. “I didn’t post a comment.” Skylar’s expression soured instantly. “Oh really? You. Didn’t. Post. A. Comment.” She dragged out the words with theatrical sarcasm. “Who’s gonna believe that? You got any proof?” Mia managed a self-deprecating smile. “When my boyfriend was posting his comment, I was holding onto his arm and refused to let go. I never even had a free hand to look at my own phone.” I raised an eyebrow. If Skylar really did have a thing for Asher, those words were a knife straight to the heart. Even in a death game, people can’t resist gossip. Everyone’s eyes drifted subtly towards Skylar. As expected, a flicker of humiliation crossed her face. “Wow, still have the energy to show off your perfect relationship. Impressive.” “I wasn’t…” “Shut up,” Skylar snapped, rolling her eyes. “If you loved him so much, why didn’t you die for him? Don’t you want to join him?” Mia’s face was ashen, but her eyes were firm. “I won’t let my boyfriend’s death be for nothing.” “I might not win, but I’m going to fight to live as long as I can.” Skylar let out a derisive chuckle. “Don’t waste your breath.” A vicious smile spread across her face. “I say we help our dear Mia fulfill her dream. Let’s send her to be reunited with her precious boyfriend!” I couldn’t help but feel contempt for her. While the rest of us were trying to find the Wolf, she was using her “I don’t play with girls” rule to start a catfight, one that could get someone killed. I made a mental note to stay as far away from her as possible. If she ever tried to come after me, I’d bite her damn head off before I went down. My thoughts were interrupted by the sharp crack of a slap. It was Mia. She had suddenly lunged forward and struck Skylar across the face. “You think you’ve won? Skylar, you think I don’t know about you trying to seduce Asher?” “Too bad for you. He never even opened those private photos you sent him!” “Calling yourself ‘one of the guys.’ What kind of ‘guy’ sends videos of themselves in a bra to another man? Hahaha!” “He’s dead, but he died for me. You never had a chance, Skylar. You couldn’t even be his side piece!” “Fuck you!” Skylar screamed, and the two of them started brawling. “You fucking bitch, you little fox! I’ll kill you sooner or later!” “You just wait, I’ll drown you in a pig cage…” A few of the guys, unable to watch any longer, stepped in to pull them apart. “Stop it! We only have five minutes left to vote…” Leo pushed his glasses up his nose. “If Mia is truly a vanilla player, voting for her is meaningless. I have a candidate in mind.” Lillian spoke up suddenly, and all heads turned to her. She sat perched on a desk, her blonde hair and blue eyes standing out, her light, poofy dress a stark contrast to the grim surroundings. “I saw it. I saw who posted the comment that killed Asher.” “What did you say?” everyone asked, stunned. The next second, Liam, who was standing nearby, dropped to his knees. “I’m sorry, it was me!” he cried, tears and snot streaming down his face. “Asher was my brother, I’m so sorry…” “I admit I was jealous of him and Mia… but I never wanted him to die! Mia, I’m so sorry…” Hearing this, Skylar’s face twisted into an even uglier sneer. Lillian just rolled her eyes. “An eye for an eye. It’s only fair.” Mia was breathing heavily, staring at Liam with a blank expression. After a long moment, she raised her hand. “I vote for Liam.” Liam, still kneeling, trembled. He looked at Lillian and Mia with a last shred of hope. “I can help you, I can protect you…” But Lillian just scoffed. “I don’t need any teammates.” One by one, the others pointed at Liam. His eyes went vacant as he muttered, “I’m sorry.” I followed the majority and voted for him too. Only Skylar, her jaw tight, pointed stubbornly at Mia. The countdown ended. Liam’s pupils dilated abruptly. Thin trickles of blood began to seep from his eyes and nostrils. He fell backward and didn’t move again. The comment about breaking up couples appeared, then vanished. This time, everyone was much calmer. The voting was over, and the click of the unlocking door echoed through the room. People began to file out. I let out a slow breath. Tonight, the owner of the ‘kill everyone’ comment would strike. I took a roundabout path, making sure no one was following me, before slipping back into the equipment room and locking the door. I had a pretty good idea who tonight’s victim would be. Either Skylar, who had made herself a public enemy, or… The lone wolf, Lillian. Her last sentence had given her away. I don’t need any teammates. Combined with the fact that she was a girl, I was almost certain she was the ‘lone leading lady.’ She was forced to be alone, making her the easiest target. If I were the Wolf, I’d go after Lillian tonight as a warm-up. I lay on the yoga mat, clutching a small dumbbell, staying alert for half the night before exhaustion finally took over.

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During the earthquake, I shielded my son with my body. My husband arrived but only had time to save our son. By the time rescuers reached me, my limbs were irreparably crushed, leaving me dependent on their care. Years later, my son handed me a document to sever our ties. “No one will marry me with you as a burden,” he said coldly. My husband added, “You saved him—will you let your condition ruin his life?” Heartbroken, I signed and left alone. Later, while scavenging in my wheelchair, I saw them—my husband, son, and his first love—a happy family. I overheard the truth: my husband had deliberately not saved me to be with her. My son chirped, “Good thing we got rid of Mom so Aunt Lily could be my new mom.” I died from the betrayal, but when I opened my eyes, I was back under the rubble with my son. 1 “Mom, where are you going? Come back and protect me!” My son, pinned beneath the debris, watched in wide-eyed horror as I started to crawl away on my own. I didn’t look back. I just kept crawling. In my last life, I had used my body as a shield for him, creating a small pocket of survival. My reward was being cast out like trash. The image of him fawning over Lily, his arm wrapped around hers, was burned into my mind. My own son, who could look at me with such venom as he forced me to sign away my rights as his mother, could smile so sweetly at another woman. What was the point of saving a son like that? I glanced back one last time at his desperate, helpless face, then turned and scrambled towards a makeshift supply point set up by other survivors. “Please, help!” I cried, my face a mask of panic. “Save my son!” As they were disinfecting my wounds with alcohol, a familiar figure stumbled toward the wreckage. I froze. Mark. My husband. He raced toward the spot where our son was trapped. Ignoring the gash on his own arm, he frantically pulled the boy free. Our son, Caleb, sobbed hysterically in his arms. Mark glanced at the unstable pile of rubble I had just escaped from. He hesitated for only a second, then kicked out the last, splintered support beam holding up a massive concrete slab. My breath caught in my throat. So, in my past life, the slab collapsing after Caleb was saved… it wasn’t an accident. It was deliberate. I finally understood the deep-seated resentment they both held for me. I was supposed to have died under that rubble. By some fluke, I had only lost my limbs and survived. And I, like a fool, had believed Mark simply didn’t have time to save me. I had even comforted him, told him I didn’t blame him… It felt like a hand was squeezing my throat, cutting off my air. I watched as Mark kicked out the last support, then clutched our son and ran in the opposite direction. I knew where he was going. That was where Lily was buried. In the distance, a news van pulled up, and reporters with cameras started running our way. I quickly squeezed out a few tears and collapsed to the ground with a dramatic wail. 2 When Mark emerged with Lily, his rescue uniform was torn to shreds. It was obvious the situation where she had been trapped was far more dangerous. I saw them from a distance and let out a cold, bitter laugh. In my last life, Mark had defied official orders and rushed to the disaster site first. I thought he was coming for me and our son. Now I knew the truth. He came because his precious first love was buried here. Caleb, though he only came up to Lily’s waist, clutched at her clothes, trying his best to support her. Mark held Lily close, his voice soft and gentle. “It’s okay. The main rescue team is almost here. As soon as they arrive, I’ll have them take you to the best hospital nearby.” A bitter sting filled my eyes. Is this how he had cared for Lily in my past life, while I was left for dead under the rubble? “Ma’am, could you please repeat that? Who was the rescuer in the uniform who was just here?” a reporter asked, microphone extended. My eyes were red from crying. I stood before the camera and turned to look at the approaching trio. “That’s my husband,” I sobbed. “And the woman he ran off to save… is his first love.” “Sarah?” At the sound of my voice, Mark’s head snapped up. He looked from me to the collapsed rubble where Caleb and I had been, his face a mask of disbelief. “You… how are you…” “How am I still alive? Is that what you want to ask?” I cried, gasping for breath. “Reporters, do you see that broken beam over there? My husband kicked it out! After he pulled our son out, he destroyed the only thing holding up the slab. He never intended for me to get out of there alive!” I was sobbing so hard a reporter had to steady me. “Ma’am, please calm down. Take a breath and tell us what happened.” I choked back a sob. “I thought he just didn’t have time to save me! If there hadn’t been another small opening on the other side, I would have been crushed to death by him! I thought he disobeyed orders and rushed here for us, for his family. But it was for her! Captain Miller, if you wanted to be with your first love, you could have just told me! Why did you have to try and kill me?” My words sent the reporters into a frenzy. Camera flashes exploded in our faces. Mark’s first instinct was to shield Lily’s eyes from the blinding light. Then he turned to me, his brow furrowed in anger. “Sarah! What the hell are you talking about? Do you have any idea what you’re doing to Lily’s reputation?” I pointed a trembling finger at him. “You see? You see that? His first instinct is to protect her!” The crowd of survivors and onlookers erupted. “Look at his uniform, he’s a first responder! He ignored orders, and when he got here, he saved his old flame instead of his own wife?” “Lily? That name sounds familiar. Isn’t she some kind of minor internet celebrity?” “I found her! Yeah, she’s an influencer! And there’s some drama… let’s see… caught going into a hotel with a male fan late at night, confronted by his wife during a live stream…” Someone threw a rotten egg, splattering across Lily’s perfectly made-up face. “Slut! How many married men have you slept with?” “And you!” another person yelled at Mark. “You treat this trash like a treasure and leave your own wife to die? Scum!” “Reporters! Get a close-up! She wants to be famous, right? Let’s give her some attention!” Lily shrieked and buried her face in Mark’s chest. “It’s not true! I didn’t do it!” The cameras swarmed them. In this situation, the smart thing for Mark to do, especially in his uniform, would have been to step away. But after a moment’s hesitation, he pulled Lily behind him, shielding her with his body as the cameras captured his every move. He glared at me. “Sarah, tell them the truth, now! Are you trying to ruin an innocent person’s life?” Tears streamed down my face as I sobbed for the cameras. “An innocent person? You call the woman you abandoned me to save innocent?” “That’s right! You left your wife, and you think you’re in the right?” a bystander shouted. “Get them! Beat the scumbag and the homewrecker!” “Don’t you dare touch my daddy!” Caleb launched himself forward, standing in front of Mark. His small body radiated a surprising amount of force. “My daddy and Aunt Lily are innocent! Don’t let my mommy fool you! She’s a liar!” He pointed at me. “She’s not the poor victim you think she is! Just a little while ago, she left me under the rubble all by myself and crawled out to save her own skin. I was crying so loud, and she didn’t even look back! If my daddy hadn’t come and saved me, I’d be dead right now!” The crowd fell silent. 3 Mark seized the opportunity. “That’s right. When I arrived, my wife was already gone from the site. I kicked that beam to eliminate a potential hazard, not to harm her like she claims!” His eyes reddened, and the sight of a strong man looking so wronged was enough to sway some people. “We’re husband and wife. Caleb is our son. If she had still been in there, don’t you think my own son would have told me? It was only because I confirmed she was safe that I took action.” “As for saving Ms. Hayes,” he continued, gesturing to Lily, “it was because I couldn’t find my wife, and someone else needed help. But I never imagined… Sarah, I never imagined you would slander me like this.” The crowd’s eyes widened, and their suspicious gazes turned on me. One of the survivors nodded. “That’s right. When she came running over here, her son wasn’t with her. He must not have been rescued yet.” “So you’re a mother who abandoned her own child?” “If you were still under there, your son would have told his dad. He must have said you were gone.” Now, the cameras were all pointed at me. “We almost fell for it! Slandering a first responder! How could you do that to your own husband and child?” “You ditch your son and then get mad when your husband saves someone else? You’re unbelievable!” Rotten vegetables rained down on me. Someone threw a bucket of dirty water. The flashing lights hurt my eyes, and real tears began to fall. In my past life, when I was still under the rubble, my son hadn’t said a word. And the beam still broke. But that was a memory from another life. No one would believe me if I told them. So instead, I collapsed to the ground with a cry of pain. “Oh my god! Look at her back! It’s covered in blood!” “Quick, get some bandages!” The woman who had given me alcohol earlier rushed to my side. My eyes were red as I looked into the cameras. “I never thought… I never thought that running out to find help for my son, without even tending to my own injuries, would be twisted into me abandoning him,” I cried out. “If I really wanted to leave him, why would I have shielded him with my own body… Ah!” The woman poured alcohol on my back, and I screamed in agony. She comforted me while telling the reporters, “It’s true! When she came to us, all she said was ‘save my son.’ If I hadn’t forced her to sit down and get treated, she would have bled out!” The alcohol stung my wounds. Every movement sent a fresh wave of excruciating pain through me. The accusations from the crowd died down. Everyone watched as the wounded mother twitched in agony, their faces filled with pity. Caleb looked at my back, a flicker of remorse in his eyes, before he turned away and muttered, “Serves you right. I never asked you to protect me.” His voice was quiet, but someone heard him. “What did you just say, you little brat?” “See? I told you! A heartless father and a heartless son! Get them! Don’t let them get away! We have to expose these scumbags!” “That’s right! Post it online so everyone knows what they’re really like!” “What are you doing? You can’t do this!” Mark instinctively protected Lily, but that only enraged the crowd further. “He’s still protecting the other woman! Get them! Don’t let any of them go, big or small!” I was helped to the side, just outside the circle of chaos, and watched them through red-rimmed eyes. A small, almost imperceptible smile touched my lips. I wasn’t someone who couldn’t handle pain. In my past life, I hadn’t made a sound when all four of my limbs were being crushed. Mark, oh Mark, I thought. How do you like my acting? Just as the three of them were being shoved and pushed around, a powerful voice roared, “Stop!” I turned my head quickly. A man in a sharp suit was getting out of a black sedan nearby. A helicopter was descending, and rescue personnel were rappelling to the ground. “What is all this commotion?” The middle-aged man in the suit stood in front of Mark, facing the crowd, but his eyes were fixed on me. “Even if he has done something wrong, it should be handled by the law. Since when can you lynch someone just because another person shed a few tears?” I clenched my fists. It was Mark’s mentor, the powerful backer of his family—Arthur Tang. 4 “Sir, you don’t understand. This man tried to kill his own wife, and he…” “I will personally investigate this matter,” Arthur interrupted. “I promise you will all get a satisfactory answer.” He cut through the crowd. “I’m taking him in for questioning now. Please, trust me.” With that, he escorted Mark, Caleb, and Lily away from the volatile scene. Before getting in the car, Lily looked back at me from the safety of Mark’s arms. Her lips were curved in a triumphant, smug smile. I spent a few days in the hospital. As soon as I was discharged, I received an invitation from Arthur Tang. “Sarah, let’s let this whole thing go,” he said, pushing a stack of cash across the table. “I know you’re angry, and I’ve already disciplined Mark. You’ve been married for years. It’s not worth blowing up over something so small. I’ve looked into it. It was all a misunderstanding.” I looked at the twenty thousand dollars and sneered. Mark was one of his protégés, someone he was grooming for a position by his side. This rescue team stint was just a way to pad Mark’s resume, to give it some shine. But I wasn’t going to let that happen. “I will not let Mark get away with this,” I said, pushing the money back. “I know exactly what kind of man he is, Mr. Tang. I will never let a person like that succeed.” Arthur’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint in them. “Ms. Jones, don’t push your luck. You’re an orphan. Be careful you don’t end up with nothing. That job you have… you worked very hard to get it, didn’t you?” My brow furrowed. He smirked, stood up, paid the bill, and left. My heart sank. As I suspected, Mark would be cleared of all wrongdoing, and then he would be promoted, just like in my previous life. I took out my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. “Hello, Grandpa Lou? You once told me I could come to you if I ever needed help. Does that offer still stand?” 5 At Mark’s promotion celebration, it was Lily who stood by his side. I was just passing by when I saw the press event and the promotional posters. I stopped in my tracks. Reporters with cameras swarmed around Mark and Lily, who was holding Caleb’s hand. Lily, dressed in an elegant designer outfit, waved gracefully at the cameras. “We were just doing what anyone would have done,” she said modestly. I heard someone nearby sigh. “Now this is the kind of role model we should be celebrating! So much better than all that celebrity gossip.” “Exactly! Mr. Miller saved so many people in the disaster zone, and his wife, Mrs. Miller, worked tirelessly behind the scenes for three whole months!” “And to think someone tried to ruin their reputation! What kind of person does that? They must be either stupid or evil. Probably a foreign agent!” I froze. “Mrs. Miller worked behind the scenes for three months?” “Yeah! Don’t you watch the news?” “But… I never saw her there.” After I recovered from my injuries, I had returned to the disaster zone and served as the temporary head of the logistics department. I was constantly moving between the front lines and the rear, ensuring that rescuers and victims got the supplies they needed immediately. In those three months, I hadn’t seen Lily, or even Mark, at the front. “You don’t know? You obviously don’t care about the relief efforts. Mrs. Miller was the temporary head of the logistics department!” I was stunned. “But… I was the temporary head of logistics…” “Wait a minute… aren’t you the woman from the news? The one who tried to destroy their reputations?” someone pointed at me. My brow furrowed. I understood immediately. This was Arthur Tang’s doing. Slandering those who didn’t cooperate with him was his signature move. “It’s her!” another person shouted. “The news said she was the one who pretended to be Mrs. Miller and orchestrated the online harassment campaign against them!” “You! You have the nerve to show your face? We were wondering where you’d gone! How dare you slander a hero! You must have a death wish!”

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My mother collapsed. Suddenly, violently. Before they rushed her into surgery, she clutched my hand, her grip surprisingly strong. “Anna,” she rasped, her voice thin as paper. “Get Justin. You have to get Justin here. There’s something I need to tell him.” I called Justin again and again from the sterile silence of the hospital waiting room, each unanswered ring echoing the frantic beat of my own heart. The calls went straight to voicemail, one after the other, a relentless digital void. I was still trying when the doctor emerged from the operating room, his face a mask of grim sympathy. He walked toward me and gave me that slow, soul-crushing shake of the head. The tightly wound spring inside me snapped. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a call back from Justin’s number. A woman’s voice, sweet and cloying, answered. It was Nina. “Anna? The professor was helping me out with my parents… they were driving me crazy about settling down, and he had a little too much to drink.” Her voice was laced with a triumphant little giggle. “If you need something, you can just tell me.” I stared through the glass at the still, cold form on the gurney that was once my mother. My voice was ice. “Tell Justin Hayes that my mother is dead. And if he still wants that lab equipment, he can come to the hospital and get it.” But Justin never showed. Not even for the funeral. 1 It took only three days to go from my mother’s death to her burial. Three short, agonizing days, and in all that time, Justin was a ghost. Relatives murmured their disapproval, their whispers like wasps buzzing at the edge of my hearing. I pretended not to notice. But I knew. This hollow marriage, this charade I’d been living with Justin, had finally reached its end. After drafting the divorce papers, I tried to reach him again. As always, the calls went unanswered. He’s probably busy, I told myself, the old habit of making excuses for him dying hard. Then I pushed open the front door to our house and saw them. A pair of his polished leather dress shoes, and right beside them, a pair of delicate white sneakers. Not mine. I slipped off my own shoes and stepped inside, my heart a cold stone in my chest. And there he was—Justin, who’d been ghosting me for two weeks—with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, meticulously scrubbing a pair of lace panties, stained crimson, in the bathroom sink. Also not mine. He looked up, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but his hands never stopped their rhythmic work in the soapy water. “Anna. You’re home early. I thought you were at the hospital with your mom.” My mom? The woman I had just buried? Where was I supposed to be with her, heaven or hell? I had imagined this confrontation a hundred times. I’d pictured screaming, crying, a raw, cathartic explosion of pain. Instead, a strange calm washed over me. I felt so empty I didn’t even have the energy to ask him why he was washing another woman’s underwear. He followed my gaze to the sink. “Nina had a little accident,” he said, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather. “You know how it is. A girl shouldn’t have to deal with cold water right now.” No hot water in the house, then? I thought numbly. “Right,” I managed. “Finish up. We need to talk.” His eyes lit up, a sudden, greedy spark. “Is the new lab equipment in? Fantastic. I desperately need it for the next phase.” He was already moving past me, already in his own world. “Just have your people deliver it straight to my university lab, Anna. Someone will be there to sign for it. With that shipment, the project will move ahead twice as fast.” Justin was a man possessed by his work. If you were to rank the loves of his life, I used to be number one. Then his research took the top spot. But now… now I wasn’t sure I even made the list. Not when his brilliant little apprentice could get a tenured professor to personally handwash her bloody underwear. A sugary voice drifted from the other room. “Professor? Are you done yet? I think there’s a problem with the new serum… all your little snakey-wakes are dead!” Snakes? A jolt of pure adrenaline shot through me. I shoved past him and sprinted to the small, temperature-controlled room where I kept my pets. Nina was there, wearing nothing but one of Justin’s oversized white button-downs, her long, pale legs on full display. She was chewing on a fingernail, frowning at one of the glass terrariums. In her other hand, she held a syringe, a single drop of clear liquid clinging to its tip. Inside the tank, my beautiful, vibrant collection of pet snakes—creatures I had nurtured for years—were coiled in the corners, twitching feebly. “What did you do to them?” I shoved her away from the glass, my voice a ragged whisper. She stumbled back, clutching her chest in mock horror, a perfectly innocent smile playing on her lips. “Whoa, Anna, you’re so aggressive. I was just testing the new serum. I had to be sure it worked.” The serum? My gaze flew back to the terrarium. In a final, gruesome ballet, the snakes began to convulse violently, white foam bubbling from their mouths before they went rigid. They were dead. The innocent, malicious smile on Nina’s face broke something inside me. My hand flew up, and the sharp crack of my palm against her cheek echoed in the small room. Justin rushed in at the sound, just in time to see Nina clutching her face, tears already streaming down her cheeks. “Professor,” she sobbed, “Anna hit me. It hurts so much.” He swept her into his arms, his face a thundercloud of disappointment directed at me. “Anna, what the hell? Nina is just a student. Can’t you talk things out? Why would you hit her? When did you become so irrational?” Irrational? Me? My finger trembled as I pointed at the glass tank. “She killed them! She killed the pets I’ve had for five years! Do you have any idea how much they meant to me? A slap is the least she deserves!” I rounded on him, my voice rising. “And you! What is she even doing in our house, Justin?” Nina was his graduate student. She called him “Professor” with a familiarity that bordered on intimacy, but she never, ever called me Mrs. Hayes. She was always texting him, video-calling at all hours, angling the camera just so, her voice a breathy purr full of not-so-subtle suggestions. Her pathetic little game was transparent. I’d warned Justin about her. I told him to assign her to another mentor. He’d just laughed, patting my arm condescendingly. “Don’t be so sensitive, Anna. She’s just a student. You don’t have to be jealous of everyone.” I’d trusted him. I knew his parents’ bitter divorce when he was five had left him with a desperate need for loyalty and stability. I believed he would never cross that line. And my reward for that trust? My mother died without seeing him, and my beloved pets were now lifeless props for his little protégé’s experiment. Justin peered into the terrarium, his expression serious. He knew how precious these snakes were. I’d had them imported from all over the world, rare and delicate breeds. He knew the painstaking care I poured into them. Now, it was all gone, erased by one careless girl with a syringe. Nina’s shoulders shook with crocodile tears. “Professor, I didn’t know they belonged to Anna. I thought they were for your research,” she whimpered. “I just wanted to make sure the serum was a success before the press conference. I thought they were like… like the lab rats. I didn’t do it on purpose. Please don’t be mad at me.” Her voice grew smaller, her lip trembling as she bit it, eyes wide and red. She looked like a broken doll. It didn’t stir an ounce of pity in me; it only fed the inferno raging in my chest. “Not on purpose?” I scoffed. “Anyone with a shred of decency knows you don’t touch things that aren’t yours in someone else’s home. You don’t go into rooms you weren’t invited into. You’re what, twenty-five? Don’t tell me you don’t know basic manners, Nina.” She clutched the hem of his shirt, the fabric barely covering her, and looked up at Justin for salvation. “Professor, I really didn’t mean to…” “That’s enough.” Justin put a hand on my shoulder, his touch heavy and placating. “Anna, it’s done. What do you want from her? She said it was an accident. They’re just snakes. I’ll buy you new ones.” He looked at me, a flash of genuine annoyance in his eyes. “You’re the CEO of a major company. You manage thousands of people. Don’t you think you could show a little perspective here?” I flinched. Even though I thought I had no expectations left, the weariness in his voice, the undisguised irritation, still managed to cut me. Childhood friends, seven years of marriage, and I meant less to him than his student. It was pathetic. Wiping a tear from my cheek with the back of my hand, I pulled the folded divorce papers from my purse and held them out to him. “Justin, I want a divorce.” He stared at me, then at the papers, his mind clearly struggling to connect the two. He snatched the document and read it, then read it again, as if the words were in a foreign language. When he finally accepted I wasn’t joking, the carefully constructed mask of composure on his face cracked. “Anna, are you serious?” he hissed. “You want to divorce me because Nina accidentally killed a few of your snakes? Have you lost your mind? Your mother is still in the hospital! You want to do this now? Are you trying to give her a heart attack?” He went on, his voice a torrent of accusations. “They were just snakes! If you love them so much, I’ll buy you ten more, twenty more! You can just start over! Divorce… how can you even say that word?” He laid it on so thick, you’d think I was the one who was being completely unreasonable. But this wasn’t a debate, Justin. The one who talks the loudest isn’t always right. I swiftly signed my name on the line and pushed the papers back toward him. “Sign it. It’ll be much uglier if we drag this through the courts.” My phone rang. A friend. I answered, walking upstairs to get away from him. Her kind words were a balm on my raw nerves. By the time I came back down, Justin was gone. The divorce agreement was ripped to shreds in the bottom of the trash can. The bodies of my snakes were gone, too. No doubt taken by the research fanatic for dissection. On the table sat a small, elegant gift bag. Inside was a designer necklace from last season’s collection. My vision darkened. Justin used to love giving me gifts, things he’d spent weeks picking out, things that showed he knew me. Ever since Nina appeared, they’d been replaced by expensive, thoughtless trinkets. Bracelets, earrings, necklaces… my jewelry box was overflowing with them. Each one was a monument to another lie, another betrayal. The more expensive the gift, the guiltier he felt. And every time before, I had chosen to forgive him. I always went back to that one night, years ago, when I saw a crack in his carefully built armor. He’d looked at me, his eyes red-rimmed and vulnerable, and whispered, “Don’t pity me, Anna. Love me.” It felt like yesterday. That fragile boy was still lodged in my heart, a ghost I felt compelled to protect. It was for him that I forgave Justin for forgetting our fifth anniversary to go stargazing with Nina. For him, I forgave Justin for walking out in the middle of my appendicitis surgery because Nina called him in a panic. I had forgiven him so many times. This time, I was done. The next morning, I told my assistant to contact my lawyer and file for divorce. She paused for a fraction of a second but asked no questions. Instead, she said, “Ma’am, about that new lab equipment… should we still have it sent to Professor Hayes’s research facility?” For years, any new, cutting-edge equipment my company acquired went straight to Justin. But not this time. “No. Send it all to Brookhaven General.” The hospital’s dean, Dean Evans, had been a great help while my mother was sick. He’d mentioned needing a new suite of equipment. This would be a good way to repay his kindness. A series of texts buzzed on my phone. It was an old friend. “Anna, when did you and Justin split?” “I’m at a friend’s wedding, and I just saw him with some girl who’s telling her whole family he’s her boyfriend.” “Look. They’re holding hands and everything. When did this happen? He moves fast.” She sent a short video. It was a wedding reception, loud and joyful. And there was Nina, clinging to Justin’s arm, beaming as she introduced him to a group of older relatives. “This is my boyfriend,” she was saying. Justin stood beside her, smiling, not correcting her. So this was his idea of “helping her deal with her parents.” A bitter, humorless smile touched my lips. As I was texting my friend back, a new contact request popped up on my screen. The message was short and to the point. “Anna, I slept with Justin.” I accepted the request. A photo appeared instantly. It was a picture of them in bed. “You’re old, Anna. You’re not good enough for a man as brilliant as the professor anymore.” “Besides, you’re thirty and you still haven’t given him a child. Can you even have kids?” “I’m different. I’m young, I have a great body. I bet I’ll get pregnant on the first try.” “Oh, and by the way, the professor never used to let me have your number. But this time, he didn’t stop me. What do you think that means?” What did it mean? I didn’t give a damn what it meant. A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. My whole body felt like it was cramping, trying to expel a poison that had been building for years. This house, our home, was suffocating me. Every corner was saturated with his presence, his scent, his lies. It made my skin crawl. I called my assistant and told her to find me a new place. Immediately. On the day I was moving out, Dean Evans called to thank me for the equipment and invited me to dinner. I accepted. I didn’t expect him to invite Justin. And Justin, of course, brought Nina. They were dressed in matching shades of blue, like a couple. Her hand was firmly tucked into the crook of his arm, and she didn’t let go even when she saw me. Justin smoothly extracted his arm and guided Nina to the seats next to mine. He leaned in, his voice a low murmur. “Dean Evans has a partnership with the university. I thought it would be a good networking opportunity for Nina. Don’t get the wrong idea.” I gave him a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. What was there left to misunderstand? He seemed to take my silence as acceptance and visibly relaxed. During the meal, I chatted with the Dean while Justin dutifully placed food on Nina’s plate. She took a bite, her voice dripping with sugar. “Oh, Justin, this is delicious! You always know exactly what I like. How do you know me so well?” The atmosphere at the table froze. Nina covered her mouth, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. “Oh, Anna, don’t get the wrong idea. The professor was just helping me because I was too shy to get food myself.” Justin, his expression unreadable, picked up a piece of cucumber and dropped it onto my plate. He’d forgotten. He’d forgotten that I hated cucumber. “Nina’s just a bit timid,” he said coolly. “Don’t mind her, Anna. She’s just a kid.” I set down my fork, my appetite gone. But with an outsider present, I couldn’t make a scene. That would just be giving them a show. The Dean, a perceptive man, immediately sensed the tension. He deftly changed the subject, steering the conversation until he finally landed on the lab equipment. He raised his glass to me. “Ms. Vance, I truly can’t thank you enough for that equipment. You have no idea what a lifesaver it’s been for the hospital. Words can’t express my gratitude, so let this toast do the talking.” Justin frowned. “What equipment? And Anna, speaking of, why haven’t you sent that shipment to my lab yet? My next round of experiments is completely dependent on it.” I took a sip of my wine. “I already gave that equipment to Dean Evans,” I said calmly. Justin froze. His face went from confusion to a dark, thunderous rage, but he managed to bottle it up. For now. The Dean, oblivious, continued to make polite conversation. Justin’s responses became clipped and cold. The second the dinner was over, his control shattered. He cornered me on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. “Anna, why would you give that equipment to him? You know that was the most advanced system out of Germany! Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for it?” His voice was a low, furious growl. “What has gotten into you lately? You’re not acting like yourself. Are you seeing someone else?” The accusation, the sheer hypocrisy of it, was almost laughable. I was about to answer when a familiar voice cut through the night. “Anna? I can’t believe I’d run into you here.” It was Liam, an old friend. “I heard about your mother. I’m so sorry, I got back too late.” He put a gentle hand on my arm. “My condolences.” “Condolences?” Justin’s brow furrowed in confusion. He looked from Liam to me, completely lost. “What condolences? Who died?”

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On the day of our hospital’s winter holiday party, the new intern, a master of passive aggression, posted about me on the internal employee forum. She claimed that as the head of cardiothoracic surgery, I was greedy for taking a $100,000 holiday bonus all for myself. What she didn’t mention was that the “bonus” was the annual payout for performing all of the hospital’s most complex, high-risk surgeries—surgeries that only I was qualified to do. The result? The entire hospital staff was calling me a greedy monster. So, I decided to give the people what they wanted. I submitted a formal request: 【To promote departmental unity, I voluntarily request to transfer all high-risk surgical cases to other qualified physicians.】 The moment the memo went out, the hospital nearly ground to a halt. The department heads camped outside my office, begging me to take it back. … I had just finished a grueling twelve-hour aortic dissection repair when my assistant, Chris, handed me his phone. Pinned to the top of the hospital’s internal forum was a trending post: 【Let’s talk about Dr. Zara Khan in Cardiothoracic. A $100,000 holiday bonus? Isn’t that a little much?】 The poster was anonymous, but the profile picture was a pink bunny. I recognized it. It was the new intern, Lily Chen. The post was simple: a screenshot of the bonus distribution list, my name and the number “100,000.00” clearly visible, though other details were blurred out. The caption was dripping with sarcasm: 【Happy Holidays! I was hoping for some cookies or maybe a hot chocolate bar, but I guess the hospital decided to just make it rain cash. It’s just… Dr. Khan gets a hundred grand, while the rest of us nurses and junior doctors are working ourselves to the bone for a few hundred bucks. Lol, I guess my imagination is limited by my poverty.】 She conveniently left out the fact that this wasn’t a holiday bonus. It was the annual performance payout for all “Level IV” surgical procedures. And in the entire cardiothoracic department—no, in the entire hospital—the only person capable of independently performing ultra-complex Level IV surgeries like Type A aortic dissections or giant ventricular aneurysm repairs was me. The comment section had already exploded. 【WTF! A hundred grand! She might as well just rob a bank!】 【We in the ER are running around like headless chickens 24/7, and our year-end bonus isn’t even a fraction of hers. How is that fair?】 【They call her the hospital’s top surgeon. Looks like she’s the top earner, too.】 I scrolled through the comments, my face a blank mask. The life I had just spent twelve hours saving suddenly felt a little less precious. Back in my office, the atmosphere was tense. People looked at me differently. A group of nurses who usually chatted by the water cooler fell silent the moment I walked in, their faces a mixture of contempt and envy they couldn’t quite hide. My mentor, Dr. Evans, the department chief, called me into his office. He sighed. “Zara, how are you going to handle this?” “Dr. Evans, you know that wasn’t a holiday bonus.” He nodded, then shook his head. “I know. But they don’t. You can’t silence a mob.” I understood what he was implying. He wanted me to back down, to return some of the money to appease the masses. Before I could respond, there was a knock on the door. Dr. Mark Sloan, the associate chief of cardiothoracic surgery, walked in with Lily in tow. Mark was a few years older than me and always acted like he was my senior, but his surgical skills were consistently a step behind mine. He’d watched me win award after award, and the sour look in his eyes was palpable from across the room. He entered with the air of a peacemaker. “Chief, Dr. Khan. Lily is young and didn’t know any better. I brought her here to apologize.” He gave Lily a little push forward. Her eyes were red-rimmed as she bowed to me, her voice choked with fake tears. “Dr. Khan, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I was just… I was so shocked when I saw the number, and it felt unfair. I just wanted to ask on behalf of everyone. I didn’t have any bad intentions.” She kept repeating “I didn’t mean to,” and “on behalf of everyone.” Her apology felt sharper than a scalpel in winter. Mark smoothly picked up where she left off, his tone patronizing. “Zara, you see? Lily was just thinking about department morale. And really, you can’t blame her entirely. The bonus structure is a bit problematic. It’s bound to cause misunderstandings.” He looked at me, a flicker of triumph in his eyes. “How about this? You take some of that money and treat the whole department to a nice dinner. We’ll build some camaraderie. We’ll just let this whole thing blow over. She’s just a kid, we should be more understanding.” The way he said it made it sound like I’d taken money I didn’t deserve and now needed to buy my way out of trouble. I watched the two of them, their performance perfectly synchronized, and let out a cold laugh. “You’re right, Dr. Sloan. My perspective has been too narrow. I’ve been so focused on surgery that I haven’t considered everyone else’s feelings.” Mark thought I was giving in. His smile widened. Lily lowered her head, her shoulders shaking slightly in a display of remorseful fragility. I ignored them and turned to Dr. Evans. “Chief, the root of this problem is that I have a monopoly on these skills. I’m taking up too many resources and leaving no room for my colleagues to grow.” “To promote departmental unity, and to give talented mid-career surgeons like Dr. Sloan more opportunities, I’ve decided to submit a formal request to the hospital administration.” I paused, watching the color drain from Mark’s face, and said, word by word, “I am voluntarily transferring the scheduling for all Level IV surgical procedures to other qualified surgeons in the department. I will limit my work to routine Level I and II surgeries.” Dr. Evans shot up from his chair, his face pale. “Zara! What are you doing? This is madness!” Mark’s face was as white as a sheet. He had probably imagined a thousand ways to undermine me, but he never, ever imagined that I would take the prize everyone was so jealous of and just… throw it at him, pot and all. Level IV surgeries represented the pinnacle of the profession, but they also carried the highest risk. Success meant glory and a huge payout. Failure meant lawsuits and a ruined career. He had the guts to be jealous, but did he have the skill to take over? I didn’t give him a chance to respond. I walked out of the office, pausing beside Lily. “Congratulations,” I said softly. “You got the fairness you were fighting for.” Her face went completely bloodless. My request hit the hospital administration like a bomb. The hospital president, Mr. Harrison, called me personally, his voice graver than I’d ever heard it. “Zara, who are you trying to prove a point to? Do you have any idea what this request means?” “Mr. Harrison, I’m not trying to prove a point,” I said calmly. “I’m simply responding to the will of the people. I don’t want to be the cause of any more division over bonuses.” There was a long silence on the other end. He knew better than anyone that the most advanced equipment and operating rooms in the cardiothoracic wing were essentially for my exclusive use. He knew how many high-profile patients—politicians, CEOs, complex cases from all over the country—specifically requested me as their surgeon, generating millions in revenue and prestige for the hospital. Now that I was stepping back, he was the first one to feel the heat. “Just calm down. I’ll hold onto your request for now. I’ll have the IT department take care of the forum post.” “There’s no need, sir,” I interrupted. “If everyone feels my presence is creating an unfair environment, then I will step aside. I’m confident the hospital will continue to function perfectly well without me.” I hung up. A few minutes later, Chris rushed in, looking panicked. “Dr. Khan, it’s bad! The forum is blowing up again!” I opened it. A new post was trending. 【Insider Info! Dr. Khan is threatening to go on strike over unfair bonus distribution!】 The poster was anonymous again, but the tone was even more inflammatory. 【Using her skills to hold the entire hospital hostage. Is this a doctor’s compassion, or a doctor’s greed?】 A comment from one of Mark’s sock puppet accounts, which I recognized, was getting a lot of upvotes. 【I’ve always heard she was difficult, but I never thought she lacked this much perspective. The operating room isn’t her personal stage. The world keeps spinning without her.】 Lily had even waded in with her main account, posting a comment that was carefully crafted to sound objective but was really just fanning the flames. 【As an intern, I’ve seen the tireless dedication of our senior staff, but I’ve also seen flaws in the system. I believe our hospital is a compassionate community, and personal feelings should never be placed above a patient’s life. I hope certain individuals can calm down and not do something that will disappoint us all.】 She had successfully painted herself as a concerned whistleblower. I had to laugh. Just then, the ER called. The head nurse’s voice was frantic. “Dr. Khan! Ambulance just brought in a trauma patient, suspected Marfan syndrome with an acute Type A aortic dissection rupture! The patient is in shock! We need you now!” A ruptured Type A dissection. The mortality rate is measured in hours. The surgery is the Mount Everest of cardiac procedures. I grabbed my white coat and ran. But as I reached the ER triage desk, a middle-aged woman blocked my path. She was the patient’s wife. Her eyes were red, but her face was filled with suspicion and alarm. She was clutching her phone, the screen displaying the very forum post that had put me on trial. “You’re Zara Khan?” she asked, her eyes raking over me with distrust. “Are you the doctor who’s going on strike over money?” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it hit me like a sledgehammer. The family’s doubt was like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. The fighting spirit I had just mustered was shattered in an instant. I looked at her, then at the patient in the trauma bay behind her, a life rapidly slipping away, and the whole situation felt absurd. I wanted to explain, but I knew that in the face of inflamed emotions, any explanation would be useless. “I’m not on strike.” She clearly didn’t believe me. She took a step back, as if I were a monster. “I don’t care if you are or not! I won’t let a doctor with no ethics operate on my husband!” “I want a different doctor!” she yelled. “Don’t you have any other experts in this hospital?” The ER chief rushed over. Hearing her words, his face turned green. “Ma’am, please calm down! Dr. Khan is the only surgeon in this hospital who can perform this surgery! If we wait any longer, it will be too late!” “I don’t care! I want someone else!” the woman shrieked stubbornly. At that moment, Mark and Lily arrived. A flicker of satisfaction crossed Mark’s face before he replaced it with a look of deep concern. He approached the woman, his voice gentle. “Ma’am, please don’t be upset. We understand how you feel, but saving your husband is the priority right now. Dr. Khan’s skills are still very reliable…” His words seemed to defend me, but they only served to confirm her belief that my ethics were questionable. Lily, ever the thoughtful one, handed the woman a cup of water. “Ma’am, please try to calm down. Or, perhaps we could ask Dr. Sloan. He’s also a very talented surgeon in our department.” Her suggestion immediately gave the woman a new ray of hope. She grabbed Mark’s hand like a lifeline. “Doctor, you do the surgery! I trust you!” Mark feigned reluctance. “Well… that’s against protocol. Dr. Khan is the attending surgeon…” But his eyes kept darting in my direction, full of challenge. Mr. Harrison and Dr. Evans, having heard the news, came rushing down. Seeing the standoff, the president looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. He pulled me aside, his voice a low, desperate plea. “Zara, I’m begging you. A life is on the line! Just back down for now. Apologize to the family, calm them down!” Apologize? What was I supposed to apologize for? For the bonus I earned with my skills? For the scalpel in my hand that could save a man’s life? I looked at the president’s frantic face, at the smug curl of Mark’s lip, at the innocent, venomous eyes of Lily Chen. And I suddenly felt so tired. I turned to the president and said calmly, “Sir, since the family and my colleagues have so much faith in Dr. Sloan, let him be the lead surgeon. And that transfer request I submitted? Please approve it as soon as possible.” Without another look at anyone, I turned and walked back to my office. Behind me, I heard Dr. Evans’s furious roar, “Zara! Is this a mutiny?” And the president’s weary concession, “…Fine. Sloan, you’re lead. Khan, you’ll supervise.” I didn’t turn back. Supervise? A master teaching a novice? I was afraid he wouldn’t understand the instructions. I locked myself in my office. Through the door, I could feel the controlled chaos of the hallway. Nurses rushing, equipment carts rattling, Mark’s confident voice barking orders, playing the part of the savior. Chris knocked and came in, his eyes red. “Dr. Khan, are you really not going to do anything? That patient… he’s not doing well.” I leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes, and said nothing. My phone vibrated. A text from an unknown number. 【Dr. Khan, I’m the patient’s daughter. My mother is very emotional, but we looked you up. We trust you. Please, I’m begging you, save my father.】 My heart lurched. But what could I do? Mark had already taken the case. If I stormed in now, would I be trying to prove he was incompetent, or trying to steal his glory? In the eyes of people already blinded by prejudice, everything I did would be wrong. I picked up the unapproved request from my desk and signed my name. Time ticked by. One hour. Two hours. Suddenly, my office door was thrown open. Dr. Evans burst in, his face ashen, his lips trembling. “Zara! Something’s happened!” My stomach dropped. I stood up. “Mark… he can’t find the tear! He can’t dissect the vessels of the aortic arch, and now there’s massive bleeding! We can’t get a blood pressure reading!” I had expected this. The most critical and dangerous step of a Type A dissection is reconstructing the three branch vessels of the aortic arch under deep hypothermic circulatory arrest. The vessels there are as thin as a cicada’s wing, the anatomy is complex, and the slightest mistake is catastrophic. Mark’s skills were nowhere near that level. “They need you in there now!” Dr. Evans grabbed my arm, his hand shaking violently. “Hurry! Any later and it will be too late!” I looked at him and asked slowly, “Chief, if I go in there now, what am I? Am I saving a life, or am I cleaning up Dr. Sloan’s mess?” “If the patient lives, the credit is his. He was the ‘lead surgeon,’ and I was the effective ‘supervisor.’ If the patient dies, the blame is mine, because I ‘intervened’ at a critical moment and disrupted his rhythm.” “Either way, he comes out of this unscathed. And me?” Dr. Evans froze. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was right. He was asking me to go, but what guarantees could he offer me? Just then, my phone started ringing frantically. It was the president. I put it on speaker. On the other end, his voice was cracking, on the verge of tears. In the background, I could hear the shrill alarm of a heart monitor and the panicked shouts of nurses. “Zara! For God’s sake! I’m begging you! Get in here! The patient is crashing! Mark has completely lost it!”

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1 On my wedding eve, scandal broke. My fiancé Ross Vance had gotten his mistress Stella Reed pregnant—five months along. He called, cold and dismissive. “It was an accident. Just ensure the engagement party goes smoothly. Canceling would humiliate both families, and your grandfather’s health is fragile.” After hanging up, his social media updated: a photo of him listening to Stella’s belly, captioned, “Awaiting our little one.” That night, he skipped our party. On our video call, he was reading a fairy tale to Stella’s stomach. “She needs prenatal bonding. You handle things. The Vance heir is precious—we’ll send the child abroad after birth; you can play mother on holidays. The title of Mrs. Vance is still yours.” I noticed the diamond ring on his finger and laughed coldly. “Ross, we’re done.” “Don’t be childish,” he warned. I hung up and dialed Conrad Vance instead. “Mr. Vance, I heard you’re seeking a new wife. Consider me—the Sterling women are known for fertility. I can give you all the sons you want. One heir is so lonely; let’s give him brothers.” … On the other end of the line, Conrad Vance’s voice was hoarse with shock. “Seraphina? What nonsense are you talking about?” “Nonsense?” I chuckled, the sound laced with mockery. “You’ve seen the news about your precious son and his five-months-pregnant canary, haven’t you? I find him… utterly filthy. I’m serious, Mr. Vance. I’m trading up.” A few seconds of silence, then his voice, trembling slightly, “We can’t discuss this over the phone. I’m coming over now.” “Wonderful,” I purred, my eyes glinting like shards of glass. “I’ll be waiting.” Conrad Vance was barely thirty-five, in the prime of his life. But a cruel twist of genetics had made it impossible for him to have children of his own. After years of failed IVF treatments, he had adopted Ross from a distant branch of the family. The Sterling family’s alliance with the Vances was built on one thing: the legendary fertility of its women—a trait passed down through generations. We were a dynasty’s guarantee. No matter my grandfather’s health, this marriage was a necessity both families understood. But I never imagined Ross, the man I had loved for three years, would knock up his mistress right before our wedding and expect me to swallow my pride and play stepmother. I, Seraphina Sterling, do not suffer in silence. Conrad arrived faster than I expected. He stood in the doorway, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his expression a storm of conflicting emotions. “Seraphina, you…” I didn’t let him finish. I reached out, grabbed his tie, and yanked him into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Rising onto my toes, I silenced his questions and doubts with a kiss that left no room for argument. My fingers deftly undid the first button of his shirt, my touch slipping beneath the fabric with an undeniable authority. My actions were my declaration. There was no shyness, no hesitation, only the raw, unyielding finality of someone burning all their bridges. I could feel his body tense, a war raging within him. But in the end, the dam of his reason shattered against the flood of raw, primal need. After the storm passed, Conrad held me close, his voice a gravelly whisper. “I have urgent business overseas. I have to leave tomorrow, and I might be gone for a while. Wait for me.” “And… the wedding?” I asked, looking up at him. 2 He met my gaze, his eyes dark and intense. His tone was absolute. “It will proceed as planned. I’ll be back in time. You are the only daughter of the Sterling family, and you are the matriarch the Vance family needs.” He rose and dressed, leaving me with that promise before departing as quickly as he had come. The moment he was gone, my phone began to vibrate violently on the nightstand. It was Ross, his voice laced with its usual entitlement and a new thread of impatience. “Seraphina, get over here. Stella’s morning sickness is bad; she has no energy. Come keep her company. It’ll be good practice for you on how to care for a pregnant woman. I’m taking her to an art exhibit to lift her spirits.” He wanted me to babysit Stella? To learn how to care for a pregnant woman? The absurdity was so profound it was almost funny. “Ross, I am not your nanny. You have the wrong number,” I said, my voice like ice. He sighed, as if I were being difficult. “Stella is carrying a Vance heir. It’s hard work! As the future matriarch, it’s your duty to learn these things.” The twisted logic of it all drew a sharp, cold laugh from my throat. “Ross, your heartfelt speech is truly touching. We’re done. Who you have children with, and who you hire to wait on them, has nothing to do with me. Stop harassing me.” I hung up. Lying back on the bed, I couldn’t shake the knot of rage in my chest. I picked up my phone, hoping for a distraction, only to have a news alert pierce my eyes like a poisoned needle: VANCE HEIR DOTES ON MYSTERY WOMAN AT ART GALA, BABY BUMP THE MAIN ATTRACTION! I clicked the link. The high-resolution photo was a slap in the face. Ross was carefully guiding a visibly pregnant Stella, his head bent to look at her belly with a look of tender adoration I had never once received in our three years together. My heart seized, a pain so sharp it stole my breath. Three years. My birthday gifts were always last-minute luxury items picked out by his assistant. When had he ever shown me an ounce of this kind of thoughtfulness? Love follows the heart, and his heart had never been with me. I had to get out. I needed a change of scenery. I decided to go for my final fitting for the custom wedding gown that held all my shattered dreams. But when I pushed open the doors to the bridal salon, the sight before me made my blood run cold. There, in front of the gleaming floor-to-ceiling mirror, was Stella Reed, her five-month baby bump straining against the seams of my priceless, hand-embroidered wedding dress—the one that had taken six months of painstaking work to create. The waistline of the gown had been crudely pinned, making it look tight and misshapen. A look of dissatisfaction was on her face as she pointed to her stomach and complained to the shop assistant, “This is too tight! You need to let out the waist entirely, at least three inches! And the bust… it’s a bit constricting here, too. Loosen it up.” That dress represented every beautiful fantasy I ever had about my marriage. Fury erupted, white-hot, in my mind. I took a deep breath, trying to contain the rage that threatened to tear me apart. I strode forward, my voice as cold as a glacier. “Take it off. That is my wedding dress.” Stella flinched, clutching her belly as if I had struck her. She scurried behind Ross, who had turned at the sound of my voice, her eyes welling with tears. “Seraphina!” Ross’s brow furrowed, his tone a mixture of sharp reprimand and anxiety. “Could you keep your voice down? You’re scaring Stella and the baby!” I almost laughed. “Ross! That is my custom-made gown! Six months of work, every single stitch! What right does she have to wear it? To have it butchered like this?” Ross’s eyes flickered, but then his expression hardened. “Of course she has the right. She is the bride. This dress is for her. And what’s wrong with altering the waistline? Her situation is… unique.” I froze. “What?” “You and I will get the marriage license. The alliance between our families remains,” he said, his gaze softening as he looked at Stella. “But Stella is carrying my child. She’s been through so much. I can’t let her be sidelined. So, the wedding ceremony… Stella will be the one at the altar. It’s the least I can do to give her the recognition she deserves.” “What… did you just say?” A tremor ran through my entire body. If this happened, my family and I would become the laughingstock of the entire city. But he thought his plan was perfect. His voice was firm. “Seraphina, I know it’s not fair to you. But Stella has had a difficult time. For the sake of the Vance heir she’s carrying, please, just try to be understanding…” 3 “Understanding?” My voice rose, drawing stares from others in the salon. “Ross! You want me to play a part in this circus? I’m the one you marry legally, but she’s the one who gets to stand on the altar with her baby bump, basking in everyone’s blessings? Is she the one who gets the wedding night, too? And then you expect me, your legal wife, to raise your bastard child? What do you take me for, Ross? Some beggar on the street you can mold and discard as you please?” Right on cue, Stella began to sob softly, her hand stroking her belly. “Miss Sterling, please don’t be angry… I know my status is low… I just wanted to wear a wedding dress once… I know I don’t deserve it… but the baby is innocent…” Ross’s eyes turned to ice, a clear warning in them. “This is how it’s going to be. If it weren’t for my father, do you honestly think I would marry you at all?” I stared at him, the last flicker of affection in my heart dying, replaced by a cold, sharp hatred. It seemed Conrad hadn’t told him about the change of grooms yet. “Fine,” I said, looking him straight in the eye, my voice devoid of all emotion. We’ll see who’s being replaced on the wedding day. Ross’s frown deepened. He clearly hadn’t expected me to agree so easily. A flicker of surprise crossed his face. Behind him, Stella subtly lifted her head, her hand tightening on her pregnant stomach, a triumphant glint in her eyes. Over the next few days, photos of Ross and Stella’s “maternity-style” wedding shoot dominated the headlines. The media, playing along with the “Vance-Sterling merger” narrative, presented the pregnant woman in the photos as the true Sterling heiress. Worried calls from my closest friends poured in. The whispers and rumors in our social circle were like poisoned needles, mocking me as a pathetic doormat who’d “lost everything,” who’d even “let a pregnant mistress take her place.” I ignored it all, focusing my energy on the hospital. Grandfather’s heart condition had suddenly worsened. The doctors had issued a critical notice; he needed 24/7 monitoring. I stayed by his bedside, day and night, carefully shielding him from any news about that despicable pair, terrified that any hint of the scandal would be the final blow to his fragile health. But some things, you can’t guard against. Stella, arm in arm with Ross, brazenly walked into my grandfather’s private ICU room. I was just outside the door, carrying a thermos, when I heard her sickly sweet, theatrical voice. “Grandpa Sterling,” she cooed. She was holding a copy of a high-fashion magazine, pointing to a full-page spread of her and Ross’s maternity wedding photos, deliberately angling her swollen belly towards the bed. “Look at our wedding pictures! Don’t Ross and I look wonderful? You have to be at the head table on the big day to see your great-grandchild!” My grandfather’s face turned a deathly shade of purple. His chest heaved violently, his hands clawing at the sheets, his lips trembling as a guttural sound escaped his throat. The heart monitor began to shriek. “Grandfather!” I screamed, the thermos crashing to the floor. I lunged into the room, slamming the emergency call button. “Miss Sterling, don’t be upset…” Stella began, her voice dripping with fake concern. I shoved her aside. “Get out! Get out with your bastard!” A doctor yelled, “Prep for resuscitation!” A nurse forcibly pulled me away as I watched, helpless, while they wheeled my grandfather into the emergency room. Ross tried to steady me, but I slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me! You animal! You knew about his condition, and you still came here to torment him!” Stella hid behind him. “We just wanted to invite him to the wedding…” “Seraphina! Calm down! If you hurt Stella or the baby, can you take responsibility for that?” he roared, grabbing my wrist. “Calm down? You’re killing my grandfather!” I struggled against his grip. “It was an accident!” he snapped, shielding Stella. “The world thinks Stella is the Sterling heiress. If no one from your family is at the wedding, her cover will be blown, and the Vance family will lose face! Having your grandfather there makes everyone happy!” A smile, more painful than tears, twisted my lips. “Ross, are you blind or just heartless? You know exactly what Stella is. Since when is she a Sterling? She’s nothing but a parasite who slept her way to the top, a shameless homewrecker flaunting a bastard child!” 4 CRACK! Ross’s face darkened like a thundercloud. He swung his hand, slapping me hard across the face. The force of the blow sent black spots dancing in front of my eyes. A ringing filled my ears, and my cheek went numb with a searing, hot pain. “Even if you’re the one I’m legally marrying,” he snarled, taking a step closer, his eyes like poisoned daggers, each word a blow to my heart, “the only woman I, Ross Vance, will ever recognize as my wife is Stella! And the baby in her belly is my rightful heir! So, you will show her some damn respect!” His words were a blunt knife, twisting in my chest, and the hatred inside me boiled over. Three years… a full three years. And this is what I was worth to him. Nothing. “You don’t need to come to the wedding,” he said, his voice flat and laced with a final warning. “Stay here with your grandfather.” He gestured down the hallway, and several bodyguards surrounded me. “Watch her. Don’t let her leave this floor,” he commanded, before guiding Stella away. My eyes burned holes into their retreating backs. I could taste blood in my mouth. Ross, you think you can lock me in here and have your picture-perfect wedding with Stella? Dream on. I stroked my still-flat stomach, feeling the quiet strength of the new life secretly growing within me. Under the watchful eyes of the guards, I slowly pulled out my phone and dialed a number… On the day of the wedding, Stella sat before a lavish vanity, her fingers tracing the diamond-studded fabric of the gown that had been altered to accommodate her pregnant belly. She gazed at her reflection, a triumphant, almost twisted smile on her lips. So what if Seraphina was the great Sterling heiress? The darling of high society? Today, she, Stella Reed, was the one wearing her dress, using her name, and carrying the “golden heir” of the Vance family. She was the one about to become the envied Mrs. Vance. As for Seraphina? She was just a pathetic creature trapped in a hospital, watching over a dying old man. Everything that was once hers would now belong to Stella. Meanwhile, in the banquet hall downstairs, Ross was greeting guests, but a knot of anxiety was tightening in his stomach. He had sent out hundreds of invitations. Given the Vance family’s standing, the hall should have been overflowing. But as the ceremony time approached, the vast room was still sparsely populated, so empty you could hear the echo of your own footsteps. The grand scene of glittering high society he had envisioned was nowhere to be found. Beneath the elaborate floral arch, only a handful of reporters from minor outlets were fiddling with their cameras, their flashes seeming weak and unenthusiastic. “Ross…” Stella waddled over, one hand on her belly, her eyes wide with worry. “Why are there so few people here?” The anxiety in Ross’s gut grew into a monster. He summoned a senior staff member. “Get our head butler, Mr. Gable, and the event coordinators here now!” The staffer returned quickly, but he was followed only by a young, unfamiliar man in a standard-issue uniform. Ross’s anger flared. “Where is Mr. Gable? Why isn’t he here?” he demanded. The young servant flinched. “S-sir… Mr. Gable… he’s busy, sir… with the Master’s wedding… He said he couldn’t get away… He said if you needed anything… to… to ask me…” “My father’s wedding?” Ross’s voice was sharp, his face draining of all color. “With who? What are you talking about?” The servant was even more terrified now. “W-with… with the Sterling heiress… Miss Seraphina Sterling…” Ross’s mind went blank, as if struck by a sledgehammer. He grabbed the servant’s arm, his voice a ragged, broken whisper. “Say that again.” The servant winced in pain, but stammered, “J-just now… on the top floor… in the Crystal Ballroom… The Master is marrying Miss Seraphina Sterling… The ceremony… it should be starting any moment…” 5 In that instant, Ross’s world collapsed. He staggered backward, his face ashen, his lips trembling as he muttered, “Impossible… impossible…” Stella rushed to his side, clutching her belly, her voice choked with tears. “Ross, what’s going on? How could Seraphina be with your father? Is she doing this to get back at us?” Ross didn’t answer. His mind was consumed by a single thought: Seraphina and Conrad were getting married. He shoved the servant aside and stumbled towards the elevator. “Ross! Wait for me!” Stella cried, struggling to keep up with her large belly. The elevator doors closed mercilessly in her face. Outside the top-floor Crystal Ballroom, Ross peered through a crack in the partially open doors and saw a sight that shattered his soul. The hall was bathed in brilliant light, filled to the brim with guests. The very same business tycoons and socialites who were absent from his own wedding downstairs were now mingling, champagne flutes in hand, smiling and laughing. Beneath a massive crystal chandelier, Conrad Vance, dressed in a sharp white tuxedo, was leading me—draped in a breathtaking white gown—down the aisle. It wasn’t the dress Stella had defiled. This one was even more magnificent, a flawless haute couture creation that clung to my body perfectly, its train glittering under the lights like fallen starlight. The way Conrad looked at me… it was with a tenderness that could melt glaciers. “And now, will the groom please place the ring on the bride’s finger,” the officiant’s voice echoed clearly. Conrad gently took my hand, sliding a dazzling diamond ring onto my finger. BOOM! Ross slammed the doors open. The loud crash silenced the entire hall. Every head turned towards the entrance, and a wave of whispers rippled through the crowd. “Ross Vance? What’s he doing here?” “Isn’t he the one getting married downstairs?” “I heard that pregnant woman is his mistress…” Ross staggered towards the altar, his eyes wild, his voice hoarse. “Dad! What are you doing?!” Conrad’s expression was calm, almost amused. “I’m getting married. Seraphina is the wife I have chosen.” “But she was my fiancée!” Ross cried, his voice breaking. “This is… this is incest!” I let out a small, cold laugh. “Ross, our engagement became void the moment I learned Stella was carrying your child. Have you forgotten?” I paused, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “Besides, aren’t you having your own wedding downstairs? What happened, did you call it off?” Ross’s face was a deathly white. He swayed on his feet. “Seraphina… you can’t do this… you can’t marry my father…” “And why not?” I asked coolly. “You, Ross Vance, were free to betray our love, to get your mistress pregnant, and to demand that I raise your bastard child. Why can’t I choose a better man?” Conrad stepped forward, wrapping an arm around my waist in a clear display of ownership. “Ross, Seraphina is my wife now. You will respect her.” “No!” Ross roared. “You can’t be together! If you get married, my reputation…” “Oh, so now you care about your reputation?” I cut him off with a sneer. “When you had Stella wear my dress and steal my name for your sham wedding, did you ever stop to think that this day would come?” The murmuring from the guests grew louder. Some were already pulling out their phones to record the drama. 6 Ross’s face flushed a deep, mottled red. He opened his mouth to argue but found he had no words. Just then, Stella finally arrived. She was clutching her large belly with one hand and her chest with the other, panting for breath in the doorway. “Ross—” she called out weakly, then her eyes took in the scene and her face went chalk-white. The gazes of every guest in the room fell upon her. “Is that the pregnant mistress?” “Wow, she actually showed up…” “Wearing a wedding dress with a baby bump like that… does she have no shame?” Stella felt the weight of their scorn and curiosity. She began to tremble. She had never imagined that the perfect wedding she had orchestrated would devolve into this public humiliation. “Stella!” Ross rushed to her side. “Why did you come up here? You need to rest!” Tears welled in her eyes. “I was worried about you… Ross, what is happening? Why is Seraphina with your father…” She didn’t finish, but everyone understood. Conrad’s expression hardened. His voice boomed with an authority that could not be questioned. “Enough! This is my wedding, not a stage for your melodrama!” He looked at the officiant and nodded for him to continue. The officiant cleared his throat. “And now, will the bride please place the ring on the groom’s finger.” I took the custom platinum band from its box and, under the watchful eyes of everyone in the room, slowly slid it onto Conrad’s finger. “NO!” Ross screamed, lunging forward, only to be blocked by several security guards. He struggled against them, his eyes red with fury. “Seraphina! You can’t do this!” I turned to look at him, a smirk playing on my lips. “Didn’t you say I wasn’t good enough for you? Well, I suppose your father will have to do.” A wave of stifled laughter and shocked whispers went through the crowd. Ross’s face contorted with rage and shame. Stella, fighting through her discomfort, stumbled forward. “Miss Sterling, how can you do this? What about your grandfather? He’s still in the hospital…” “That’s enough!” My voice was suddenly sharp as a razor’s edge. “Stella, you have the audacity to mention my grandfather? If it weren’t for you two animals deliberately provoking him, would he be on his deathbed?” I advanced on her, each step heavy with purpose. “You thought putting on my dress would make you a Sterling? What are you? A shameless, pathetic mistress who dares to play the victim in front of me?” Stella’s face was ashen. She backed away, shielding her stomach. “I… I didn’t…” “No?” I sneered. “Then where did that bastard in your belly come from? An immaculate conception?” “Seraphina!” Ross roared. “Watch your mouth! That’s my child!” I turned my gaze back to him, my eyes full of contempt. “Ross, you’re the one who needs to watch his mouth. From this day forward, I am the matriarch of the Vance family. You will address me with respect.” His face turned an even darker shade of purple. At that moment, Conrad stepped forward, his presence commanding the room. “Today is the wedding of myself, Conrad Vance, and Miss Seraphina Sterling. Thank you all for coming to witness our joy. I hope you all have a wonderful time. Let the celebration begin!”

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At the freshman welcome mixer, a girl from the incoming class suddenly cornered my childhood best friend, David, who has autism. “Hey,” she said, her voice loud enough to turn heads. “Aren’t you going to explain why you were just touching my thigh?” Just then, the text appeared in my vision—the shimmering, translucent comments that only I could ever see. 【Yesss, here it comes. Our main character curing the broody autistic guy. Kelly’s a natural!】 【Look at him pretending to be annoyed. We all know he’s secretly thrilled. He’s totally falling for our girl.】 【Ugh, so annoying. The side character is about to ruin the vibe and interrupt their flirting.】 【Whatever. Even if the side character interferes, she’ll just make the male lead hate her more. She’s no match for our adorable new heroine.】 1 The air thickened. David looked utterly lost, stammering, “I-I didn’t.” His knuckles were white where he gripped his water bottle. The campus green was packed with students rehearsing for the Welcome Week talent show. The girl’s voice had carried, and now dozens of eyes were on us. Her own eyes were bright with mischief as she giggled. “David Hayes, I thought you were mute. Look at you, using your words!” Whispers rippled through the crowd. Under the weight of their stares and contempt, beads of sweat broke out on David’s forehead. His autism already made speaking difficult; being the center of attention like this was sending him into a full-blown panic. Seeing his silence, the girl’s smirk widened. I was only here to give a speech as a student representative. I never imagined it would lead to this kind of trouble for David. I switched on my phone’s camera and held it up. “Excuse me,” I said, my voice level. “Just to confirm, you’re accusing David Hayes of touching your thigh? Because if you are, I’m calling campus security and having them pull the surveillance footage right now.” The girl’s smile froze. A frown creased her forehead. David stared at me, his throat working silently. The comments began to scroll frantically across my vision. 【LOL, this side character doesn’t play by the rules. Does she think this will make the male lead fall for her?】 【Dumb bitch. They were just flirting. She’s about to trigger his protective-boyfriend mode and she doesn’t even know it.】 【She’s just jealous the main character can get a reaction out of him. What a petty little snake.】 The girl shot me a dirty look, her voice turning whiny. “It was just a joke. You’re being way too uptight, upperclassman.” But the triumphant glint in her eyes screamed that I was a busybody. I started dialing. “A joke?” I snapped. “Do you have any idea what slander is? It’s a crime.” To my shock, David finally spoke, his words slow and strained. “Don’t… Stay out of it.” He reached out and shoved my arm, knocking the phone from my hand. It went sailing in an arc through the air. More stares. More whispers. David was a man of few words, but never, in all the years I’d stood up for him, had he publicly humiliated me like this. I took a deep, shuddering breath to keep myself from slapping him. I bent down, picked up my phone, and turned to leave without another word. Fine. I was done. The comments were a chorus of smug satisfaction. 【LMAO, the side piece is gonna have an aneurysm. Serves her right for being extra.】 【The guy himself doesn’t even care. She’s like the gossip queen reincarnated.】 【She’s always hanging around him, but he’s never called her his girlfriend. She’s just delusional.】 A second later, David was jogging to catch up with me. He tugged gently on my sleeve, the same way he always did when he knew he’d messed up. I turned, and he looked at me with that wide-eyed, innocent expression that always worked on me. The comments exploded. 【WTF is the male lead doing? Why is he chasing after that psycho?】 【This side chick is such a drama queen. Playing hard to get? So gross.】 【David, get back to our girl Kelly! She’d go home with you tonight if you just asked. What’s so great about this little snake anyway?】 I looked down, a wave of exhaustion washing over me. I knew David’s mind worked differently, but this still felt like a slap in the face. After my parents left, his mother, Mrs. Hayes, had been the one to look out for me. I couldn’t bring myself to yell at him, but I wasn’t going to swallow my pride either. I yanked my sleeve out of his grasp. “I’m tired from the event,” I said, my voice cold. “I’m going back to my dorm.” The comments flashed. 【What a bitch.】 David just blinked, saying what he always said when we parted. “Be safe.” 2 After the Welcome Week festivities, my senior year schedule became even more brutal. I’d already secured a spot in a top-tier graduate program, but I still had to connect with my new advisor and finish a major project for my undergrad mentor. I spent my days buried in the lab, trying not to think about how much David had hurt me. Occasionally, I’d overhear snippets of gossip about the ‘Freshman It Girl’ chasing the ‘Genius Upperclassman.’ Then, one evening, I got a frantic call from Mrs. Hayes. “Lara,” she said, her voice tight with panic, “David has been so… distant lately. He’s not home yet, and he forgot his medication.” Her voice cracked. “I’m so afraid he’s going to have an episode. Can you please, please take his pills to him?” I understood the gravity of the situation immediately. After reassuring her, I grabbed my bag and sprinted to the university’s art building. But when I got to the studio, David’s easel was empty. A student I knew glanced up from his work. “Well, if it isn’t David’s little girlfriend,” he teased. “Here to check up on your man? You’re in the wrong place. He barely comes here anymore.” A cold dread seeped into my bones. The submission deadline for the International Art Competition was just two weeks away. Why wouldn’t he be in the studio? After a quick text to his roommate, I finally found him at an off-campus bar. The moment I stepped inside, the blast of noise—clinking glasses, shouting, thumping music—gave me a headache. I couldn’t imagine David, who despised loud places, being here. The private room was dimly lit, the air thick with a cloying, intimate energy. Kelly was pressed right up against David, her face so close to his they were almost touching. I watched as her finger traced the bridge of his nose while she whispered something in his ear. David’s eyelashes fluttered. His ears flushed crimson, but he didn’t push her away like he did with everyone else who got too close. They were the center of attention, and the others in the room were hooting and laughing. The comment stream, which had been quiet, lit up. 【OMG, I’m dying! This is too sweet! He’s powerless against our seductive queen!】 【LMAO, Kelly knows how to flirt. She’s making me blush.】 【Taking notes! Next time I’m gonna ask my crush if what they say about guys with big noses is true.】 I knocked on the open door, just loud enough to be heard over the noise. When David’s eyes met mine, the red at the tips of his ears hadn’t faded. Kelly shot me a defiant smirk and nudged him. “Look, David, your babysitter’s here. She chased you all the way to a bar. Maybe you should be a good boy and go home with her?” “Hah! Don’t tell me you’re in your twenties and still have a chaperone!” someone else jeered. The room erupted in laughter. Someone whistled. “Wow, didn’t peg you as a mama’s boy, Hayes! Is that your mom calling you home?” David glared at me, his expression making it perfectly clear that I was not welcome. Kelly looked at me like a victorious general. “Sorry, Lara. I think David wants to stay here and play with me tonight.” The comments were merciless. 【Does this side chick really think she can show up and claim him? LMAO, what a clown.】 【It’s useless. All this drama is just gonna push the main characters closer together!】 I closed my eyes for a second, then chucked the bottle from my bag directly into David’s lap. Kelly snatched it from him, holding it up to the dim light. “Risperidone?” she read aloud. “What’s this for?” David froze, then scrambled to check the contents of my bag that I had thrown at him. When he looked back up at me, he couldn’t meet my gaze. Without a timely dose of Risperidone, he was prone to severe self-harm. I knew because it had happened once before. Mrs. Hayes had been called away for a family emergency. When I let myself into their house, I found David sitting on the bathroom floor, methodically slicing at his own body with a utility knife, his face completely blank. He seemed to feel no pain, just carving into his own flesh as if it belonged to someone else. His arms and legs were a bloody mess, the white tiles painted with crimson patterns. He was about to cut into a major artery when I dove forward and grabbed the blade with my bare hands. The scar on my palm never fully faded. It was a permanent reminder of that day. Ever since, I’ve carried a spare bottle of his medication in my bag at all times. And David knew it. 3 Kelly smirked. “David, this isn’t… that kind of pill, is it? Wow, Lara must really care about your… private life. You should thank her.” Her eyes darted suggestively toward his crotch. “I mean, you said you two were just friends. It’s so nice of her to be this thoughtful.” A stream of 【KELLY IS A QUEEN!!!】 filled my vision, followed by a dozen exclamation points, as if she’d just done something heroic. I frowned, not understanding what they were so excited about. My job was done. I needed to get back to the lab. As I turned to leave, David stood up. “Wait. I’ll walk you back.” Guilt, I assumed. An attempt to make amends. I saw Kelly’s smile tighten at the corners. The comments rolled. 【Ugh, I’m so jealous. This bitch literally just showed up to annoy our girl!】 【Can the side character just f*** off already? I can’t stand seeing her in another scene. She’s such a pick-me girl!】 【It’s fine, the key plot point is coming up. The male lead is gonna drop the international competition for the female lead and just stay here for grad school. Then the side chick will go to a different school, get bullied by her advisor, and commit suicide. After that, it’s happily ever after for our OTP!】 I froze, staring at the words floating in the air. Kelly stood up, blocking David’s path. “Hey, you promised me,” she purred. “You lost the bet, so you have to spend the night with me. You can’t go back on your word!” Her words were dripping with innuendo, sending another wave of hoots through the room. David stopped, his cheeks burning. He shot me a helpless, apologetic look. I sighed. “You don’t have to walk me back. I can go by myself.” Before I left, I looked him straight in the eye. “Is our plan to go to Stanton University for grad school still on?” I was already a lock for the program at SU. David just needed a win at the upcoming competition to secure his spot. With his talent, it should have been easy, but he’d missed the competition the last two years because his mother had been ill. I could have gone to SU for my undergrad, but I’d chosen our current university to stay with him. He knew that. He’d promised we would go to grad school there together. I couldn’t believe he would break that promise. I refused to believe my story would end like the comments predicted. David gave me a firm, serious nod. Relief washed over me. The comments were just nonsense. None of that would happen. In the days that followed, I focused on the lab, waiting for the official acceptance letters to be released. On the final day for the competition submissions, I texted David to make sure he’d sent in his portfolio. After a long pause, he replied with a simple “OK” emoji. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. But as I was reading a research paper, the comments flickered back to life. 【The male lead just got a distress call from the female lead! Look at the change in his expression! LMAO.】 【Our girl Kelly is so smart. Faking being harassed to test his feelings. Genius move.】 【Look how worried he is! Once they meet up, they’re definitely gonna confess their feelings for each other.】 My blood ran cold. I immediately tried calling David. It rang a few times, then went to voicemail. I tried again. Disconnected. Again and again, he rejected my calls. The comments mocked me. 【Is this desperate side chick seriously calling to nag him about his art submission right now?】 【LOL, she needs a reality check. She has no idea where she stands in his heart. She can’t do anything to stop them.】 【You really think you can compete with our main character? Just go to SU and save yourself the embarrassment, lmao.】 I stared at my computer screen, the words of the article blurring into an incomprehensible mess. Late that night, a text from David finally came through. 【I think staying here for my Master’s is a better fit for me.】 4 I glanced at the time. It was past midnight. The competition deadline had passed. Everything had happened exactly as the comments had foretold. The next morning, I was at the Hayes’s front door. I had worked my ass off for that grad school plan. Even a saint would have a breaking point, and I had reached mine. How dare he just back out? I didn’t expect to find Kelly sitting in their living room, greeting me like she lived there. “Lara! What are you doing here? Looking for David? I’ll go get him for you.” She started to get up, ready to shout toward his room. A comment popped up. 【Our genius girl is here to piss off the side character again! Hahahaha!】 I took a deep breath, walked past her to David’s room, knocked three times, and pushed the door open. David was shirtless, halfway through pulling on a t-shirt. He stared at me in shock. Kelly shrieked from behind me. “Lara, what are you doing? He has no privacy with you around!” More comments. 【What a bitch. Just trying to show off how much closer she is to him than the main character.】 The truth was, Mrs. Hayes had never put a lock on his door, terrified he might have an episode. I had been walking in like this for years to avoid disturbing him while he painted. I cut straight to the point. “David, we had a deal. We were going to Stanton together. What gives you the right to just back out?” He avoided my eyes, slowly pulling on his shirt without a word. But Kelly jumped in, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “Lara, don’t blame him. It was my fault. If I hadn’t gotten hassled by those creeps, he wouldn’t have missed the deadline.” “I wasn’t talking to you,” I said flatly. “Don’t flatter yourself.” Kelly’s eyes widened, stunned that I would be so blunt. David frowned, his voice sharp. “Lara, don’t be mean to her. This has nothing to do with her.” I almost laughed. “Fine,” I shot back, my voice rising. “Then you tell me. Why did you break your promise for no reason? Because she had a problem? A problem she couldn’t call the police about, so she had to call you instead?” He still wouldn’t look at me. He knew I was right. Mrs. Hayes came out of the kitchen. “Lara, what’s with all the shouting?” Before I could answer, Kelly interjected. “Lara, David has his own plans. You shouldn’t try to tie his future to yours!” The comments went wild. 【Wooooow, our girl is in protective mode!】 I fixed my gaze on David. “Am I tying you down? Did I force you to apply to Stanton?” He was silent for a long moment, then mumbled, “I want to stay here.” The air left my lungs. He hadn’t answered my question. He had stabbed me in the back. Again. Kelly’s smile was triumphant. “See, Lara? You can’t always expect him to accommodate you. You’ll ruin his future.” Her voice was sickeningly sweet. “He’s a genius. He knows what’s best for himself.” David said nothing, which was as good as an agreement. Mrs. Hayes’s expression hardened. “Lara, we’re happy for you that you got into Stanton. But if David wants to stay here, you should respect his decision.” She sighed. “He’s not a child anymore. He can’t always rely on you to take care of him. The two of you… should be more mindful of appearances.” My heart turned to ice. My own parents were always busy, never home. Growing up, it was Mrs. Hayes who had always called me over for dinner, giving me my only taste of a warm family life. I had poured all my affection, all my loyalty, into her and her son. I took on the burden of protecting David from the world as my way of repaying her kindness. I shielded him from bullies and cruel whispers for over a decade. My entire future was planned around his. And Mrs. Hayes knew it. She knew all about our plan to go to SU. Now, she was acting like I was a burden, her words dripping with resentment. The comments were ecstatic. 【LMAO, even his mom is on the main character’s side now! What a failure!】 【The mother-in-law probably realized Kelly is better for him. The side character is useless now! Look at our cute main girl!】 【Seeing the side chick’s face go pale is so satisfying! This is the kind of drama I’ve been waiting for!】 That’s when I noticed it. Ever since David had spoken up, Mrs. Hayes hadn’t taken her eyes off Kelly. Her expression was full of surprise and excitement. Even she could see how differently David treated this new girl. And because of that, she had chosen her son, and Kelly, without a moment’s hesitation. All the strength drained out of me. After all these years, I was still just a useful outsider. This wasn’t a family. And I didn’t want it anymore. “Fine,” I said, my voice hollow. “From now on, David is no longer my problem.” 5 Mrs. Hayes had tried to set me and David up before, and I hadn’t resisted. In my heart, the longing for a real family, a place to belong, had always been a desperate ache, even if I knew my feelings for David were more sisterly than romantic. But now, she had made it clear: David didn’t need my protection anymore. With that, my debt to her was paid. The Hayes family would never be my family. The hope I’d cherished for so long was just a childish fantasy. As I walked out their door, my resolve hardened. I pulled out my phone and sent a message to my academic advisor, officially withdrawing my application for the graduate program. Then, I texted a number I hadn’t contacted in years. 【Dad, I want to apply to grad school abroad. Can you help me, just this once?】

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384932”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

“Leo, do you really think you’re Catherine Croft’s legal husband?” The man, Adrian, slammed the marriage certificate onto the podium just as the stage lights hit my eyes. I was in the middle of our new product launch. The date on the official seal burned into my retinas… Five years ago. I hadn’t even met Catherine yet. But I was her husband. Her legal husband. I begged Catherine to tell the world the truth, but she always said to wait, just a little longer. For that, my son and I were dragged through hell—threatened, humiliated, and hurt. When she finally did reveal the truth, she fell to her knees before me. “Leo, please, just let me explain…” But by then, it was an explanation neither I nor my son needed anymore. 01. I was in a tailored suit, standing on stage at the company’s new product launch, walking the audience through our latest innovation. This presentation was everything to our company. I’d poured my soul into it, polishing every detail until it gleamed. Just as applause began to swell from the audience, a stranger stormed through the conference hall doors. He walked with an air of pure arrogance, heading straight for me. “Leo Wallace, do you really think you’re Catherine Croft’s legal husband?” he sneered, his voice laced with provocation. My brow furrowed. I had no idea who this man was, what this bizarre performance was about. He seemed to relish my confusion. He pulled a marriage certificate from his briefcase and waved it in my face. “Maybe this will clear things up. I’m Catherine’s legal husband. We’ve been married for five years.” I took the document. There, in stark black ink, were their names: Catherine Croft and Adrian Shaw. And the date. A deafening buzz roared in my head, like I’d taken a physical blow. How could this be possible? Catherine and I had been married for three years. Our life together was stable, happy. Why would she be married to someone else? I forced myself to breathe, to think. I replayed every moment of our life together, searching for a crack, a lie, anything. But the Catherine in my memory was always so gentle, so attentive. She adored me and our son. I couldn’t find a single reason for her to deceive me like this. The man, Adrian, saw my stunned silence and a triumphant smirk spread across his face. “Did you really think the happiness you stole would last forever? Time to wake up.” His words were a razor blade, slicing deep into my heart. The audience below had sensed the shift. The quiet murmurs grew into a wave of curious stares. I took a deep, steadying breath, fighting to keep my composure. “Who the hell are you? Why are you trying to frame my wife?” I stared at him, desperately searching for a flaw in his act. He snorted. “My name is Adrian Shaw. I’m Catherine Croft’s husband. And I’m just giving you some friendly advice: stop pretending to be something you’re not. Stop being the other man.” Just then, Catherine rushed into the hall. Her face went pale the moment she saw us. She looked at Adrian, her voice low and dangerous. “What are you doing here? Why would you do this?” Adrian just laughed and shoved the certificate into her hands. “I’m just telling him to be a decent person, to stop being a homewrecker. What’s wrong with that? Today, everyone is going to know the truth.” He turned and walked out, leaving Catherine and me stranded in the ensuing chaos. Reporters swarmed the stage, their cameras flashing relentlessly, their questions flying at us like bullets. The product launch was a disaster, derailed by a gossip bomb. My boss was furious, telling me I was suspended indefinitely. The only reason I wasn’t fired on the spot was because of my track record. But I didn’t have the energy to care about my job. When we got home, the argument I’d been holding back exploded out of me. I screamed at her, demanding to know what was happening. She just looked at me, her eyes pleading. “Leo, please, just wait for me. Now is not the time. I promise you, I will handle this. I will give you an explanation.” I stared at her, my vision blurred by rage and disappointment. “Wait? After this? You let me become a public joke today! My marriage, my career—it’s all in flames because of you! Enough, Catherine. I want a divorce!” “No!” Her face was a mask of panic, the word ripping out of her. “I won’t divorce you! I will never divorce you!” 02. Catherine’s fingers dug into my wrist, her knuckles white from the force of her grip. “Noah is only three. Would you really sentence him to a broken home?” I wrenched my arm away, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “A mother who lies is a thousand times more damaging than an absent one!” Her eyes reddened, and she swallowed hard. “Just give me one more week… no, three days! I swear I’ll—” My phone began to vibrate violently, a notification lighting up the screen. A trending topic, complete with a flaming emoji: Leo Wallace, the Corporate Homewrecker. I clicked it. The press conference had been cut into a viciously edited meme. The shot of Adrian throwing the certificate on the stage looped endlessly, my face photoshopped onto a screaming chicken. The comments were a tidal wave of hate: [Trying to launch a product while you’re the other man? Give this guy the Douchebag of the Year award!] [UPDATE! People are flooding the website of that scumbag Leo’s company!] “How much is your ‘swear’ worth right now?” I grabbed a vase from the entryway table and hurled it to the floor. “Where were you when my launch was being destroyed? Where were you when the entire internet started calling me a homewrecker? Don’t you dare stand there and pretend to be a concerned mother now!” Shards of porcelain skittered across the floor, stopping at her feet. She took a half-step back, then suddenly grabbed her coat. “We both need to calm down.” The front door slammed shut. A moment later, I heard Noah crying from his room. I ran in and swept him into my arms. He clutched my shirt, sobbing. “Is… is Mommy not coming back?” I bit the inside of my cheek to keep my own voice from breaking. “Mommy just got a little lost, buddy. Daddy’s going to find her for you.” I called my lawyer and had him draw up divorce papers. But then Catherine vanished. Her phone went straight to her assistant’s voicemail every time. “Ms. Croft is in a meeting with our international partners.” “Ms. Croft is with investors right now.” “Ms. Croft, she…” I drove straight to the Croft Industries headquarters, my dress shoes clicking like blades against the marble floor. But when I reached the executive elevator, the iris scanner blinked red. Access Denied. My credentials had been revoked. “Sir, please don’t make this difficult,” her assistant said, blocking my way. I saw a faint, finger-shaped bruise on her forearm—from when I’d grabbed at Catherine the other day and she’d stepped between us. My eyes were glued to the floor numbers lighting up on the display. “Tell her I’ll be at City Hall tomorrow at ten a.m. If she’s not there, I’ll see her in court.” As I turned to leave, I heard the assistant’s hushed voice behind me. “Ms. Croft, he’s gone… Yes, I’ve already spoken to the kindergarten, just as you asked…” The moment the final bell rang, Noah launched himself into my arms like a little cannonball. His right eye was puffy and swollen, and a scab of dried blood crusted the corner of his mouth. “Did you fall?” I asked, my fingers gently brushing the wound. He burst into tears. “Stella said her mommy bought her an Iron Man watch… she said I was adopted…” My blood ran cold. The day of the press conference, I’d gotten a friend request from Adrian Shaw. I’d meant to ignore it, but some morbid curiosity made me accept. His social media was a gallery of photos of him and a little girl, doted on by Catherine. Stella. That was the name he used for his daughter. “Where is she?” Noah pointed toward the shadows behind the slide. A little girl in a private school uniform was trapping ants in a water bottle. The face of an Iron Man watch on her wrist caught the sun, flashing a blinding light. It was the same girl from Adrian’s photos. And her eyes, her brow… they were a near-perfect copy of Catherine’s. “Look, the fake daddy’s here!” she jeered, making a face at me. “My mommy is taking me to Disneyland tomorrow!” I knelt down to her level. “What’s your mommy’s name?” “Catherine Croft!” she announced proudly, puffing out her chest. “My daddy says her name is worth a hundred amusement parks!” Before I could process that, Adrian emerged from behind a cluster of trees, followed by a crew of influencers holding selfie sticks. “Hey everyone, today we’re giving Stella a taste of a regular public school… Oh my god!” He stumbled dramatically, his vintage watch catching on a branch. As the broken band flew into the grass, the viewer count on his livestream spiked to over one hundred thousand. 03. The diamonds on the brooch pinned to Adrian’s chest blinded me—a Victorian-era iris, the very same one Catherine had pinned on me herself the night she proposed. I instinctively glanced at my own lapel, now bare. The key to our safety deposit box felt hot in my pocket. “You stole my brooch!” I lunged for it, but a reporter’s microphone blocked my path. Adrian clutched the diamonds and took a step back, the livestream camera zooming in on his feigned, trembling eyelashes. “Catherine gave this to me six months ago. Do you need to see the notarized document?” An assistant promptly handed him a folder. On the aged paper, Catherine Croft’s signature was unmistakable, written with a powerful, confident hand. I knew that signature. The year before, during a major acquisition, she had guided my hand to sign our names together. The nib of the pen had torn the paper on the final stroke of her last name. “Now who looks like the thief?” Adrian slapped the document against my chest. The live chat exploded with red exclamation points: [HE BROUGHT RECEIPTS! Leo the scumbag needs to get on his knees and apologize to the real husband!] [No wonder he kept it in a safe, he knew it was stolen!] I crumpled the paper in my fist, the sharp corners digging into my palm. “That signature…” “Your wife signed it herself,” he whispered, his lips close to my ear. “In my bed, that night. Want to hear the details?” I threw the crumpled document at his smiling face. As the papers fluttered to the ground, Adrian staggered back dramatically, the brooch tumbling from his chest. “Watch out!” A man I recognized—Ethan—rushed out from the crowd of reporters and caught Adrian, steadying him. The ID badge on his chest swung forward: Adrian Shaw Productions, Special Assistant. “Mr. Wallace, assault has legal consequences.” As Ethan bent down to re-fasten the brooch for Adrian, I saw the scar on the back of his neck. I knew that scar. He got it working in a kitchen his sophomore year of college. I was the one who drove him to the ER for a skin graft that night. “You didn’t talk about consequences when you were on your knees, begging me to help you pay for tuition, did you?” I grabbed the hem of Ethan’s designer suit. The silk fabric ripped with a sickening sound. He flinched, and a tray of antiseptic wipes he was holding scattered across the ground. “Answer me! When your father had late-stage liver cancer, who paid for the surgery?” I forced his face toward me. His skin was flushed crimson beneath his foundation. “Now you’re helping the man who stole my life. Does your conscience ever bother you at night?” The cameras were practically touching my face. The live chat was in a frenzy: [OMG THE DRAMA! The other man is having a meltdown!] [Did you see that close-up? Adrian has a hickey from Catherine on his neck!] Suddenly, Ethan grabbed my wrist, his nails digging into my flesh. “Leo, you have to move on.” His voice was a bare whisper, almost a sigh. “It’s like you taught me about investing in art… you pick the one with the highest potential for growth. It’s the same with people. You have to bet on the winner.” Adrian’s smug laugh echoed from nearby. “Ethan, come fix my hair.” Ethan immediately let go of me and hurried to Adrian’s side, dutifully smoothing his hair into place. 04. The crowd surged forward, a suffocating wave of hot bodies and angry shouts. Noah’s terrified scream was lost in the noise. “Get the bastard!” A plastic water bottle hit me squarely on the brow. Cold water and blood streamed into my right eye. I held Noah tight against my chest. In the chaos, one of his small shoes was kicked off, revealing a little sunflower embroidered on his sock. He’d been so proud of them this morning. “Daddy buys the best socks!” he’d declared. “I’ve already called the police!” I roared, wiping the blood from my eyes. My only answer was a chorus of derisive laughter. A large man in a gold chain grabbed a fistful of my hair. “The cops are coming for you, asshole!” His hand was adorned with a chunky diamond ring that scraped my earlobe, drawing a fresh line of blood. The live chat was flooded with digital fireworks. [Someone start a crowdfund to add another diamond to that guy’s ring!] My vision swam with black spots. My head was spinning. Only one thought remained clear. I would make Catherine and Adrian pay for this. The wail of sirens finally cut through the mob. My shirt was torn open. “Everyone break it up!” a young officer yelled, using his baton to push back the phones still recording. His older partner glanced at the bruises forming on my collarbone. “Sir, we recommend you handle domestic disputes through legal channels.” I clutched Noah’s fallen sunflower sock, the taste of blood and iron in my throat. “I am her legal husband!” “Yeah, that’s what they all say,” she replied, handing me a tissue. “My advice? Walk away now, before you drag your kid further into this mess.” Suddenly, Noah grabbed my bleeding hand and pressed it against the officer’s sleeve insignia. “Mister, my daddy didn’t steal anything…” The dark wool of the uniform soaked up the blood, creating a grotesque, blooming flower. After we gave our statements at the station, I saw a long, deep scratch on the back of Noah’s hand, still weeping blood. Without a second thought, I rushed him to the hospital. Under the harsh fluorescent lights of the emergency room, I sent Catherine a photo of Noah’s hand being stitched up. When she finally answered with a video call, I could hear the sounds of Adrian’s livestream in the background. “—big thanks to ‘Catherine’s Knight’ for the huge donation!” “You hear that?” I held the phone close to Noah’s tear-streaked face. “Your son is being called a bastard by the entire world!” A vein pulsed in Catherine’s forehead. “Leo, Adrian and I are not married! Stella is not my child! The DNA report is in my study, third drawer—” “And what good does that do now? Are you going to hold another press conference?” “Just wait, please, now is not the right time…” Noah suddenly sobbed out the word “Mommy.” Her fingers dug violently into what looked like a leather car seat. “Let me talk to him. Put Noah on the phone.” I hit the end call button. I took her last voice message, still on my screen, and used my phone to blot the tears from my son’s cheek. “Catherine,” I thought, “you will never deserve to hear him cry again.” 05. The day Noah got his stitches out, I finally saw Catherine again. She burst into the examination room just as the doctor was snipping the last thread from the cut on Noah’s forehead. The scent of the perfume Adrian used on his livestreams clung to her blazer. She reached for our son, but I slapped her, my hand cracking across her face with such force that she stumbled back into an IV stand. CRASH! The sound of the shattering saline bag and the chorus of smartphone shutters created a surreal, horrifying symphony. “Leo?!” She wiped a trickle of blood from her nose. Behind her, frozen in the doorway, was Stella, holding an ice cream cone. Adrian had dressed her in a pair of sunflower socks identical to Noah’s. I grabbed a medical chart and threw it at the influencer who had followed her in. “Get your reality show out of my face!” Three hours later, a new headline was trending: Croft Industries CEO Assaulted by Homewrecker Ex. My boss’s call shattered the silence of the ER waiting room. “Do you have any idea how big our contract with Croft Industries is? Write your resignation letter right now. It’s the only way you’re leaving this with a shred of dignity.” The live chat on the replay of the hospital incident was ecstatic: [That slap must have cost him ten million dollars, lol.] [LATEST NEWS! That scumbag Leo’s company stock just plummeted!] Back home, I was texting my lawyer about expediting the divorce when a notification popped up. Adrian’s new livestream was titled A Night of Protecting My Family. He was holding Stella, his eyes red-rimmed. “Catherine was just at the hospital to see a sick child who had a fever, I never thought…” The camera panned over a pediatric hospital room, a bill signed by Catherine clearly visible on the nightstand. My personal information had been compiled into a nine-panel graphic and was spreading like wildfire. My gym membership number, Noah’s list of allergies, even my childhood medical records were being passed around on the dark web. The day a body bag was delivered to our doorstep, I was in the backyard burning every gift Catherine had ever given me. As the flames consumed a sapphire tie clip, a text came through from an unknown number. It was a GPS pin of Noah’s kindergarten. [Time to find a new playground for the bastard. A cemetery, maybe.] Catherine’s calls, which I’d rejected dozens of times, turned into a flood of frantic texts. I’ve hired security… My lawyers are handling it… Please, Leo, I’m begging you, answer the phone… I aimed my phone’s camera at the flames and sent her my final ultimatum. Sign the divorce papers, or you’ll be getting a notice from the coroner.

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For five years, my genius husband saw me as an empty-headed trophy wife. He publicly humiliated me for his brilliant protégée—a woman my family’s charity put through college. But when he dragged me, nine months pregnant, up the stairs and risked our child’s life to defend her honor, he made a fatal mistake. He forgot my name is Sterling, and the Sterling empire doesn’t just get even. It gets biblical. 1 Five years of marriage, and I knew one thing for certain: my husband despised me. To him, I was nothing more than a “trophy wife,” a decorative piece from an old-money Manhattan family. He was Dr. Adam Cole, one of the country’s leading astronomers, a man who conversed with the cosmos. I was Charlotte Sterling, a woman who played Chopin and arranged peonies. He and the brilliant young student my family sponsored would lose themselves in conversations about nebulae and wormholes. I would be tracking the fall couture collections. While he stood at a podium at an international symposium with his protégée, I was making headlines for winning a bidding war at Christie’s over a diamond necklace—a bauble I needed for a single charity gala. When I once begged him to celebrate our anniversary, his voice was laced with ice. “I prefer not to engage too deeply with the world of finance and power.” “My work is sacred.” Then he turned around and spent the evening patiently teaching his student how to calibrate a new telescope. The breaking point came when he, in a fit of rage to defend that same student’s honor, dragged me—nine months pregnant—up the stairs, inducing a dangerous premature labor. That was when I finally signed the divorce papers. It was time to give us both back our freedom. Without him, I was still Charlotte Sterling, the most sought-after heiress on the Upper East Side. Without me… well, he was about to find out. … I dialed Adam’s number. “What is it?” His voice on the other end was cold, clipped, the impatience radiating through the phone. I rested a hand on my swollen belly, the skin stretched taut over the life inside. I’d called to tell him my due date was just a week away, to ask him to clear his schedule. Before I could speak, a chirpy, saccharine-sweet female voice cut through the background. “Professor, is that your wife calling to bother you at work again?” “Honestly, back where I’m from, pregnant women were still out working in the fields. She’s so delicate, acting like being pregnant gives her a right to call and pester you all day.” “She’s slowing down our research! Ugh.” It was his student, Maya Rivera. Adam’s tone softened into something warm and indulgent, a complete reversal of the frost he reserved for me. “Your ‘Mrs. Cole’ was spoiled from the day she was born, Maya. She isn’t like you—an independent, modern intellectual.” “Her days are empty. It’s just a cycle of spending money and then spending more money. How could she possibly understand the sacrifices we make for our research? She calls whenever the whim strikes her.” “Don’t worry. I’ll handle her. I won’t let her disrupt our progress.” He made no effort to lower his voice. He’d never bothered to hide his contempt for me. He conveniently forgot that his own parents had practically begged my family for this marriage, that the line of suitors for my hand had stretched from Park Avenue to Paris. I was about to fire back a retort, but he cut me off. “Charlotte, you heard that. This project is at a critical stage. I need you to stop calling me over every little thing.” “I don’t expect you to grasp the importance of this work—you’re a pampered socialite who has never worked a day in her life. But at least try not to drag me down with you.” And then, he hung up. The father of my child hadn’t asked a single question about him. I sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, the silence of our cold, cavernous apartment pressing in on me. I wondered if there was anything left of this marriage to save. That evening, I waited up for him, as was my custom. It wasn’t about love anymore; it was about maintaining the facade, the basic respect a wife of my station was expected to show her husband, even if it was never returned in kind. And I needed to ask him one last time if he would be at the hospital when I gave birth. Not for me, but for my parents. I couldn’t bear for them to see the full, brutal extent of his neglect. But midnight came and went. Adam never came home. Just as I was about to turn in, a notification lit up my phone. A new post on his Instagram. The caption read: Celebrating my most brilliant student’s birthday with a view of the blood moon! The photo was a gut punch. Maya, her sun-kissed skin glowing in the moonlight, had her head resting on my husband’s shoulder. They sat close, gazing up at the crimson-stained moon like a pair of lovers. A comment from a mutual friend in our circle appeared almost instantly: Adam, Charlotte is over nine months pregnant. Don’t you think you should be home with her instead of watching the moon with your student? This doesn’t look right. Adam’s reply was as cold and arrogant as I’d come to expect: She is a perfectly adequate society wife, but she is not the wife of my heart. Our marriage was an arrangement. My parents valued the Sterling family’s influence and resources. I married her to secure an alliance, to stabilize my family’s position. It was a transaction. But Maya is the only one who speaks my language. Discussing the universe with her—that’s when I feel alive, when I know my worth. Maya is the kind of brilliant, intellectual woman I’ve always admired. My knuckles turned white as I gripped my phone. It wasn’t sadness that I felt, but the pure, unadulterated rage of public humiliation. I had tried, for the first six months, to build a real marriage with him. When I realized it was hopeless, I gave up. With a ten-billion-dollar dowry, a loveless marriage was an inconvenience, not a tragedy. But this… this public shaming was a declaration of war. As if on cue, Maya’s comment popped up right below his. Thank you for believing in me, Professor. <3 And please don’t be hard on your wife. A woman like her, who’s never known a single day of hardship, could never understand the passion that drives people like us! Heart.JPG The two of them, performing this little play for the world to see, stoked the fire in my gut. I opened my chat with Adam. The log was nearly empty. Our last exchange was six months ago. I hit the call button. He answered. “Delete the post,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “I don’t give a damn what’s going on between you and your protégée, but the Sterling family name will not be dragged through the mud. I don’t want my parents to see this and worry.” There was a pause, then a condescending laugh. “Charlotte, has playing the socialite finally rotted your brain? You spend all your time obsessing over these meaningless trifles. Your world is so pathetically small.” “I’m telling you, the post stays up. And my relationship with Maya is none of your parents’ damn business.” A sharp pain shot through my stomach. I was about to unleash a torrent of fury when Maya’s voice, dripping with false innocence, came through the line. “Mrs. Cole, the professor works so hard. You shouldn’t bother him with such trivial matters.” “Besides, he was just telling the truth. You really… you don’t understand our world. Denying it won’t change anything.” “Why don’t you just go back to being a pretty vase? The professor and I are busy observing the lunar eclipse. If you don’t understand, you shouldn't interfere.” I could hear Adam murmuring to her in the background, his voice a gentle caress. “Maya, what’s the point in talking to her? Her mind is filled with couture and galas. She can’t even begin to compare to you. Engaging with her only lowers your intellectual standards.” Every word was a carefully aimed dart. This was how he had seen me for five years. And the irony? How the Coles had courted my family, begging for this union? Dozens of families had wanted an alliance with the Sterlings. My parents, terrified I would be unhappy, chose the Coles, believing it was a safe match, that I would be marrying down and thus be cherished. What a bitter joke. I reached into my nightstand and pulled out the divorce agreement I’d had my lawyers draw up months ago. My hand went to my stomach. My resolve hardened. No amount of patience or compromise would ever change this man. There was no reason to maintain this farce any longer. He despised me but didn’t have the guts to ask for a divorce himself, wanting to have his cake and eat it too. I wondered how he would explain this to his parents. Adam’s voice snapped back onto the line, as if just remembering I was there. He spoke with that familiar, patronizing tone. “Charlotte, stop looking for trouble where there is none.” “If you’re that bored, go buy another couture gown. It’s a better use of your time than monitoring my life.” “Our marriage is what it is—a dynastic merger. Don’t ever expect love from me.” “The woman I love has a higher purpose, a brilliant mind. Not an empty-headed doll like you.” He hung up. Again. A slow, cold smile spread across my face. The anger was gone, replaced by crystalline clarity. The moment this baby was born, I was done. I would not let this self-righteous hypocrite poison another day of my life. The next morning, I walked downstairs to a shocking sight: Adam Cole in the kitchen. He was cooking breakfast. Adam, the man who claimed his hands were instruments reserved solely for scientific discovery, was standing over a stove. Before I could process it, Maya Rivera emerged from the guest bedroom, wearing one of Adam’s crisp white button-down shirts and nothing else. Her eyes met mine. On her, with her sun-kissed skin, the shirt was a statement, a flag planted on conquered territory. She scanned me from head to toe with the same arrogant, dismissive gaze as her mentor, a clear challenge in her eyes. She didn't greet me, the mistress of the house. Instead, she glided into the kitchen and wrapped her arms around Adam from behind, resting her head on his shoulder. “Thank you for making me oatmeal, Professor,” she cooed. “I feel so spoiled.” The irony was nauseating. His wife, nine months pregnant, hadn't received so much as a kind word, yet this student had him playing short-order cook. Adam chuckled, ruffling her hair. “As long as you like it. Just try to be more careful with your next data set. No more mistakes.” He glanced over at me. “You have a brilliant future, Maya. Don’t waste it and end up useless like your Mrs. Cole.” Their open flirting made my stomach turn. I started to head for the bathroom, but Adam finally noticed me standing there. The smile vanished from his face, replaced by a scowl. “Don’t just stand there blocking the way,” he snapped. “You have nothing to do all day, but Maya and I have important work. We can’t afford to be delayed by you.” I changed course. Instead of retreating, I walked directly to the dining table. This was my house. I was, for the moment, still Mrs. Adam Cole. Why the hell should I hide from this sordid little affair? “Maria,” I called to the maid, “please bring me my breakfast.” Maya’s eyes flashed with irritation. “You know,” she said, her voice dripping with faux concern, “where I come from, pregnant women are expected to help out. But you, you treat your pregnancy like a disability. You even have servants bring your food to you.” She sighed dramatically. “Mrs. Cole, the staff are people too. You should really show a little more respect for the working class.” I looked up at her, as one might observe a particularly loud insect. “My dowry was ten billion dollars. I can afford to employ ten thousand maids if I choose. Who are you—a woman my family’s charity put through college—to lecture me on morality?” The color drained from her face. Before she could form a reply, I pulled out my phone, dialed my family’s trust manager, and put the call on speaker. “Mr. Davis, good morning. Please immediately terminate all financial support for Maya Rivera.” “Furthermore, I want you to calculate the total sum the Sterling Foundation has provided for her education and living expenses over the years. Inform her she has three days to repay the full amount. If she fails to do so, you will initiate legal proceedings.” I paused, letting the words hang in the air. “The Sterling family does not sponsor traitors.” Maya’s face went chalk-white. She grabbed Adam’s arm, her voice a shrill cry. “Professor! She’s doing this to humiliate me! She looks down on me!” “This is all she knows how to do! Use her money to threaten people because she has nothing else!” Adam, ever her champion, immediately stepped in front of her. “Charlotte, that’s enough!” he roared. “Don’t you dare go too far!” “It’s a few hundred thousand dollars! I’ll pay it for her!” I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “You’ll pay it?” “Adam, have you forgotten? When your parents were begging for this marriage, they were so eager that they didn’t bother with a prenup.” “Your money is our money. It’s community property. If you dare use our joint assets to pay her debt, I will have my lawyers sue her for misappropriation of marital funds. We’ll see how that looks on her academic record.” His face turned to stone. The trap had sprung. Just then, our maid, Maria, approached nervously with my breakfast tray. Adam’s rage found a new target. With a sudden, violent movement, he kicked the tray out of her hands. Porcelain shattered, and food splattered across the marble floor. CRASH! He whirled on the terrified staff. “Get her back to her room! Lock the door!” “She may have been a Sterling, but she lives in the Cole house now! My parents may indulge her, but I will not!” The servants stood frozen, looking from him to me. “This is my house!” he bellowed. “Who do you work for?” I shot to my feet, my voice ringing with fury as I pointed a finger at him. “Adam Cole, you dare?!” “If you lay a hand on me today, you can start preparing the eulogy for your family’s company.” But he had lost face in front of Maya, and his pride was a wounded, desperate animal. He threw all caution to the wind. “Dare?” he sneered. “Of course I dare!” “Why should a parasite who does nothing but spend money be allowed to destroy the future of a brilliant intellectual like Maya? Maybe some time alone in your room will give you time to reflect on your behavior!” Maya, seizing her moment, collapsed into his arms, sobbing. “Professor, I know I received their charity, but that doesn’t give her the right to insult me like this! I have my dignity! All my hard work, my dedication to science… she’s trying to reduce it all to a dollar amount!” Adam stroked her hair, murmuring comforting words. The staff, though employed by the Coles, knew where the real power lay. Not a single one moved toward me. Seeing their defiance, Adam’s face grew darker. “Fine! Fine! So my own staff won’t obey me anymore! You’re all fired! Every last one of you! Be out by noon!” He turned his glare back to me. “Maya and I are late for the observatory. We don’t have time to waste on your hysterics.” “If you won’t lock her up, I’ll do it myself!” He strode toward me. Before I could react, he grabbed my arm, completely ignoring my nine-month belly, and started dragging me toward the stairs. I struggled, fighting with all my strength, but he was too strong. In the scuffle, my stomach slammed hard against the corner of the wrought-iron banister. A blinding, razor-sharp pain ripped through my abdomen. I cried out, clutching my belly. “The baby…” “Adam! This is your child too! Let me go!” His eyes were bloodshot, his face contorted in a mask of madness. “A little pregnancy,” he hissed, his teeth clenched. “Women in Maya’s village are back in the fields the next day! I know you’re faking it!” “If I don’t teach you a lesson today, you’ll never stop bullying Maya!” A wave of pure despair washed over me. And then, I heard my father’s voice, a crack of thunder from the doorway. “GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY DAUGHTER!” In the next instant, Adam was kicked violently to the ground. A second later, my mother was holding me, her own tears streaming down her face. I looked down. Blood was spreading, a dark crimson stain on my dress. Adam saw it too. The color drained from his face. He stammered, his voice a ghost of its former arrogance. “How… how is that possible? Your due date is still a week away…” “I… I was just trying to teach you a small lesson…” My father ignored him, scooping me into his arms and rushing for the door. But even through the haze of pain, I grabbed his arm. “Dad…” I gasped, “the nightstand… in the bedroom… give him what’s inside…” My words hung in the air. Adam froze, then scrambled to his feet and sprinted up the stairs. We heard the drawer being wrenched open. Then, a dead silence. When we glanced back, he had collapsed to the floor, his face a portrait of utter disbelief. “No…” he whispered. “You can’t do this to me.”

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