Category: English

The Mercedes was gone. My heels clicked on the polished concrete of the garage, the sound echoing in the empty space where the G-Wagon should have been. “Susan?” I called out, walking into the house. “Did you see where the Mercedes went?” The housekeeper, Mrs. Evans, was lounging on my custom-made Italian leather sofa, shelling pistachios. The television blared a daytime talk show, and she didn’t bother to look away from the screen when I walked in. “My son took his girlfriend out for the day,” she said, her tone casual, as if she were talking about the weather. “It’s hard to get around without a car. You weren’t using it, so I told him to go ahead.” I stared at her, at the discarded pistachio shells scattered on the floor around her. “You let your son take my car?” “You have other cars,” she said, finally turning to look at me, her expression one of mild annoyance, as if I were the one being unreasonable. “And you hardly ever drive that one. Better to let Derek get some use out of it than let it just sit there collecting dust.” She tossed another shell onto the pile. “He’ll even put gas in it for you. See? He’s practically doing you a favor. Cars fall apart when you don’t drive them.” My jaw tightened. “I want you to call your son. I want him to bring my car back. You have two hours.” She sighed, a heavy, put-upon sound. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. They’re all the way downtown. It’s not convenient for them to come back now. Don’t be so stingy.” I didn’t say another word. I turned, walked straight to my bedroom, closed the door, and dialed 911. “911, what’s your emergency?” “Hello,” I said, my voice steady. “My name is Kate Holloway. I need to report a stolen vehicle.” Less than half an hour later, a frantic pounding erupted on my bedroom door. “Kate! Open this door right now! You get out here!” Mrs. Evans shrieked, her voice raw with fury. “You have the guts to call the cops on my son, but not the guts to open this door? Get out here, you little bitch!” 1 This woman, Susan Evans, had become a tyrant in my own home. Her audacity was breathtaking. I’d overlooked her earlier transgressions, chalking them up to cultural differences or a lack of professional boundaries. I had even tried to gently remind her of her role, to suggest that she refrain from commenting on my personal life. She hadn’t listened. If anything, my polite requests had only emboldened her. She’d started treating my deference as weakness, my home as her own, and my life as a project she needed to manage. She began speaking to me not as an employer, but as a disapproving, overbearing mother-in-law I never asked for. It started small. Expensive cheeses and bottles of wine disappearing from the fridge. Then came the constant, unsolicited advice. She’d sneer at my takeout containers, telling me I’d never find a husband if I didn’t learn to cook. She’d leave sinks full of dishes and patches of dusty floor for me to clean when I got home from a twelve-hour workday, clucking her tongue about my “laziness.” The absurdity peaked last week. Her daughter was coming for a visit, and because my house is in a gated community a good forty-five minutes from the city, she demanded that I leave work early, pick her daughter up from the train station, and stop at the gourmet market for fresh lobster on the way home. “Cindy just loves lobster,” she’d said, “and I’m going to make her my special bisque.” Even my own health routines became her property. I’d ask her to prepare my morning collagen drink, and she’d make two—one for me, and one for herself. Mine would be the plain powder dissolved in water. Hers would be a concoction brimming with organic berries, manuka honey, and goji powder from my pantry. When I asked why mine was so spartan, she’d replied, with no hint of shame, “You only asked for the collagen. You didn’t say to add anything else.” The final straw before the car had been the truffle oil. A friend had brought me an incredibly rare, expensive bottle of white truffle oil back from a trip to Italy. I came home one day to find her complaining of a stomach ache. The bottle of oil, nearly full the day before, was almost empty. She didn’t apologize. She blamed me. “You shouldn’t keep things that are so rich in the house. It’s not good for people.” And now this. Handing the keys to my $150,000 vehicle to her son so he could impress his girlfriend. I’d only noticed because the garage door was left wide open when I pulled in tonight, a gaping invitation to any opportunist in the neighborhood. The moment I saw the empty space, I knew she was behind it. Forget the sheer entitlement—think of the liability. If her son, Derek, got into an accident, if he hurt someone, I was the registered owner. I would be the one sued. If he couldn’t pay, the financial and legal fallout would land squarely on me. I had tried to be reasonable. I had planned to just demand the car back and let it go. But her attitude when I walked in—lounging on my sofa like she owned the place, the floor littered with her mess—ignited a cold fury in me. A housekeeper, a professional, should at the very least stand up when her employer gets home. She should ask if I’ve eaten, if I need anything. Instead, she’d just gestured vaguely towards the kitchen with a pistachio-filled hand. “Dinner’s in the fridge. You can heat it up yourself.” A glance into the kitchen confirmed my suspicions. The sink was piled high with dirty dishes, and the trashcan overflowed with the carcasses of a roasted chicken and empty oyster shells. She’d hosted her son for a feast in my home before sending him off in my car. I wasn’t hungry anymore. I went to my room, took out my phone, and made the call. “Yes, 911? I need to report a stolen car. The GPS tracker shows it’s currently near the waterfront district in the next city over.” My voice was calm, almost detached. “That’s right. It was taken from my home. Without my knowledge or permission.” Thirty minutes later, the banging began. 2 “Kate, did you call the police?” Susan Evans screamed through the door. “Derek just called me. The police have him pulled over!” The pounding intensified. “I know you’re in there, Kate! Stop hiding and come out here and face me! You coward!” I took a deep breath, walked to the door, and opened it. Susan’s face was a mask of crimson rage. “Are you out of your mind? I told you he was just borrowing it! I said he’d put gas in it! What is wrong with you?” She advanced on me, stabbing a finger in my direction. “He was just taking his girlfriend for a drive! Is that a crime? You have so many cars, what does it matter if he borrows one? Does it take a pound of your precious flesh?” Her voice rose to a fever pitch. “I have worked my fingers to the bone in this house! I’ve earned a little consideration! And you call the police over something this small? Now my son is being held by the police in another city! You’re humiliating him! If his girlfriend breaks up with him over this, will you take responsibility for that?” I leaned against the doorframe, my arms crossed. “Susan, I gave you a chance. I asked you, politely, to have your son bring the car back, and I would have forgotten the whole thing. Do you remember what you told me?” “Do you have any idea the kind of risk I’m exposed to when your son is driving my car?” I continued, my voice low and even. “If he hits someone and can’t pay for the damages, I’m the one who has to pay for everything.” “So what?” she spat. “You’re rich! I work for you! Shouldn’t you help us out? It’s just a car! It’s not like he wrecked it! He was going to buy you gas! Do you have to be so cruel? I see what this is. You rich people are all the same. You can’t stand to see working-class people have a single nice thing.” As she was winding up for another tirade, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She snatched it out, glanced at the screen, and jabbed the answer button, putting it on speaker. A man’s voice, shrill and panicked, crackled through the tiny speaker. The faint wail of a siren whined in the background. “Mom, what the hell is taking so long? These pigs have me boxed in, and they’re about to impound the car! You need to get her to call this off! Right now!” There was a pause, then: “My girlfriend is right here watching all of this! This is a total fucking disaster! If she dumps me over this, it’s on you! Do you want me to be alone forever?” A deeper, calmer voice interrupted from the other end. “Sir, who are you calling pigs?” Derek’s voice exploded from the phone. “I’m calling you a pig! What are you gonna do about it, you fucking asshole?” He was practically screaming now. “Are you blind? This is a goddamn G-Wagon! I’ll have your badge for this! I’ll have all your fucking jobs!” Hearing the escalating chaos, Susan shoved the phone toward my face. “This is your fault! None of this would be happening if you hadn’t called them! You tell them to let him go! Retract your statement right now!” “No.” I looked her dead in the eye. “You had your son steal my car, and you think you’re the victim here? Let him spend a night in a holding cell. Maybe he’ll learn something.” I took a breath. “And you? Don’t bother coming in tomorrow. You’re fired.” For a split second, she just stared. Then, her face contorted, and she lunged. The sharp crack of her hand across my cheek echoed in the hallway. “You worthless bitch!” she screamed, her voice guttural. “You want to ruin my son? I’ll kill you!”

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The year I was dirt poor, I walked into the factory and let the gears mangle two of my fingers for my grandmother’s thirty-thousand-dollar surgery. The owner, his face etched with pity, offered me eighty thousand in compensation. Drowning in guilt, I only took the thirty. Years have passed. My grandmother is long gone. But then I saw the trending news. That same factory had burned to the ground. The owner was dead—a heart attack, they said. His wife was missing. Their twelve-year-old son had been sent to an orphanage. I stared at the boy’s helpless, terrified eyes on the screen, then at the pills I was about to swallow. I washed them down the drain. Alright then… time to live again. All for the sake of that thirty thousand. 1 Even after all these years, the sight of my own hand, the two missing fingers, could still summon a thick, choking wave of guilt. But if I could go back, I know I’d do it again. Because back then, I was out of options. Utterly and completely. My grandmother found me in a dumpster on a snowy night. Without her, I would have frozen to death in the biting cold before my first sunrise. Now, she had stomach cancer, and the doctor said the surgery and follow-up treatments would cost eighty thousand dollars, minimum. We sold everything. Our tiny, crumbling one-room apartment, the mismatched, worthless furniture inside—all of it. It brought in a little over fifty thousand. We were still thirty thousand short. “Let’s not do it, Tally,” she’d said, her voice thin as old paper. “I’ve lived a full life. I can’t have you sleeping on the streets because of me.” I shook my head, my throat tight. “I’d rather sleep on the street than be without you, Nana. We… we have to do this.” She pulled me into her arms, her sigh melting into a sob. We just held each other and cried, a single, desperate knot of grief in the cold, dark night. We both knew what thirty thousand dollars was to us: an impossible, astronomical sum. Where could we possibly find that kind of money? She had no other family. She only had me. And I didn’t have the thirty thousand dollars that could save her. But at nineteen, I had a boundless, reckless courage. The moment I shoved my hand into the blur of the spinning gears, the pain was so blinding I nearly passed out. But through the haze, I saw the panicked, horrified faces of my coworkers, and in their eyes, I saw a flicker of hope. Nana was going to be saved. It was the only way. The only door I could find that led to her survival. 2 Mr. Henderson, the factory owner, was a good man. By the time he rushed to the hospital, my hand was already bandaged. He knelt beside my bed, his brow furrowed with such genuine pain. He reached out, wanting to touch my mutilated hand, but hovered, helpless, not knowing where to put his own. Finally, all he could manage was a heavy, heartbroken sigh. “Kid… you’re so young. What are you going to do now?” I turned my head away, unable to meet his eyes. I wasn’t a good kid. I didn’t deserve his sincere compassion. His wife, Anna, came to take care of me personally. She missed nothing. She would gently comb the tangles from my messy hair. She’d cut fruit into small, perfect bites, warm them slightly, and feed them to me one by one. It was a mother’s tenderness, a gentleness I had never known. It was completely different from the love Nana gave me. A coworker who came to visit whispered a warning in my ear. “Be careful. This is a classic gentle trap. They’re being nice now so they can pay you less in compensation later.” A switch flipped in my head. I became guarded, suspicious. I started trying to refuse their kindness. But they kept on, ignoring my deliberate coldness, tending to my physical needs and trying to soothe my spirit. When I was discharged, Mr. Henderson and Anna drove me home themselves. Nana cradled my hand, her palm holding the two stumps where my fingers used to be, and silent tears streamed down her face. She couldn’t speak, her whole body trembling with choked-back sobs. In that moment, a sliver of regret pierced through me. Maybe this hadn’t been the right way. The Hendersons were wiping their own eyes, looking around our bare, grim apartment. Nana’s skin had a sickly, yellowish tint; it was obvious to anyone that she was very unwell. They placed eighty thousand dollars in cash on our small, wobbly table. Neat stacks of bills. Nana shot up from her chair, her hands flapping in a panic, too flustered to form words. She could only look at me, her eyes wide with a silent, anxious question. “This is the company’s compensation for Tally,” Mr. Henderson said softly. “Please, take it. We’ll also cover any future medical expenses.” Shame washed over me, hot and heavy. I stared at the floor. The amount was far more than I expected. I’d consulted a legal aid lawyer, and the figure he’d quoted was significantly lower. This was a small factory, the kind where the owner himself had to go out every day to drum up business. Every dollar was earned with sweat. I was desperate for money, but… I couldn’t be that shameless. I couldn’t take more than I was owed. Assuming I had any conscience left at all. “It’s too much,” I mumbled. “I can’t take all of it.” Anna stroked my hair. “Don’t feel bad, sweetie,” she said, her voice a balm. “You have a long road ahead. Use this money. Learn a trade, something you can do to support yourself.” I kept my head down, tears dripping from my chin no matter how fast I tried to wipe them away. I couldn’t speak, just stubbornly shook my head, my neck stiff. I took thirty thousand dollars. I pushed the rest back toward them, my refusal absolute. Nana stared at the three stacks of bills I’d left on the table. Thirty. Thirty thousand. A number that was painfully, intimately familiar to her. Her expression shifted from confusion to shock, and then… a flicker of understanding, of dawning, soul-crushing pain. No one else understood why she suddenly broke down, her wails echoing in that tiny room. Only I did. I kept my head bowed, not daring to look anyone in the eye. I was afraid to see my own reflection in their pupils—despicable, shameful, ugly. In the end, my stubbornness won. I practically shoved them out the door, my face a cold mask. I even threw the remaining fifty thousand dollars after them, the stacks hitting Mr. Henderson’s chest and falling to the floor. I knew it was rude, unforgivable. But I didn’t know how else to refuse a kindness so warm it felt like it was burning me alive. Nana cried all night. No one was more heartbroken than her. My only regret was that I hadn’t hidden my plan better, that she had figured it out so easily. The next day, we packed our few belongings, left that tiny, broken-down room, and moved into the hospital. We said goodbye to our home. The only home Nana and I had ever had. I had no home anymore. But I still had Nana. And as long as I had Nana, I had a home. 3 Nana’s surgery was a success. But when she was discharged, we had nowhere to go. We ended up in a tent pitched under a highway overpass. Renting an apartment, even a room in a cheap motel, would have eaten through our money. Every single dollar had to be stretched to its breaking point. I had no idea how much her follow-up treatments would cost. All I could do was cut our expenses down to the bone. There were moments, many of them, when I regretted not taking that other fifty thousand. But I also knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my gut, that even if I could go back in time, I still wouldn’t have taken it. If I had, the weight of it would have broken my spine for good. I’d never have been able to stand up straight again. After two rounds of chemotherapy, Nana’s body was clearly struggling. She couldn’t stay in a drafty tent any longer. We moved into a cheap rental in a cramped, narrow alleyway. Winter was coming. It was so cold. I found a job doing food delivery. I worked like a machine that never needed to rest, juggling deliveries and taking care of Nana. On the side, I’d take any gig I could find at the downtown clubs—promo girl, shot girl, anything to fill the gaps. Whatever it took to make money. That was the closest I ever came to falling into the abyss. I saw so many ways to make fast cash, easy money that preyed on the desperate. My own sanity pulled me back from the edge. If I truly fell, if Nana ever found out, she would rather die than accept another day of treatment. Mr. Henderson and Anna found us during that time. They came to visit us once. I have no idea how much effort it took them to track down our new address. “Tally,” Mr. Henderson said, his voice gentle. “You could always come back to the factory. We could find a less strenuous position for you.” My fingernails dug into my palms. “A less strenuous job would mean lower pay, wouldn’t it?” I asked, my voice hard and hostile. “Are you going to be charitable and pay me more than I’m worth?” He nodded without a second’s hesitation. I didn’t accept the kindness. “I don’t need it. Are you pitying us? I can take care of my grandmother just fine on my own.” They both opened their mouths to speak, then closed them. Their faces were etched with pain, but they didn’t say anything more. Nana seemed scared of something. She waved her hands clumsily, rejecting the offer for me. “Our Tally isn’t going back to work there. Thank you. Thank you so much.” She stroked my scarred hand, her eyes filled with a raw terror. The Hendersons finally left with a heavy sigh, looking back every few steps. I watched their backs disappear down the alley and whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Forgive my rudeness. Forgive my ugly, twisted heart. My tough act was a sham, built on a foundation of my own despicable actions. I wasn’t a good person. At least, I didn’t feel like one. Nana started crying, too. “It’s my fault, Tally. I’m a burden to you. This old woman… how could I drag down a child like this?” I spun around and hugged her tight, terrified. “Don’t you dare say that. You’re all I have, Nana. You just get better. Everything is going to be okay.” But would it? Looking at her waxy, sallow face, a seed of helpless despair took root in my heart. Nana didn’t speak, but the tears soaking into my sleeve said everything. One after another, an endless stream. She had suffered so much. How could I let her leave this world without knowing a single day of peace? I absolutely could not. That night, a plastic grocery bag appeared on our doorstep. Inside were two containers of nutritional powder for seniors. Underneath them, stacked neatly, was fifty thousand dollars in cash. Fifty. Another sensitive number. I knew immediately who it was from. I tried calling Mr. Henderson, but the phone just rang and rang, unanswered. Nana gently touched my hand, my fingers chapped and rough from the cold. “Tally, stop calling. We’ll take it. And someday… we’ll find a way to pay them back.” I looked at her, and her cloudy eyes were filled with a heartbreak that shattered me. I nodded, turning my head so my tears could fall into the shadows. It was the last stand of my youthful pride, my final, stubborn concession. 4 That winter was the most grueling and yet the most purposeful time of my life. Delivering food by day, working gigs at the clubs by night. I was so exhausted I could fall asleep sitting up anywhere. It was exhausting, yes, but the decent monthly income did little to ease the constant anxiety gnawing at me. Nana had chemotherapy every three weeks. Medical bills and nutrition were costs I couldn’t cut. The doctor said that if she ate well and kept her strength up, the side effects of the chemo would be less severe. During that time, every extra bite of rice she ate, every spoonful of soup she drank, would fill me with joy for hours. It was as if she wasn’t consuming food, but life itself. After her fourth round of chemo, it was time for a routine check-up. I was in the middle of a delivery run when my phone rang. It was her oncologist. “Your grandmother isn’t responding well to the chemotherapy,” he said, his voice flat with professionalism. “The scans show the tumors… they’ve spread to her liver and lungs.” The city flowed around me, a river of people and cars. I stumbled to the corner of the street, squatted down, and cried, my body shaking with huge, helpless sobs. Why? After everything I had done, why was this still the result? Couldn’t fate spare us just one small kindness? I clocked out early that day. I went to see the oncologist alone first. When I asked about the next steps, the treatment plan, all I got were heavy, regretful sighs. He was a young doctor, not much older than me. “Take your grandmother home, kid,” he said gently. “Don’t spend any more money at the hospital. Whatever she wants to eat, let her have it.” I knew he meant well, but I didn’t want to hear it. Every word felt like a death sentence, a final judgment from a god I had stopped believing in. It was impossible to accept for someone who had been clinging so desperately to the hope of a miracle. “If we just go home… what will happen to her?” “She’ll be in a lot of pain,” he said, his voice getting quieter. “She might run a fever, lose her appetite, not want to move. There could be fluid buildup in her abdomen.” He looked away, pretending to be busy with the screen on his desk. “What if I insist on continuing treatment?” I pressed, unwilling to give up. The doctor looked up, his eyes meeting mine. He lowered his voice. “If you insist on treatment… your grandmother will still go through all of that.” His words were the final blow. The tears I’d been holding back burst forth.

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We were on a reality show when my husband and his brother both fell into the lake. My wife, Cassandra, a strong swimmer, didn’t hesitate. She dove in and saved her childhood friend, my brother-in-law, Leo. I watched as she, frantic and tender, had her security detail lift him from the water, wrapping him in blankets and whisking him away without a single backward glance. I was left behind, sinking. The production crew pulled me out just as my lungs gave up. The next day, when I placed the divorce papers on her desk, Cassandra’s face hardened. “Leo can’t swim, River. That’s why I went for him first. Are you seriously going to be jealous about this?” I looked her straight in the eye, my own heart a placid, dead sea. “Yes. Sign them.” 1 We signed the papers with a quiet efficiency that felt more like a business deal than the end of a marriage. Cassandra’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows were knitted together, a look that once would have sent a pang through my chest, but now stirred nothing. She slipped the documents into an exquisite, limited-edition Hermès bag. “I’ll give you a ride.” I shook my head. “No, thank you.” A flicker of irritation crossed her face. “River, you don’t have to be like this. We were married for three years. A divorce doesn’t mean we become strangers.” I was genuinely shocked for a second. I couldn’t believe those words were coming from her. Now that Leo was back—her golden boy, the one that got away—I thought she’d be thrilled that I was so gracefully stepping aside. “For me, Mrs. Sterling, a divorce is exactly that. It means we’re done. We’re not family. We can’t be friends.” “You…” “And since we have no children, no real ties, there’s no reason to stay in touch.” Stung, she turned on her heel and walked away. I watched her go, a long, weary sigh escaping my lips. But then I thought of the balance in my bank account, and the sadness evaporated. Though I was technically a Harrison, the eldest son, I’d never seen a dime of the family fortune. It was the divorce that finally made me a wealthy man. The Sterling family would never have agreed to a 50/50 split, so when my lawyer drafted the agreement, I asked for a clean twenty million. Cassandra agreed without a fight. She also signed over two sprawling properties in New York and L.A., three other houses across the country, and six commercial condos in prime downtown locations. It was enough to live on for the rest of my life, comfortably. Staring at the cold, hard numbers on my banking app, I started to laugh. It was real. I could finally start living for myself. The day after the divorce was final, I moved into a sleek downtown loft that was already in my name. The feeling of ownership, of having something that was truly mine, gave me a sense of security I’d never known. I had braced myself for an avalanche of grief. I thought leaving Cassandra would destroy me. For three years, despite everything, I had loved her. But that night, I had the best sleep of my life. A profound, long-overdue relaxation settled over me, and I didn’t wake up until noon the next day. 2 Cassandra and I were a product of a corporate merger in human form. Her grandfather and my own had been friends, business partners who had sealed a pact with the promise of a marriage between their families. But that promise was originally meant for Leo. He was, after all, the Harrison family’s little prince, cherished for eighteen years. I was the biological son they’d discovered by accident. The changeling. Before I was a Harrison, a girl like Cassandra—class valedictorian, campus queen, heiress to a billion-dollar empire—was in a different universe. We would never have met, let alone fallen in love. Then, at eighteen, my biological parents found me. They showed up in a black town car at the group home where I lived, weeping about a hospital mix-up, a careless nurse, a stolen life. I saw their expensive clothes and imagined a future of ease. A future where I wouldn’t have to collect cans to pay for textbooks, where I wouldn’t have to worry if the underfunded home could afford to send me to college. But the reunion didn’t bring the tearful apologies and lavish affection I’d read about in novels. It brought a polite, cold distance. That’s fine, I told myself. As long as I can go to school, that’s all that matters. They told me Leo’s biological parents had passed away, so he would be staying. He was their son. But their treatment of us was night and day. I wasn’t the son of the house; I felt more like the chauffeur’s kid. The reason they finally needed me came in the form of a catastrophe. Cassandra, the brilliant, untouchable girl Leo had been trailing after for years, had a horrific car accident. The doctors said her leg was permanently damaged. She would walk with a limp for the rest of her life. For a woman like her, it was a devastating blow. It wasn’t just about the loss of grace, but the inability to ever again wear the beautiful heels and short dresses she loved. Leo, upon hearing the news, had a screaming tantrum. He would not, he declared, marry a “cripple.” And so, the duty fell to me. I could have refused. But the image of that cool, stunning face, a face I hadn’t seen in over a year since starting college, flashed in my mind. On a strange, self-destructive impulse, I agreed. I was twenty, about to start my sophomore year at Columbia. My new parents had me withdraw from my classes and, at an age when most guys are figuring out their majors, I married into the Sterling dynasty. When I went to see her before the wedding, she was a storm of fury. She hurled a vase that shattered at my feet. “Get out! Tell Leo to come see me!” she screamed. But Leo was already gone. My parents had given him a black card and sent him off to study abroad, far away from the inconvenient reality of his “damaged” fiancée. The Harrison family business depended on the Sterlings, and while Leo refused to marry Cassandra, someone had to maintain the alliance. I was the placeholder. The spare part. It was the first and only time my mother, Mrs. Harrison, showed me anything resembling kindness. She cried, telling me how much the family was struggling, how pitiful poor Leo was, how my father’s hair was turning gray from stress. I was unmoved. Why all the drama? I was marrying Cassandra because I wanted to. Not for them. For her. 3 During my freshman year, Cassandra was a senior. She was a legend at Columbia—the brilliant campus beauty, with a confession page full of anonymous love letters and a line of wealthy suitors she consistently ignored. Back then, the only person she ever had by her side was Leo. His association with her made him a campus celebrity. He would boast about his unique place in her life, the unshakable position he held in her heart. I’ve always appreciated beauty, but it was her mind that truly captivated me. Her passion for mathematics, the way she could lose herself in complex theories, led to a series of papers published in prestigious academic journals. I read every single one. Her work clarified several problems that had stumped me for months. I was enthralled by her intellect. The slide from admiration to love was short and steep. On our wedding day, Cassandra didn’t smile once. I was so nervous my hands wouldn’t stop sweating, and I kept wiping them on my trousers. When I took her hand at the altar, I nearly stumbled. A ripple of laughter went through the guests. I felt like a cheap, clumsy impostor. I heard someone whisper Leo’s name, and Cassandra’s expression darkened even more. She loves him, I thought. Of course she does. Otherwise, why would she hate me so much? In that moment, I regretted everything—the marriage, my silent, stupid crush. That night, she was in control. I lay passive as she moved above me, her commands sharp and clear. I wasn’t to touch her, wasn’t to do anything that might displease her. Her injured leg made her movements awkward, and my own frustration grew. I wanted to flip her over, to take the lead, but the raw pain in her red-rimmed eyes stopped me. This wasn’t about pleasure for her; it was about release, about reclaiming some kind of power. Soon, our breathing grew heavy. A flush crept up her neck, and in the midst of her calculated control, I felt a flicker of genuine connection, a shared, unexpected pleasure. 4 Life within the Sterling family was surprisingly peaceful. There were no power struggles or family dramas. I was more at ease there than I ever was at the Harrisons’. I loved to read, to lose myself in the academic problems I’d left behind at Columbia. I may have dropped out of school, but I never stopped learning. Cassandra, in turn, began to change. The nights she spent away from home grew less frequent, until she was coming home every evening. Even on her busiest days, she’d send a text letting me know her schedule. I found an old Chinese medicine practitioner and learned therapeutic massage techniques. I thought, maybe, I could help her leg heal. I remember the first time I suggested it. My voice shook. But I started, and I persisted. For six months, I worked on her leg every single night. I became an expert, memorizing the entire map of the human body’s pressure points. My hands grew strong and sure. Cassandra went from protesting, to tolerating, to finally, eagerly anticipating our nightly thirty-minute sessions. Life was simple. To break the monotony one day, I went to deliver a file she’d forgotten to the Sterling Tower. In the lobby, a casting director for a web series stopped me. He said they were looking for an actor to play a brainy supporting character, a “nerd-type,” and that I had the perfect look. On a whim, I said yes. Cassandra didn’t object. To everyone’s surprise, the series became a viral hit. My character, the nerdy best friend, gained a small but devoted following. It was a strange new world, this entertainment business I’d stumbled into. Sterling Industries owned countless ventures; Rainfall Entertainment was just a tiny subsidiary. Cassandra’s only rule was that I never use the Sterling name for leverage. She said I was free to “play around” as I wished. So, I got an agent, Maria, and a small assistant. I started landing minor roles in bigger projects—the fourth, fifth, sixth supporting character. I became a B-list actor, and I found a strange joy in scrolling through comments on social media. One night, I was lying in bed, reading funny fan messages to Cassandra while my other hand worked on her leg. Lost in the moment, my hand drifted higher up her thigh. She let out a soft gasp. I thought I’d hurt her and immediately dropped my phone. But when I looked up, her face was flushed, her eyes wide with a different kind of emotion. The kiss that followed felt inevitable. What came after was natural, a seamless union. We found a rhythm, a deep and satisfying intimacy we had both been craving. From that point on, our relationship blossomed. She would bring me complex Lego sets she knew I’d love, buy me clothes and watches, and sometimes, she’d pull me out of the house for a movie or a quiet walk by the lake. We were like any other married couple. And her leg, under my constant care, was improving. Her doctor called it a miracle. Now, as long as she didn’t walk too fast, you could barely notice her limp. Then, in our third year of marriage, Leo came back. 5 The day he returned was the first time in a long time that Cassandra didn’t need me close. It was also the first time in three years my parents called, summoning both of us to the Harrison estate. Leo had been gone for three years without a single visit home. At the rare holiday gathering, my parents would awkwardly explain that his studies were too demanding. Cassandra would sit in stony silence, her thoughts a mystery. I, their biological son, had barely set foot in that house since my wedding day, yet the Sterling family’s generous support of the Harrison businesses had never wavered. When we arrived, we saw him—a handsome young man, rushing like the wind and throwing himself into Cassandra’s arms. I stood beside them, invisible, as Cassandra made no move to push him away. Nestled against her shoulder, Leo looked more mature, but he still called her “Cassie, Cassie,” his voice thick with emotion. Fat tears fell from his eyes, darkening the fabric of her white silk dress. Watching them, I felt a sharp, needle-like pain in my chest. I regretted coming back here more than anything. Finally noticing me, Leo straightened up. “Sorry, man. I was just so happy to see her. Cassie… oh, wait. Should I be calling you sister-in-law now?” A muscle in Cassandra’s jaw twitched. She shot him a cold look, took my hand, and led me to the dinner table. Leo stared at our joined hands, his eyes wide with shock. The meal was excruciating. My parents didn’t ask me a single question about my life. Instead, they focused all their energy on Leo and Cassandra, reminiscing about how he had always thought of his “Cassie-sis” while he was away. It felt like they were pimps, and Leo was their prized commodity. From that day on, Leo was a constant presence, a buzzing fly in our lives. And Cassandra, after less than a month of initial resistance, accepted it. Leo wanted to be an actor, so Cassandra assigned Rainfall Entertainment’s top agent to him. He started waltzing into the Sterling Tower like he owned the place. Everyone assumed he was the true son-in-law. My own identity at Rainfall was a secret; no one knew about my connection to Cassandra. But Leo was different. He’d call her from the lobby, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear as he flirted and wheedled, before taking takeout up to her executive office. After Cassandra had once coldly told me not to visit her at work, I never went back. Most people there thought I was just another desperate actor trying to sleep my way to the top. Leo was handsome and charming. With Cassandra’s backing, he skyrocketed to fame. The company’s resources were funneled directly to him. When my agent, Maria, asked if I knew him, I lied and said the shared last name was a coincidence. She launched into a tirade of gossip about him—how he was a diva on set, how he used his connection to the CEO to steal endorsements from other actors. It wasn’t until he’d stolen three major campaigns from me that I realized he was targeting me specifically. Cassandra, who had never given me a single advantage in my career, would walk past me in the hallways as if I were a stranger. Even then, I didn’t think about divorce. I really, truly loved her. Until something happened that, to her, was a small thing. But for me, it was the moment I knew we were over. 6 It was on the set of a popular wilderness survival show. They had invited both me and Leo. For the most part, it was fine. Leo played the part of the cheerful, energetic college kid, and I pulled my weight in the challenges. One afternoon, Cassandra made a rare visit to the set. The directors and producers swarmed around her, fawning. And that’s when the accident happened. We were on an old bamboo bridge over the lake. It was rotten, and when both Leo and I stepped onto it at the same time, it snapped. We both plunged into the cold water. Chaos erupted. Crew members started scrambling to help. But before anyone could move, Cassandra, the CEO of Sterling Industries, dove into the lake herself. Swimming was the only exercise she enjoyed after her accident; she was incredibly skilled. I can’t swim. When I saw her slicing through the water, I thought she was coming for me. Her husband. But then I watched as she reached past me, grabbed Leo, and started pulling him toward the shore. In that single, clarifying moment, my heart didn’t break. It simply went still. Three years, I thought. And she still doesn’t love me. It was as if she didn’t even see me struggling. She screamed for her bodyguards to get Leo, and then a whole entourage surrounded him, carrying him to her waiting Maybach. The panic on her face, the fierce protectiveness—it was all for him. As I slipped beneath the surface, the last thing I saw was the glint of her car driving away. By the time the crew realized I was still in the water and pulled me out, I was unconscious. It was a cruel twist of fate. Everyone had assumed someone else was saving me. In the commotion Cassandra had created, I had been completely forgotten. It was only when the assistant director screamed my name that they remembered I existed. I was rushed to the hospital. The show was put on hold. When I woke up, the only person by my side was my agent, Maria. She looked terrified, her eyes red and puffy. I tried to sit up. My body ached, but I seemed to be in one piece. “Maria, I didn’t die.” “Don’t you dare say that!” she scolded, her voice thick with emotion. “You scared the hell out of me, River. It’s all her fault, showing up like that, making a big show of saving that little brat. They just forgot about you. Does it… does it hurt?” “No,” I said, and it was the truth. “I don’t feel a thing.” My heart was calm. I had foolishly believed that being husband and wife made us a single entity. Reality had just delivered a brutal correction. Our story, I knew, was over. That afternoon, as I was being discharged, I saw them. Cassandra was supporting Leo, and walking beside them, beaming, were my parents. They looked like a perfect, happy family. Leo was leaning his full weight on Cassandra, completely oblivious to her bad leg, while my mother gently draped a coat over his shoulders. It was as if I didn’t exist to any of them. I watched them walk away, then pulled out my phone and dialed the number for the lawyer Maria had recommended. I told him to draw up divorce papers.

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1 I came home soaked to the bone, and in Frank’s closet, I found a thick stack of old train tickets. He once took a twenty-eight-hour train ride just to see his first love. But he wouldn’t spare thirty minutes to pick me up from work when I had a raging fever. “Monica, is it fun, going through other people’s things?” I turned and held the tickets out to the man standing in the doorway. My voice was unnervingly calm. “Let’s call off the wedding.” Frank flicked his lighter open, and right in front of me, he burned the tickets until they were nothing but ash. “Happy now?” he asked, his tone flat. “Still want to call it off?” I nodded, my gaze serious. “Yes.” … “Monica, what do you want from me? What will it take to make you happy?” Frank’s brow furrowed, his voice laced with an exhaustion and impatience he didn’t bother to hide. “I’ll take my vacation time as soon as this project is done. We’ll go to Europe, a pre-honeymoon trip. How does that sound?” When I didn’t answer, he reached out, a familiar habit, and ruffled my hair. “I mean it this time. I won’t back out. Okay?” A bitter smile touched my lips. I mean it this time. So, he was aware. He knew just how many promises he’d broken. Holiday plans were always canceled at the last minute for an “emergency meeting.” Restaurant reservations always ended with me sitting alone, staring at cold food until the staff started closing up around me. Frank had a talent for forgetting the things he promised me, dismissing them as if they were trivial. And now, this offer, delivered with the magnanimity of a king bestowing a great favor. “No, thank you.” The fever made the room spin. I took a deep breath to fight back the lump forming in my throat. “We’re calling off the wedding. What’s the point of a honeymoon?” The warmth in his expression vanished, his eyes turning cold and dark. “Fine. Don’t go.” He straightened up, his voice taking on a hard edge. “I’m giving you a chance right now, Monica. You’re the one walking away from it. Don’t bring this up later, accusing me of breaking another promise.” I didn’t have the energy to argue. The rice porridge I’d put on the stove was ready. I ladled a bowl of the thin, watery soup—the only thing I could stomach when I was sick. Frank watched me, his nose wrinkled in distaste. “Is that all you’re making?” “Mhm.” He stared at me for a long moment, then snatched his suit jacket from the sofa and headed for the door. I didn’t follow him. I didn’t ask where he was going, what he was doing, or if he could please, just this once, stay with me. His hand rested on the doorknob, his movement faltering for a fraction of a second. He was waiting. He didn’t get the plea he was expecting. Click. Thump. The door closed. And the door to my heart, which had always been open for him, sealed shut forever. I used to be so naive. I thought a man like Frank, born into a world so far above my own, was just naturally aloof, incapable of deep affection. Until I saw that stack of faded tickets. They were proof that he could love. And they were proof that he didn’t love me. The drenching from yesterday made my fever worse. My best friend, Maya, had to take me to the hospital. “How did it get this bad?” she asked, pressing the back of her hand to my forehead the second she saw me. Her face was a mixture of worry and fury. “And where is Frank? He’s your fiancé, for God’s sake. Is this his idea of taking care of you?” I shook my head. “Not anymore.” “What does that mean?” Maya had watched me fall for him, step by agonizing step. She’d seen every fight, every cold war, and she’d seen me be the one to surrender every single time. I looked down, a small, sad smile on my face. “She’s back.” Seraphina. The first love Frank could never forget. Even though I’d never met her, her presence had been a shadow hanging over me for years. Frank said posting on social media was childish, yet every profile picture he’d ever had before me was a photo of her. He hated having his whereabouts questioned, but he’d voluntarily checked in with her constantly. The first perfume he ever gave me was gardenia—her favorite scent. He claimed gallery-hopping with me was a waste of time, but he had once walked with her through every hidden corner of the city. From the day we started dating to the day we got engaged, he had never let her go. And me? I was just a strategic choice. The suitable partner he’d selected after weighing the pros and cons. I was the fiancée, not the love of his life. Maya stayed with me while I was on an IV drip, trying to comfort me until a call from her boss dragged her away for a work emergency. “I’ll be fine,” I said, forcing a smile. “Go on, make that money.” As she left, a young couple, glowing with new love, took the spot next to me. The girl was whining playfully about how sick she felt. The boy’s eyes were red with worry, calling her “sweetheart” and “baby” as he fussed over her. I watched them in silence. I used to be so envious of couples like that, the ones who were openly affectionate in public. Why did they get to have their partners by their side, while mine was always somewhere else? Why? The answer had been right in front of me all along. It had taken me three years of making excuses for him, of telling myself he was just emotionally distant by nature, to finally see it. By the time the IV bag was empty, the sky outside had darkened. As I stepped out of the clinic, I heard a familiar voice. “Frank, I just twisted my ankle. You really didn’t have to go to all this trouble and bring me to the hospital.” I turned. There he was, carefully helping a woman in a long, cream-colored dress. He was holding her high heels in one hand, his brow creased with concern. “Why are you wearing heels this high? Are you trying to break your ankle?” He saw me then. A flicker of surprise crossed his face before it settled back into its usual cool, distant mask. He probably expected me to rush over, to make a scene. But I just looked away, my gaze dropping to my phone to check the status of my rideshare. The fever had left me weak, and a wracking cough escaped my lips. Frank’s eyes snapped to me, lingering for a second on my pale, tired face. His frown deepened. “Get in the car, Monica.” He walked over to me, his tone condescending. “If you wanted me to drive you home, you just had to ask.” “I didn’t.” He didn’t seem interested in whether I was telling the truth. He simply grabbed my wrist and pulled me towards his car. The air was thick with a familiar gardenia scent. It was coming from her. Seraphina. He handed me a bottle of water. I didn’t take it, so he tossed it onto the seat beside him. The silence in the car was suffocating. Seraphina let out a few delicate coughs. “Frank, I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice soft and fragile. “I think I caught a chill yesterday. My throat is a little sore.” Instantly, Frank opened the glove compartment and handed her a box of throat lozenges. His voice was laced with a tenderness I had never heard before. “I told you the temperature drops at night here. I told you to bring a jacket, but you never listen.” Seraphina popped one into her mouth and smiled at him, her eyes sparkling. “You’re always so thoughtful.” Frank? Thoughtful? I scoffed internally. Only for her. They fell into easy conversation, reminiscing about old times, their words flowing with an unspoken intimacy and shared history. I sat in the back, a complete outsider. Eventually, I just closed my eyes. When I opened them again, we were home. Seraphina was gone. Frank unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to look at me, his gaze lingering on my pale face. His brow was knitted in a tight knot. “Monica,” he said, his voice low and tinged with an irritation he couldn’t hide. “Do we really have to do this?” I met his eyes, confused. “If you want my attention, you can just say so. You don’t have to make yourself sick just to get me to notice you.” His voice was even, but every word was a razor blade, slicing at a heart that was already in pieces. I didn’t know what he was so angry about. Maybe I had ruined his precious reunion with Seraphina. Maybe I was just an inconvenience he was forced to deal with. “You give yourself way too much credit, Frank.” My voice was hoarse, but I fought to keep it steady. “I didn’t want a ride, and I certainly wasn’t trying to get your attention. It’s just a fever. I’m not an invalid.” I paused, then delivered the final blow. “Besides, it doesn’t matter. We’re not together anymore.” He let out a short, sharp laugh. “Not together? Monica, don’t forget, you still have the heirloom my grandmother gave you for our engagement.” His voice turned hard. “This whole ‘calling off the wedding’ tantrum is getting old. I’ll let it slide once or twice. I’ll even play along and humor you. But if you say it again, I’ll make it real. And when that happens, don’t you dare come crawling back to me.” My throat was raw. I didn’t have the energy for this. I opened the car door, but he was faster. He got out, came around to my side, and swept me up into his arms. It wasn’t a gentle gesture; it was rough, angry, but he didn’t let me fall. Inside, he placed me on the sofa and found the first-aid kit. He took my temperature and got me a glass of water, his movements efficient, his expression cold. I let him do it, my body pliant and silent. This was Frank. Hot and cold, a puzzle I could never solve. He would offer these small, almost insignificant moments of care that would send my hopes soaring, only to plunge me back into despair. But I was done trying to figure him out. “Thanks,” I rasped. I met his deep gaze and asked calmly, “Is there anything else?” His lips tightened. He seemed to be wrestling with himself before he finally spoke. “Don’t you have anything to ask me?” I shook my head. I didn’t need to. I’d already seen Seraphina’s latest social media post. A photo geotagged at the airport with the caption: “It’s been a while. Hope you’ve been well.” Frank had liked it. “I’m really tired. I need to rest,” I said, pushing myself up from the sofa. “I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.” In a few days, once my things were packed, I would be gone for good. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron. “Monica!” His voice was laced with a frustrated helplessness. “I picked Sera up because she doesn’t know anyone else here. She twisted her ankle. I couldn’t just leave her there, could I?” It was the first time he had ever offered me an explanation. But I no longer cared to hear it. “Of course,” I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. “You did the right thing.” He stared at me, searching my blank expression for any sign of jealousy or hurt. He found none. “Monica, Sera and I are just friends now.” “I know,” I said, nodding with a disinterest that was entirely genuine. Suddenly, he pulled me against him, his body a familiar, burning warmth that I had once craved more than anything. He knew I loved his hugs. He thought this one simple gesture could break down my defenses, just like it always had before. But my body remained stiff. I raised my hands and pushed against his chest. “Let go of me, Frank.” He froze, clearly stunned by my reaction. A dark, ugly expression clouded his face. The next day, I went to my office to hand in my resignation. I was told a major client was visiting. And there was Frank, dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit, exuding an aura of power as he led the way. The “secretary” by his side was Seraphina. “This way, please,” I said, my voice so professional it surprised even me. I led them to the conference room. Throughout the meeting, Frank’s eyes would occasionally drift to me, analytical and assessing. Seraphina would catch his eye and they would share a small, knowing smile. I overheard two junior colleagues whispering behind me. “Mr. Vance is so handsome. And so successful. Did you see how thoughtful he was with his secretary?” “I know! He even pulled out her chair for her. They look so perfect together.” Their words were like tiny needles piercing my heart. In three years, Frank had never once come to my office, not even to pick me up. The first time he ever set foot in my workplace was for this. With her. The irony was crushing. After my presentation, Frank spoke, his tone dismissive. “Ms. Ross is clearly an expert on this project. She will be your point of contact going forward.” “But, sir…” one of my colleagues started, about to mention my impending resignation. But Frank had already turned and was walking away, Seraphina at his side. He didn’t look back. Their silhouettes, side by side, were a perfect match. A picture-perfect couple. It had taken me three years to finally understand that the place beside him was never meant for me. This weekend was his grandmother’s 80th birthday. I had promised her months ago that I would be there. After much hesitation, I decided to go. After all, I had something I needed to return. The party was held in the grand ballroom of the city’s finest hotel, filled with industry titans and socialites. It was as much a business gathering as a family celebration. Frank, of course, was one of the stars of the show. And standing next to him, exquisitely dressed, was Seraphina. He was leaning in, listening intently as she spoke. His eyes occasionally swept over to my side of the room, as if gauging my reaction. A moment later, Seraphina seemed to choke on her champagne. He was instantly at her side with a napkin, his movements practiced and intimate. Halfway through the dinner, I needed some air. I stepped out onto the terrace and heard voices coming from the shadows. It was Frank and his best friend. “Fighting with Monica again?” Frank grunted an affirmation, swirling the wine in his glass. His friend sighed. “Man, I don’t get you. You obviously care about her, but you always have to be so difficult. You always make her be the one to back down. You’re lucky she’s so patient.” “I know,” Frank said, his voice unreadable. “You know? You know, and you still bring Seraphina to your grandmother’s birthday party? That’s a slap in the face, and you know it. She has to know about your history.” “Aren’t you afraid you’ll push her too far? That she’ll finally get fed up and leave you?” There was a pause. “She won’t,” Frank said, his tone one of absolute certainty. “Monica… she would never leave me.” He was always so confident. Confident in my love, in my tolerance, in the belief that I would always forgive him. It’s what allowed him to be so reckless. I was about to turn away when a soft voice spoke from behind me. “Ms. Ross? Fancy seeing you here. Can we talk for a moment?” Seraphina approached, her tone as warm as if we were old friends. “We’ve never had the chance to be properly introduced. I’m Seraphina.” She smiled, but her eyes held a glint of challenge. “You’ve probably heard of me, but I’m just Frank’s secretary now. I hope that’s not a problem for you.” My expression remained neutral. “Are we supposed to know each other, Ms. Vane?” My calm dismissal clearly annoyed her. A flicker of anger crossed her face. Then, she swayed, stumbled, and fell to the ground, taking a champagne tower down with her. The crash was deafening. Frank was there in an instant. “Monica, what the hell did you do?” he snarled, his eyes blazing. “What is wrong with you?” I didn’t bother to explain. Instead, I picked up a fresh glass of red wine, walked right up to him, and threw its contents in his face. As he stared at me in stunned disbelief, and Seraphina gaped from the floor, I raised an eyebrow. “See that, Frank?” I said. “That I did.”

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After I called off my engagement to Max, we ran into each other in the maternity ward of the hospital. He was holding hands with his first love, Ava, their fingers intertwined, their every move an intimate dance. When Ava saw the pregnancy report in my hand, her eyes instantly welled with tears. Max’s brow furrowed, his expression cold as ice. “Deal with it. Don’t make a scene.” I shot him a chilling glance. “It’s not yours.” Later, his voice was tight with desperation, “Even if it’s not mine, I’ll claim it.” But then he saw Teddy, wrapped in a towel with his sculpted torso on full display, strolling out of the bathroom. “Well, Max,” Teddy drawled, “Trying to steal my wife and my kid? You really are ambitious, aren’t you?” 1 The text from Max canceling our engagement arrived while I was at the hotel, finalizing the layout and details with the wedding planner. “Ava’s back. The engagement is off.” I stared at the screen, the air knocked from my lungs. I was frozen in place. The planner was still talking right next to me, but his voice was a muffled drone. I couldn’t make out a single word. “And then what?” I typed, my hands trembling. Max’s reply was instant, devoid of any hesitation. “She’s been diagnosed with severe depression. She’s back in the country for treatment and can’t handle any stress.” I remembered the taunting message Ava had sent me just last night. “As long as I want him, you two will never get married.” I had thought, with both our families and all our friends already notified, that Max wouldn’t indulge her games this time. But I had underestimated how much she meant to him. Swallowing my rage, my fingers flew across the screen. “So when she’s cured, we can get engaged then?” I had no intention of arguing with him about whether Ava was truly sick. Even if I exposed her lies, Max would just see it as me being unreasonable. He didn’t reply. My message vanished into a digital abyss. A wave of icy dread washed over me, starting from my toes and creeping to my fingertips, as if I’d been doused with freezing water in the dead of winter. He always did this—ran from our problems. In his mind, I’d cool down and come back to him eventually. But this time, I was just… tired. I had no fight left in me to compete with Ava for his love, no energy left to wait for another empty apology and another broken promise. I called off the hotel staff and paid the cancellation fee. Then, I sent Max one last message. “We’ll notify our own friends and family.” His reply was brutally simple: “Okay.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I deleted him from my contacts. 2 My seven years with Max had been a roller coaster of breaking up and getting back together. And every single time, it was because of Ava. He loved her but couldn’t marry her. He didn’t love me, but I was the one he was supposed to marry. Max’s mother had once told me, quite bluntly, that she wasn’t looking down on my family’s fallen fortune. She had pushed for this engagement under immense pressure because she thought I was beautiful enough, and that the history we shared as childhood sweethearts was strong enough. She hoped I could be the one to finally tie Max down and drive away the delusional woman hovering around him. I used to believe that if I just tried hard enough, if I just stayed by his side, one day he would finally see me. But that day never came. My love for him had been worn down, piece by piece, until nothing was left. When I got back to our house to pack, Max still wasn’t home. He was at a restaurant, having dinner with Ava. She’d posted a picture on her Instagram. Max’s face wasn’t in it, but the ring on his hand was unmistakable. It was one of the engagement rings we had picked out together. I slipped my own ring off and placed it on the dining table. But then I reconsidered. Why bother trying to get his attention? I picked up the ring, walked to the bathroom, and flushed it down the toilet without a second thought. I was dragging my suitcase to the front door when Max walked in, carrying Ava in his arms. “Long time no see,” I said breezily, nodding at Ava. Ava looked startled, glancing at Max, completely at a loss. I suppose she was used to me turning into a screaming wreck after a few of her provocations. My current state of calm seemed to have thrown her off completely. Max’s gaze landed on the suitcase in my hand. His surprise was fleeting, his expression quickly returning to its usual indifference. “This is for the best,” he said. “You moving out for a while will be better for Ava’s recovery.” Asking his fiancée to move out of their home so his first love could recuperate there. He said it so shamelessly, so matter-of-factly. And I had loved this piece of trash for seven years… I was done playing games. I pulled my suitcase and walked out without looking back. As I walked away, I heard him say, “Don’t worry about her. She always comes crawling back.” Ava’s voice was a sweet pout. “You’re not even going to comfort me when I’m upset?” “How could I ever bear to make you upset?” I fought the bile rising in my throat and walked faster. 3 I moved back into the apartment I’d bought myself. It was situated above a bustling commercial district. I liked the noise, the energy, the feeling of life. Max preferred quiet. He hated this apartment. And he especially hated my neighbor, Teddy. Another golden boy born with a silver spoon in his mouth, just like him. Max despised Teddy. I think it was because he was jealous of Teddy’s courage to fight for love, a courage Max himself lacked. Teddy had the guts to break with his family over a woman; Max didn’t. And Teddy was far more reckless than Max ever could be. The woman Teddy wanted to marry was a B-list actress, plagued by scandals from the moment she entered the industry. His family would never allow an actress, a “performer,” to marry their heir. So Teddy simply walked away, ready to build his own empire rather than compromise. Compared to Max, who wanted to have his cake and eat it too, I genuinely admired Teddy’s unwavering devotion. The night I moved in, Max did something he never did: he called me. “I’m worried Ava will get upset if she sees the things you left behind,” he said, his tone still dripping with that condescending generosity. “Where are you now? I’ll have them sent over.” I didn’t stop folding my clothes, just cradled the phone between my shoulder and ear. “Just toss them,” I said nonchalantly. “It’s all stuff I don’t need anymore.” Silence on the other end, punctuated only by the sound of his heavy breathing. A moment later, his voice was tight with anger. “Cara! What the hell is your problem?” “The engagement is only postponed. Once Ava is stable…” I cut him off, unable to listen anymore. “Sorry, Mr. Cole, I’m really busy right now.” I hung up and blocked his number. Stepping out onto the balcony, I let the night breeze wash over me, gazing at the glittering city lights. Leaving Max was easier than I ever imagined. A soft, rhythmic sound from below broke the quiet. I instinctively leaned over the railing to look. The balcony below was lush with plants. Through the leaves, I could just make out a pair of pale hands gripping the railing, and the top of a bobbing head. Well now. That was Teddy’s apartment, where he lived with the actress. Those two certainly knew how to have fun. Not wanting to pry, I went back inside to finish unpacking. Suddenly, there was a knock on my door. When I opened it and saw who was standing there, my brain short-circuited for a second. If Teddy was here… Then who was that downstairs?! 4 A flicker of surprise crossed Teddy’s eyes as well. “Sorry, wrong door,” he said, turning to leave. “I just moved in today,” I called after him. “Want to come in for a drink?” I don’t know why I said it. Maybe I felt a bit sorry for him. A fellow member of the recently-cheated-on club. Teddy turned back, an eyebrow arched. “Oh? So we don’t have to keep our distance anymore?” Max hated Teddy, which meant he hated me having any contact with him. Even though Teddy was the primary investor in my chain of flower shops, we barely ever met, save for a brief meeting at the end of the year to go over profits. Come to think of it, it was through Max’s family connections that I was able to reconnect with Teddy and secure his investment in the first place. The shops were now turning a healthy profit, which gave me the courage to walk away from Max. So, I guess my seven years with Max weren’t a complete waste. I shrugged. “We broke up.” “Again?” A smirk played on Teddy’s lips, a hint of schadenfreude in his eyes. He strolled in, draping himself over my sofa and propping his long legs up on my coffee table. He had none of the cool, aristocratic air I remembered from our first few meetings; he was all casual, roguish charm. I picked out a fine bottle of red from my wine cabinet. “This time, the engagement’s off.” I handed him a glass, my expression neutral. He swirled the wine, a laugh bubbling up. “Whoa, expensive stuff.” “Looks like you got hit hard this time. Need me to help you drink your sorrows away?” If he hadn’t knocked on the wrong door, he’d be the one getting hit much, much harder. I nodded. “It is expensive. It was a gift from you, last year at the annual party, after you got drunk.” It was a collector’s vintage. I hadn’t wanted to take it back to Max’s place, so I’d stored it here. Now, it was finding its way back to its original owner. Teddy’s eyes widened slightly before he tipped his head back and downed the glass in one go. “Well, let’s just call it a celebration of your escape from hell.” I raised my glass. “And here’s to you…” “…finding your own true love soon.” Being cheated on is something no man wants to hear about from someone else, especially from a woman he barely knows. Unfortunately, my subtle hint went right over his head. He just smiled, his handsome, almond-shaped eyes holding a charm that could bewitch anyone. A blind man, it turned out. “My true love is right here with me,” he said. “You should save that toast for yourself.” But thinking back, wasn’t I just as blind? Teddy was willing to break from his family for that actress. And my own heart had been shattered into a million pieces by Max. 5 The wine went down easy, but the delayed punch of the cabernet was brutal. Before I knew it, I was completely wasted. I was clinging to Teddy, a mess of tears and laughter, cursing Max one minute and myself the next. Teddy gently pushed me away, his tone teasing. “If Max saw you holding onto another man like this,” he drawled, “he wouldn’t take you back even if you begged him on your knees.” The memory of the past seven years, of me always being the one to swallow my pride and beg for reconciliation, flooded back. Fueled by alcohol, all my pent-up frustrations came pouring out. “This time, I’m the one who doesn’t want him!” I slurred. “Even if he gets on his knees and begs me, I’m not going back!” “You mean it?” Teddy’s voice was intense, his gaze burning. Sprawled on the sofa, I didn’t see the galaxy of stars glittering in his eyes. I just mumbled, “As real as it gets.” In the hazy space between dream and reality, I felt a warm pressure on my lips. An electric tingle traced paths across my skin. Instinctively, I responded to the searing heat, giving in to the passion. When my mind finally cleared, it was noon the next day. My entire body ached, as if it had been run over by a truck. My eyes fell to the floor, where a tangled mess of clothes lay discarded. Then I saw him. Lying next to me, bare-chested, was Teddy. His long lashes rested on his cheeks, deep in sleep. A few faint, rosy marks—kisses—were scattered across his muscular chest. Flashes of the night before… My mind exploded. Did I just have a one-night stand with Teddy?! Whatever his girlfriend was doing last night, they were still together. What did that make me? How was I any different from her? If word got out that I’d broken them up, the gossip would bury me alive. Holding my breath, I carefully lifted Teddy’s arm from around my waist. Like a thief, I tiptoed around, gathered my clothes, grabbed my phone, and fled my own apartment. I didn’t feel safe until I was speeding towards my office, the gas pedal pressed to the floor. I just had to hope that when Teddy woke up, he’d be just as eager as I was to forget last night’s insane mistake. “Ms. Lin, Mr. Cole is waiting for you in your office,” my assistant whispered, her eyes wide with fear. “He was… really angry earlier.” She must have caught the brunt of his temper. I walked in. Max was leaning against my desk, arms crossed. My suitcase was on the floor beside him. He saw me and his face hardened into a scowl. “Cara, you’ve got some nerve, blocking my number!” He gestured to the suitcase. “Here’s the rest of your stuff. You can move back in once Ava’s feeling better.” A bitter laugh escaped me. “The engagement is off. Why would we need each other’s numbers? Please do me a favor and block me too.” Max’s eyes flashed with surprise, then irritation. “What kind of game are you playing now? I’ve told you before, you can’t compete with Ava. In my life, she will always come first.” “If you want to be Mrs. Cole, you’ll learn to behave.” 6 I couldn’t take it anymore. “Mr. Cole, was I not clear enough?” “We. Called. Off. The. Engagement.” “Who you put first has absolutely nothing to do with me. Do you understand?” I enunciated each word of that last sentence. He froze, his gaze locking with my cold, indifferent stare. For the first time, Max lost his composure in front of me, his mask of superiority crumbling. A vein pulsed in his neck as he pointed a trembling finger at me. “Cara! If you think I have the time or patience for your little push-and-pull games, you’re dead wrong! This is your one and only chance. Either you play along and wait until Ava’s better for our engagement, or you get out of my life and never show your face again!” Without a word, I bent down and picked up the files he had angrily swept to the floor. “Just as long as you stop showing up here and throwing tantrums, Mr. Cole, I can guarantee you’ll never see me again.” He was so used to me fawning over him that my blatant disregard was more than he could handle. He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. “Don’t come crawling back to me like a pathetic dog,” he snarled. “I’m sick of watching you beg!” His words were like a thousand tiny needles piercing my heart. Even though the love was gone, seven years of my life, a heart offered so freely, being trampled on like this… it still hurt. But I didn’t have much time to wallow. My phone began to explode with calls and texts from Teddy. “So you just eat and run? Classy.” “Is this how you treat your lead investor?” “Was I that bad last night?” “You have three minutes to answer your phone, or I’m coming to your office.” My heart hammered against my ribs as I read his messages. I was terrified. In a panic, I did the only thing I could think of: I turned off my phone. Last night wasn’t my idea, but… I hadn’t exactly said no. Teddy was reckless. He feared nothing and no one. I wasn’t like him. My business was just taking off; I had too much to lose. I couldn’t fight him, so I had to run. I booked the next flight to Paris. The visa was originally for my honeymoon with Max. Now, I was using it to escape a different kind of entanglement.

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My fiancé’s childhood sweetheart sabotaged my wedding three times. First, she flew back from overseas, intercepted our wedding car, and dragged Liam away before he could reach me. She claimed his mother was unwell and needed him urgently. The second time, she drunkenly knelt in front of our motorcade, blocking the road so Liam couldn’t pick me up. She sobbed that it was all her fault and begged me to hit her. The third time, she secretly rerouted the entire procession to a remote cemetery. We arrived surrounded by tombstones. Each time, Liam defended her: his mother’s health, her sacrifices, her pain. But he didn’t know—after this final failure, his wedding would become his funeral. It wasn’t until the polished town car turned onto a gravel path flanked by tilting headstones that I realized Ava had played me again. She had taken advantage of the fact that I was a stranger in his sleepy hometown, quietly altering the GPS coordinates. She’d sent us to this godforsaken boneyard. Outside, the hired drivers got out to smoke, their eyes darting towards me, filled with a cruel, mocking pity. “That’s three strikes. Pretty clear the groom doesn’t want to marry her.” “Tell me about it. I heard this is the bride’s first time in his hometown. He’s never even brought her to meet the family!” “Seriously, who gets married in a cemetery?” I sat in the back, my knuckles white, crushing the delicate stems of my bridal bouquet. The pristine white lace of my dress, once a symbol of hope, now felt like a costume for a fool. Just last night, Liam had sworn to me, promised that this time, his precious Ava wouldn’t interfere. And now, here I was, the punchline to a joke I never wanted to be a part of. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Liam, a reply to the one I’d sent thirty minutes ago. “Sorry. Ava said it was just a joke. Don’t get worked up over nothing. I’m on my way to get you now, okay?” This was the man who used to reply to my texts in seconds. Ever since Ava came back, his responses had grown slower, shorter, colder. In the passenger seat, Liam’s mother, who had been listening to the voice note, turned a terrifying shade of purple. She clutched her chest, her voice a low growl. “Clara… Liam… does he always treat you like this?” “This is… this is unforgivable.” Her health had been fragile for years; she’d been in a private care facility overseas and had missed the first two failed weddings. But she was finally well enough to be discharged, and she’d insisted on coming with me today to surprise Liam. Her face a mask of cold fury, she dialed his number. He rejected the call. She tried again. Rejected. Finally, on the third try, he picked up, his voice exploding through the speaker before she could even say a word. “Clara, I already said I’m coming! What more do you want?” he snarled. “She lost me forever, and you’re the one who gets to marry me! Can’t you be a little more gracious? Don’t you forget, she’s the one who’s been looking after my mother all this time!” And then, a different voice cut through the line, a soft, whimpering cry. It was Ava. “Liam, I can’t bear it… I really can’t live without you…” Her whimper suddenly sharpened, rising into a high, theatrical moan. A sound that anyone with a pulse knew the meaning of. The line went dead. Liam’s mother was hyperventilating, her words choked with rage. “That bastard! That absolute bastard!” The world went silent. A sharp pain bloomed in my palm. I looked down. My nails had dug so deep into my skin that blood was welling up, warm and sticky. It was the only thing that felt real. Liam and I had never— “Give this one to Wendy, too. Look at you, you’re still standing and yelling. You’re not that fragile.” “Do you really think you’re some kind of national treasure? Can’t handle a little hardship?” His arrogant, dismissive tone was more suffocating than the thin mountain air. My custom-blended oxygen, my emergency medication—all of it had become offerings for him to appease his little protégée. The other assistants on the shoot busied themselves with the camera equipment, pretending not to see the confrontation. I felt like a patient whose life support had just been unplugged, gasping for air on the edge of life and death. “Acute altitude sickness can cause pulmonary and cerebral edemas… It can kill you!” I hissed, the words scraping my throat. “Pulmonary edema? Who are you trying to scare?” Kieran rolled his eyes. Wendy played her part beautifully, shrinking behind him. “Sloan, I know you don’t like me… but Kieran said you’re experienced. I’m sure a little situation like this is nothing for you.” She even had the audacity to flash a peace sign at the GoPro clipped to her collar. The sight of her smug face sent a wave of dizziness through me. “Enough!” I lunged for my oxygen tank. Kieran shoved me back, hard. I stumbled, nearly falling into the snow. “What do you think you’re doing?! If something happens to Wendy, can you take responsibility for that?!” Wendy immediately clutched her chest, her voice turning faint. “Kieran, I… I don’t feel so good again… Maybe I shouldn’t have come… Does Sloan think I’m stealing her spotlight…?” “It’s not your fault. She’s just being selfish!” Kieran wrapped an arm around her, comforting her in a low voice. “She’s just spoiled. Thinks the whole world revolves around her.” The wind and snow seemed to pick up, blurring my vision. I watched them huddled together for warmth, a perfect couple against the stark white landscape, completely ignoring me, his supposed fiancée. A lethal cocktail of rage and the creeping, black-edged feeling of suffocation churned within me. With a surge of adrenaline, I smashed the helium canister I was holding against a nearby shard of ice. “Kieran!” I screamed, my voice raw. “We’re done! The engagement is OFF!” Kieran froze, his expression twisting from surprise to fury. He took a step toward me, his voice sharp. “Sloan! What the hell is wrong with you? You’re calling off our engagement over something this petty? Do you even hear yourself?!” “Petty?” The word was a pained gasp forced from my lungs. “Swapping out my life-saving oxygen… is petty?” Wendy immediately stepped forward, her voice trembling. “Kieran, don’t be angry… It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t be so weak…” “Sloan must just be saying that because she hates me…” she whispered, but her eyes held a flicker of triumphant glee. Marco, one of the local guides, couldn’t stay silent any longer. “Mr. Thompson,” he said, his brow furrowed with concern, “Ms. Vance really doesn’t look well. Altitude sickness is no joke. Maybe we should…” “You don’t understand, Marco!” Kieran cut him off without a hint of politeness. “She’s just out of shape and loves to play the victim! Every shoot is the same damn drama. Remember the Gobi Desert? The entire crew had to wait for her because she got a little heatstroke. Now she’s pulling the same crap here!” His words were like icicles stabbing into me. In the Gobi, I had pushed myself to capture the perfect light at dusk and nearly died from heatstroke. In his eyes, it was just me being dramatic. “Yeah,” another assistant, one of Kieran’s close friends, muttered under his breath. “Sloan, Kieran is just thinking about the big picture. Wendy’s new to this kind of high-stakes project. It’s only right to look after her. You’re the veteran. You can tough it out.” I stared at him, my vision blurring with involuntary tears. “Tough it out? How… how am I supposed to…” My lungs felt like they were filling with concrete. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. A violent throbbing started in my temples, a precursor to the deadly edemas I knew were coming. Seeing my state, Wendy’s face crumpled as if she were the one in agony. “Sloan, please don’t be like this,” she cried. “I hate seeing you two fight because of me… Here, why don’t you just take the oxygen back? I’ll… I’ll be fine…” She made a show of reaching for her mask. Kieran grabbed her hand, his voice a mixture of anger and tenderness. “Wendy, don’t be ridiculous! She’s just trying to guilt-trip you! Anyone can play the victim.” He whipped his head back to me, his eyes filled with cold disgust. “Sloan, I was so wrong about you. I can’t believe how selfish and petty you are, bullying a newcomer like this. Does everyone have to worship at your feet for you to be happy?” “Do you remember that time you got trapped in an avalanche? Who was it that moved heaven and earth to get a rescue team to you? And now, because you’re feeling a little uncomfortable, you’re willing to ruin this entire project for everyone?” He was talking about the time I risked my life to get a shot for his father’s company. Now, he was using it as a weapon against me. A blinding headache made it impossible to form a coherent response. All I could do was gasp, my mouth opening and closing like a fish on land. Wendy, hiding behind Kieran, allowed a tiny, cruel smirk to flash across her face before her expression shifted back to one of deep concern. “Kieran, her face… it looks awful. You don’t think she’s actually…” “It’s an act! All of it!” he declared. “She’s a brilliant actress! This is just another way to manipulate me, to control me. Well, I’m not falling for it.” He took out his own thermos, twisted it open, and held it to Wendy’s lips. “Here, Wendy. Have some hot water. Ignore her. She just needs to cool off.” The steam from the thermos rose in a soft cloud, a stark contrast to the glacial cold that was seeping into my bones. Despair, as unyielding as the ancient ice beneath my feet, began to freeze me from the inside out. My body slid down the side of the ice wall. My consciousness began to fray. The image of Kieran shielding Wendy, the whispered conversations of the crew—they all blurred into distorted, ghostly shapes. The bottle of high-altitude medication that could save my life was sitting right by Wendy’s feet. It was only a few yards away, but it might as well have been on the other side of the world. Just then, Wendy silently crouched in front of me. She pulled down her mask. Her cheeks were rosy, her breathing even. She leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper only I could hear. “How does it feel to suffocate, Sloan, you great photographer?” A cruel smile stretched her lips. “Kieran’s been sick of you for ages. He says you’re rigid, boring… like an old woman. Once you have your little ‘accident,’ your fame, your work, and your fiancé… I’ll be happy to take them off your hands.” She patted my cheek, her touch like ice. “Don’t worry. Your memorial service for ‘dying in the line of duty’ will be spectacular.” Wendy’s words were the final snowflake that triggered the avalanche in my mind. I wanted to slap her, but the advanced altitude sickness had stolen all my strength. All I could do was lie there, feeling the warmth bleed out of my body. Just as my vision was about to be swallowed by darkness, Wendy decided she wasn’t done. Her eyes glinted, and she reached out, grabbing the front of my parka. “Sloan, are you too hot? Your face is so red. Let me help you cool down.” RRRRIP! The high-quality, windproof fabric tore open with a sickening sound. My neck and chest were instantly exposed to the sub-zero air. The cold was a physical thing, a thousand tiny knives sinking into my skin. “You…!” I stared at her, trying to scream, but only a choked gurgle came out. My body began to tremble violently from hypothermia. Wendy scrambled back, her face instantly transforming into a mask of panic. “Kieran! Sloan… she’s tearing her own clothes off! I tried to stop her!” Kieran spun around. He saw my exposed skin, Wendy’s frantic expression, and his face hardened into a scowl. “Sloan!” he stormed over, his voice laced with exasperation and fury. “How long are you going to keep this up?! Are you trying to kill yourself just to make a point?!” He didn’t even give me a chance to explain. He didn’t care about the truth. “It wasn’t… me… it was her…” I managed to stammer through chattering teeth. “Enough!” Kieran shouted. “It’s always someone else’s fault! You can’t control your emotions, and now you’re resorting to self-harm to threaten us? Do you think this is fun? Do you think this makes you look sympathetic? It doesn’t! It just makes you look pathetic!” His words hailed down on me, merciless and cold. He looked at my crumpled form in the snow, his eyes holding not a shred of warmth, only pure, undiluted disgust. “Fine, Sloan. You want to act?” He sneered, pulling his own storm mask tighter. “Then stay here and put on your show. We’re resting for ten more minutes, then we’re moving to the next location. If you can’t keep up, you can stay here and perform your tragedy for the mountains.” He turned his back on me without a second thought.

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I was seven years his senior. The first time I saw Leonard, he was fighting stray dogs in an alley for scraps. His eyes were pure wolf—feral, vicious. So I took him in. I molded him from nothing. In ten years, he went from a penniless street rat to Sterling City’s most sought-after CEO. I considered him my finest creation. Until a girl brazenly blocked my car, hand on her stomach, playing a voice recorder: “Leonard, who do you like more? Me, or that old hag?” His voice, colder than I knew: “She’s past her prime. I’ve always hated how she looks down on everyone.” I smiled. Success had made him forget the days he groveled at my feet like a dog. The next day, I sent a gift box to his office—inside, the bloodied remains of a stillborn fetus. He pressed a gun to my forehead, eyes bloodshot: “Nora…” he gritted, venom in each syllable. I sipped my tea calmly. “It seems you’ve forgotten what I’m capable of, Mr. Kane.” Leonard’s face was a mask of fury. “You think I won’t pull the trigger?” he snarled. He was no longer the scrawny boy I’d found. Years of navigating a cutthroat world had forged an aura of deadly authority around him. But I just smiled and shook my head. “If I were you, I’d waste less time talking.” Leonard froze. From behind him, a faint noise scraped against the floor-to-ceiling window. He whipped his head around, his expression twisting into horror. The girl, Sienna, was dangling outside the seventy-second floor, her hands bound. Her white dress billowed in the wind, the yawning abyss just beneath her feet. “I’d be careful, if I were you,” I said, my voice a silken threat. The cold steel of the gun didn’t faze me. “After all, if your hand slips… I die, and your little darling gets splattered into a paste on the pavement.” I gave a mock sigh. “Two birds with one stone… oh, wait. Only one bird now, I suppose.” Sienna’s wails were carried by the wind. “Leonard, save me!” Leonard’s eyes were wild, crimson-rimmed. He flicked off the safety with a sharp click. “Nora, you wouldn’t dare!” My bodyguards instantly moved to surround him, the air crackling with tension. A bloodbath was imminent. I waved a lazy hand. “All of you, out.” Then, in one fluid motion, I drew a dagger and, without even looking, plunged it deep into his abdomen. He let out a choked gasp, but the gun pressed even harder against my temple. “Does it feel good?” I murmured, my voice like a lover’s whisper. Leonard’s face was a stone mask. “Are you satisfied? Let her go.” “Sienna isn’t like you. She’s just a naive girl who doesn’t know anything.” Leonard’s men arrived swiftly and pulled Sienna back to safety. I never intended to actually harm her. I watched as he held her, whispering soothing words, cradling her as if she were a priceless, fragile treasure. And suddenly, I felt a profound sense of weariness. He used to hold me that way. After our enemies took their revenge, after I lost our child and with it, the ability to ever have another. She was a girl, already perfectly formed. We had named her Lily. Leonard built a shrine for her, commissioning a gilded memorial at immense cost. “Nora,” he had said, his voice raw with grief, “our daughter will have a peaceful life in the next world.” He wanted a constant stream of prayers and candlelight to watch over her soul. I once asked him why he’d gone to such lengths. His face was unshaven, his eyes hollow, but his voice was unwavering. “Because Lily is the only child I will ever have.” Now, my gaze fell upon the gift box on his desk. You broke your promise, Leonard. But don’t worry. I’ll help you remember it. Sienna, having cried her fill, glared at me with swollen, hate-filled eyes. “Leonard, it was her! That bitch killed our baby!” Leonard’s expression flickered. He gently stroked her hair, his voice devoid of emotion. “You’ve overstepped.” Sienna’s sobs caught in her throat. She didn’t know. No one had told her that after we lost Lily, the very mention of a child became a forbidden word in our world. It was a wound that never closed, a shared agony between Leonard and me. But Sienna was an outsider. She just kept crying, her sobs designed to break a man’s heart. Leonard swept her up in his arms as she fainted, shouldering past me and striding out of the room. “Nora,” he threw over his shoulder, his voice a low growl, “I won’t forget this.” I just didn’t expect his retaliation to come so quickly. As my subordinate delivered his report, I stroked the cat purring on my lap, a profound boredom settling over me. “Mr. Kane outbid us for the Southside property, paying double the market price.” “Mr. Kane is covertly meeting with shareholders to acquire a controlling interest.” “Mr. Kane… has demolished the shrine built for Miss Lily.” My hand tightened, and the cat cried out, cowering in my lap. “Say that again.” My face was impassive. My assistant swallowed hard. “He tore it down, sir. He said… he’s going to build an amusement park for… for his mistress. They broke ground this morning.” CRASH! The teacup in my hand shattered against the wall. The assistant bowed his head. “I’ll handle it immediately!” I held up a hand. “No. I’m going myself.” By the time I arrived, half the shrine was already rubble. Sienna was holding a balloon, skipping around and directing the demolition crew. “Clear that section out completely! And over here, Leonard, I want to put a carousel right here!” Leonard just stood beside her, a gentle smile on his face as he watched her. To any outsider, they looked like a perfect, adoring couple. If only they weren’t standing on the grave of my daughter’s memory. I stepped out of the car. Someone spotted me and started to speak, but the sight of me drawing a gun froze the words in his throat. Sienna turned. “Miss Nora…” I raised my arm and fired. POP! The balloon in her hand exploded. “Ah!” she shrieked, scrambling behind Leonard for cover. “Are you insane?!” Leonard roared. I said nothing. I strode towards the wretched pair, chambered another round, and fired again into the air. The two shots silenced the chaos. Everyone stared at me as if they’d seen a ghost. “Get out,” I said, my voice low and dangerous. Leonard frowned. “Nora.” “GET OUT!” I bellowed, a raw, primal scream. It had been years since anyone had pushed me to the edge of my control. No one dared to move. But Sienna, emboldened, peeked out from behind Leonard, her eyes glinting with defiance. “Miss Nora, what’s the point in letting the dead hold onto so much? It’s the living that matter, isn’t it?” At her words, Leonard instinctively pulled her further behind him, shielding her body with his own. He was afraid. Afraid I would hurt his precious girl. He knew exactly how I would react to that statement.

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1 I was using the new smart fridge my husband had just installed, getting ready to make a shopping list for the weekend. Suddenly, a shared family account he’d forgotten to log out of popped up on the screen. Inside, there was only one unfamiliar user profile. I tapped on it. A list titled “Rose Care Guide” stared back at me. Rose is allergic to seafood. No spicy food. Rose is emotionally volatile. Buy her favorite white chocolate to soothe her. Rose gets cold easily. The thermostat at home must be kept at a constant 78°F. I scrolled down, a cold smile on my face. The last item was a bolded calendar reminder: “Next Wednesday, take Rose to pick out a wedding dress.” Expressionless, I closed the list and dialed his number. “Darling, does your rose prefer a traditional gown or something more contemporary? I’d love to help you brainstorm.” … On the other end of the line, my husband, Chuck Croft, stopped breathing for a second. “Selene, my love, what little joke are you playing now?” His voice, wrapped in the warmth and magnetism I’d known for eight years, was as smooth and steady as ever. “What rose? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He chuckled, his tone dripping with affection. “The only rose in my life is you.” I clutched the phone, my gaze sweeping over the silent night outside the window as my lips curled into a smirk. “The one from your shared list, of course. The rose who needs to pick out a wedding dress.” His voice on the other end immediately relaxed, a note of understanding in it. “Oh, that! That’s for Henry. He’s getting ready to marry his girlfriend, and he asked me to help him plan the wedding dress shopping.” “You know how he is, always a bit of a mess. I’ll have to give him a piece of my mind later. He can’t just be syncing everything to my account and making my Selene jealous.” The perfect excuse. Henry was his best friend, the best man at our wedding. He was certain I would never doubt him. “That’s just him, always dumping his problems on me. I’m so sorry it made you worry, Selene.” “Is that so?” I asked lightly. “You two must be incredibly close, for him to need someone else’s opinion on a wedding dress.” Chuck ran with it. “Of course, we grew up together. He spoils his girlfriend rotten; I’m almost jealous myself.” “Selene, don’t overthink it. You’re the only one for me. Is your gown for the gala tomorrow night ready? I can have the driver pick it up.” “No need. I have my own arrangements.” I ended the call, tossed my apron aside, and took a complete screenshot of the list. The lock turned. In less than fifteen minutes, Chuck was home. He walked in and wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin gently in the crook of my neck, bringing with him the crisp scent of the night air. “Selene, I was still worried. I canceled my last meeting and rushed back.” He cupped my face, his deep eyes filled with sincerity and tenderness. “Have I been too busy lately, neglecting you? Is that why your mind is racing?” “Your voice sounded off on the phone, and my heart just sank. No business deal is more important than you.” “It’s all my fault. I haven’t been considering your feelings these past few days.” He took all the blame, shouldered all the responsibility, painting me as the paranoid wife, chasing shadows and consumed by jealousy. I stared at the face that had once made me fall so completely, a bitter taste rising in my throat. “No, it’s not you. I think I’ve just been tired lately.” He let out a visible sigh of relief. “You silly girl.” He brushed his fingertip against my nose. “Alright, stop worrying. I’ll go run you a bath.” He slipped off his bespoke suit jacket and tossed it casually onto a chair. As I watched him walk into the bathroom, I reached for the jacket, planning to hang it in the closet. A gold-embossed card fell out of the pocket. I picked it up. It was a collection receipt from a private couture atelier. The name of the custom gown was “Starry Night Rose,” a piece whose materials and craftsmanship came with a staggering price tag. At the very bottom, handwritten, was the recipient’s information. It wasn’t me. Nor was it Henry’s girlfriend. Clutching the thin piece of paper, I called my best friend, Zara. She was a top-tier attorney specializing in divorce cases, with an almost terrifying network of contacts. “Zara, I’m sending you a name and an address. Find out everything you can about her and her connection to Chuck Croft.” For the next few days, Chuck’s attentiveness was almost suffocating. Kisses in the morning, embraces at night, driving me to and from work himself, even starting to research recipes to cook for me. He was playing the part of the perfect, guilt-ridden husband, desperately trying to make amends for a near-misunderstanding. On Thursday afternoon, Chuck’s grandfather called. The old man first asked about how I was doing, then the conversation took a sharp turn. “Selene, you and Chuck have been married for three years now. It’s time you started putting more of your focus on the family.” “A man is at the most critical stage of his career. He needs a supportive wife at home.” “Our Chuck is a capable man, and he adores you. You need to make sure you’re holding down the fort for him.” Every word was a nail wrapped in cotton candy—not fatal, but it pierced the heart. I absentmindedly hummed my agreement until the call ended. Chuck walked in with a bowl of something warm and sat beside me. “Grandfather giving you another lecture?” I nodded. He sighed, pulling me into his arms. “Don’t listen to him. The old man is stuck in the past.” “You just do what you want to do. I’ll support you, no matter what.” The words were beautiful. I curled up in his embrace, the air between us thick with the sour stench of his decaying lies. On Thursday, Zara called back. “I’ve got it all,” her voice was ice. “The woman at that address is named Lila Jiang. Twenty-three years old. She joined Chuck’s company three months ago.” “She has this delicate, otherworldly look. Calls him ‘Chuck’ in this sweet, innocent voice in front of everyone.” “But here’s the kicker. I had someone pull the security footage.” “The day before yesterday, Chuck personally took her to that couture shop. He was there for the measurements, helped her pick the style, the whole nine yards.” An invisible hand squeezed my heart tight. Zara scoffed. “It gets worse.” “I hacked into her private photo album. The password was Chuck’s birthday.” “It’s filled with pictures of them. Intimate, everyday moments.” I hung up and opened the folder of photos Zara had sent. Lila’s album was titled My Knight. The latest post was from two days ago. Mr. Croft said this gown is mine and mine alone, just like him. He’s going to make things official at the family gala next week. The accompanying photo was of a breathtakingly beautiful gown, identical to the one on the collection receipt. The fabric was a one-of-a-kind piece Chuck had recently purchased at a high price from an old master artisan, a piece he’d told me was for my wedding anniversary gift. I scrolled down. On a night when I was falling apart, Mr. C drove across the city just to be with me. He brought my favorite white chocolate and held me all night. He said that from now on, with him here, he would never let me suffer again. The photo was of Chuck’s sleeping profile, his brow slightly furrowed, one hand holding Lila’s tightly. The picture was taken in our marital bed. In the home I had poured my heart and soul into designing, a place filled with our memories. I scrolled down again. My new car from Mr. C! He even had the interior customized in my favorite color! He said it’s my own private pumpkin carriage that will take me to the castle. The photo was a selfie of her in the driver’s seat, showing off the logo on the steering wheel. It was the new car Chuck had brought home last week. The phone slipped from my numb fingers, the screen shattering on the floor. I sank into the sofa, every ounce of strength drained from my body. Eight years. Eight years, from a schoolgirl’s uniform to a white wedding dress. The promises he made, the things he did for me—they were all now a red-hot brand, searing my heart over and over again. He said he loved me, yet he held another woman in our bed. He said he had a meeting, yet he was comforting another woman in the middle of the night. He said I was his only rose, yet he had a wedding dress and a new title ready for someone else. My stomach churned violently. I ran to the bathroom and threw up until I was empty. Why? What did I do wrong? Chuck, how could you do this to me? My heart was torn to shreds, the pain making it impossible to breathe. I leaned against the cold wall, crying until I had no more tears. But then, somewhere in the middle of the sobs, I started to laugh. I stood up and splashed cold water on my face. My pain wouldn’t earn his guilt, and my tears were worthless. Chuck, you want to make things official for her? Fine. I’ll give you the stage. Just then, Chuck pushed the door open. Seeing my state, his expression changed instantly. “Selene, what’s wrong? Why is your face so pale?” He rushed over, pressing the back of his hand to my forehead. I lifted my face, my red, swollen eyes meeting his. “Chuck, I think… I can’t do this anymore.” He froze, a perfectly crafted look of panic and heartbreak appearing on his face. “Where does it hurt? We’re going to the hospital, right now!” He moved to grab his coat. “Don’t.” I grabbed his wrist. “It’s just… my heart. It feels so heavy.” Chuck stopped. He knelt, taking my hands in his, his face a mask of regret. “It’s all my fault. I’ve been so focused on work, I’ve ignored how you feel.” “Selene, listen to me. The business isn’t important. Nothing is important. Only you.” “I’ll clear my schedule tomorrow. Let’s go to Aspen, how about that? I know you’ve always wanted to see the snow.” His words were so earnest, as if all my pain was simply the result of his neglect, not his betrayal. I looked at him and suddenly smiled. “Okay.” “Whatever you say.” The family gala the following week was actually the Croft Corporation’s annual shareholder dinner. The Crofts were an old-money dynasty, and the event was a massive affair held at their sprawling family estate. As the most brilliant heir of the third generation, Chuck was the center of attention. He wore a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, moving through the crowd of elites with an easy smile and confident grace. My mother-in-law, dripping in jewels, stood beside him, her face beaming with pride. His grandfather, the patriarch of the Croft empire, sat in the seat of honor, leaning on a dragon-headed cane, his presence formidable. “Selene, come here.” The old man beckoned to me. I walked over, and he patted the empty seat beside him. “Sit.” “We have important guests tonight. Don’t walk around with such a long face. People will think the Croft family mistreats you.” “Chuck is out there building an empire. You need to learn to be the woman behind him. Be gentler, more considerate.” “And it’s about time we heard some news about that belly of yours!” His words were soft, but they carried an undeniable weight. I lowered my eyes and said nothing. He seemed ready to continue his lecture when Chuck approached with a glass of champagne. “Grandfather, are you lecturing Selene again?” He stood naturally behind me, his hand resting on the back of my chair as he smiled at the old man. “Selene hasn’t been feeling well lately. I’ve told her to worry less and rest more.” He was always like this, flawlessly maintaining the facade of the devoted husband in public, giving me the utmost respect. The patriarch grunted and turned to speak to someone else. Chuck leaned down and whispered in my ear. “Don’t listen to him. I like you just the way you are.” I smiled, my gaze drifting over his shoulder to a figure who had no business being here. Lila. She wore a blush-pink slip dress, draped with a white silk shawl. Her long hair was in soft waves, her makeup clean and fresh. She had an expression that was a mixture of timidity and poorly concealed triumph. Her hand rested unconsciously on her lower abdomen. She was standing not far away, beside one of Chuck’s cousins, pretending to be his date for the evening. Chuck’s eyes flickered in her direction. It was only for a second before he looked away. But I saw it clearly—the flash of joy and the certainty of possession in that one glance. Halfway through the evening, it was time for the patriarch’s speech, where he would announce the company’s major plans for the coming year. As the heir, Chuck was called to the stage. He took the microphone and started by reporting on the year’s impressive performance. Then, his tone shifted. His gaze swept across the room, finally landing on me. “I also want to thank my grandfather, my uncles, and most importantly, my wife, Selene Croft.” Every eye in the room turned to me. “However,” he paused. “Tonight, I must also announce a difficult decision.” His eyes finally moved away from mine, becoming cold and unfamiliar. “I, Chuck Croft, will be filing for a divorce from Selene.” The entire hall erupted in murmurs. Guests whispered amongst themselves. “What? A divorce?” “What’s going on? They always seemed so in love.” “My God, announcing a divorce at the family gala? Is he insane?” The patriarch’s face darkened. He tapped his cane on the floor and barked, “Chuck! What is this nonsense!” Chuck ignored him, his voice chillingly calm. “This is not nonsense.” “Selene and I have irreconcilable differences. Our marriage has been over in all but name for a long time.” “For years, she has been consumed by her own career, neglecting the care and support that a husband and a home deserve.” “That is, until I met a girl who is willing to put family first. A girl who is willing to build a home with me.” “And… she is carrying my child. I have to be responsible for her. I have to give her the position she deserves.” He turned, extending his hand in Lila’s direction. “Lila, come up here.” With tears streaming down her face, Lila gathered her dress and, in the dead silence, walked step by step onto the stage. She reached Chuck’s side and he pulled her into a fierce embrace. He bent down and lovingly kissed a tear from the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry you had to go through this.” Then, he looked up, fixing me with the gaze of a judge passing sentence. “Selene, for the sake of the years we spent together, if you leave quietly now, we can both maintain a shred of dignity.” “I will give you a generous settlement, enough to live comfortably for the rest of your life.” “But if you insist on making a scene, you will be the only one who ends up humiliated.” He had calculated everything. To do this, in this place, in this way, was to nail me to a pillar of shame. He wanted everyone to know that I, Selene, was the barren wife, clinging to a title I didn’t deserve, while he was the victim, a man simply seeking true love and a family. I looked at the hypocritical couple on stage, at the patriarch’s face, which had shifted from rage to deep disappointment. I smiled. And step by step, I walked onto the stage. I took the other microphone from the host’s hand. Every camera, every pair of eyes, instantly focused on me.

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The year I turned eight, my brother Leo fell from the scaffolding of an abandoned construction site. I’d sprinted over and become his human cushion. He walked away without a scratch. I ended up with a brain injury, a vegetable. The year I turned eighteen, I finally woke up. But for the inheritance of a girl who wasn’t even family, my brother pushed me from that same rooftop, leaving me to splatter on the concrete below. But I was reborn. And this time, I could see the live comments floating in mid-air: [THE MALE LEAD IS REBORN AT AGE EIGHT! LAST TIME, HE FELL FROM THE FIFTH FLOOR AND PUT THE SIDE CHARACTER IN A COMA. THIS TIME, HE’S TRYING THE SIXTH. LET’S SEE IF HE CAN KILL HER OUTRIGHT!] [ONCE THE SIDE CHARACTER IS DEAD, THE MALE LEAD CAN BRING THE HEROINE HOME FROM THE ORPHANAGE TO TAKE HER PLACE! THIS TIME, NO ONE CAN STOP THEIR TWISTED STEP-SIBLING ROMANCE AS THEY INHERIT THE BILLIONAIRE’S FORTUNE AND LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER!] Is that so? I tilted my head, a slow smile spreading across my face as I mouthed a silent message to my brother, who was now plummeting through the air. “Brother, if you die, I’ll find someone to replace you, too.” 1 I had just rounded the street corner when a frantic scream ripped through the quiet air, slamming into my eardrums. “Faye! Help me!” I looked up. There, on the skeletal frame of the derelict building, was Leo, teetering on the edge of the sixth-floor scaffolding with half his body hanging over the abyss. His face was ghostly pale. One hand gripped a rusted steel pipe behind him, his knuckles white and twisted from the strain. With his other hand, he waved at me, a desperate, flailing gesture. If I hadn’t been reborn… If I hadn’t seen the comments flickering beside him… I would have stupidly run to save him all over again. In my last life, I took the full impact of his fall. A spike of searing pain, followed by a decade of limitless, suffocating darkness. When I finally woke up at eighteen, I wasn’t greeted by a new beginning, but by Leo’s monstrous grin and the sweetly poisonous whispers of Mia, the girl he’d brought home. “Push her, Leo,” she’d urged. “Then the family fortune is all yours!” And now, here he was. Leo seemed a little too confident in his “protagonist plot armor.” But hey, the stage was set. Who was I, the lowly side character, to refuse my part? I cleared my throat and pitched my voice high with panic. “Leo! Don’t move!” I threw myself forward, deliberately stumbling toward the patch of ground directly beneath him. As my foot caught on uneven ground, I sent a loose rock skittering right into the center of his landing zone. I scrambled back up, my movements clumsy and frantic, every step feeling like I was wading through cotton, as if my legs could give out at any moment. A babble of panicked cries spilled from my lips. “Leo… just hold on… I’m coming… don’t be scared…” As I lurched forward, another comment scrolled across my vision: [THE MALE LEAD’S ACTING IS TOP-TIER! THE SIDE CHARACTER TOTALLY FELL FOR IT!] [LMAO, JUMP ALREADY! KILL HER SO WE CAN BRING OUR HEROINE HOME! MIA IS WAY MORE LIKEABLE. SHE’LL REPLACE FAYE IN HER PARENTS’ HEARTS IN NO TIME!] [PLUS, THEY’LL SAVE A DECADE OF MEDICAL BILLS. THEY CAN BUY OUR HEROINE A NEW PURSE WITH THAT CASH!] A smirk played on my lips. My eyes locked onto a spot about two feet away from Leo’s direct fall line—an old, open drainage ditch. It was filled with construction debris, but it would make a perfect cushion. It was also the stage for the most important performance of my new life. I’m not heading to the afterlife today. Let’s give that ticket to their precious male lead. I just hope they don’t cry too hard when it happens. Leo, however, clearly hadn’t expected me to be so slow; I still hadn’t reached the spot directly beneath him. His composure was cracking, the carefully crafted terror on his face melting into raw impatience. He even had the energy to scream at me. “Faye, what the hell are you doing? Hurry up!” And in the next instant… CRACK. The rotted plank beneath his feet gave way without warning. “AHHH!” This time, his scream was gut-wrenchingly real. As he plunged downward, his hands scrabbled instinctively, catching hold of another rusty pipe. The sharp, flaking metal tore a long gash in his sleeve, and blood began to well up immediately. Pure panic finally took him. His eyes, sharp and venomous, shot toward me. “Hurry! One more step! Right there! Don’t move! I’m jumping now!” I instantly obeyed, planting my feet on the ground and nodding frantically, tears streaming down my face. “I’m here, Leo! I’m ready!” He let go. The moment he leaped, I threw myself sideways, rolling hard. My back slammed into the pile of broken concrete and rubble in the ditch. A split second after the resounding THUD of his body hitting the ground, I heard the distinct, sickening snap of bone. Ignoring the shooting pains across my own body, I pushed myself up and looked at Leo. He’d gotten lucky. His head had met a small, sharp stone on the concrete, and a dark stain of blood was already blooming around him. He stared at me, his eyes wide with horror and utter disbelief. The live comments had gone silent, then erupted in confusion: [WHAT HAPPENED? HOW DID SHE DODGE?!] [WHAT ABOUT THE MALE LEAD?? HE CAN’T DIE!] I stared into Leo’s unfocused eyes until his eyelids fluttered and closed, then slowly uncurled my fists. I let out a long breath. As the sound of distant shouts reached my ears, I closed my eyes. Oh, brother. Even if you die. I’ll find someone to replace you. 2 Once again, I found myself in a hospital bed. This time, however, I wouldn’t be slipping into a ten-year coma. When my mother saw my eyes flutter open, she jolted upright, her voice thick with unshed tears. “Faye, your brother… he hasn’t woken up… The doctor said the pressure in his skull keeps rising. He might… he might never wake up.” My father was crouched by the doorway, crushing a pack of cigarettes in his hand, his knuckles white. When he looked at me, his gaze was a complex storm of fear and exhaustion, but mostly, it was the familiar sting of blame. “If you hadn’t insisted on going to that abandoned building with him…” Of course. Just like last time. No matter the outcome, I would always be the one at fault. In my past life, when I woke up, all I heard were my parents’ complaints about the sky-high medical bills from the past decade, followed by their relieved thanks that their precious son was unharmed. If it weren’t for keeping up appearances, they probably would have pulled the plug on me years ago. But having died once already, I could finally accept the cold truth: they just didn’t love me. Still, Leo was tougher than I thought. A fall from the sixth floor, and he wasn’t even dead. A new game, a new life, I guess. I clutched the corner of my blanket and shrank back, letting tears well up in my eyes. My voice trembled. “I’m sorry, Mom, Dad… When Leo started climbing the scaffolding, I told him not to. I said the wood was rotten and he would fall. But he yelled at me… told me a stupid little girl doesn’t know anything… He just pushed me away…” I lifted my tear-filled eyes to my father. “Daddy… you called me a pest last time for always following Leo around… If I hadn’t been there… would he still have fallen?” My father’s Adam’s apple bobbed violently. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. I turned to my mother. “And Mommy, just yesterday you said that Leo would be the man of the house one day, and I needed to be more sensible…” My voice cracked. “Does that mean… that whatever I do is wrong if it makes him unhappy?” The only sound in the quiet room was my own choked sobbing. “I wanted to save him, I really did, but then I fell and everything went black… Mom, Dad, are you blaming me, too…?” A nurse walked past the open door, and her conversation drifted in. “Yeah, that’s the room. Can you believe that kid? The planks on the third level were practically dust, and he still kept climbing!” “Well, at least they still have the…” My mother pulled me into a tight, trembling hug, her body shaking. Her voice was a broken, choked whisper, heavy with a long-overdue remorse. “I’m so sorry, Faye… Mom and Dad… we didn’t raise your brother right…” My father remained frozen in the doorway, but his fingers were digging into the cool metal of the frame, the knuckles turning a stark, bloodless white. The comments were still railing against me. It was giving me a headache, so I buried my face in my mother’s neck and shut my eyes. Let them scream. It wouldn’t change the fact that my parents’ favoritism was about to shift. For an eight-year-old, there is no weapon more powerful than an innocent question and a flood of tears. And the crushing weight of medical bills doesn’t change just because the person lying in the bed is now Leo. 3 I was discharged on a gray, overcast day. It was the same day Leo was officially diagnosed as being in a persistent vegetative state. The doctors said there was still a chance he could wake up. For the first two weeks, Mom and Dad were diligent. They brought his favorite strawberry shortcake to the hospital every day and took turns reading stories by his bedside. By the third week, the atmosphere began to shift. The puffiness around my mother’s eyes faded, replaced by a deep, weary exhaustion and a silent, creeping despair. My father, using his busy schedule at the company as an excuse, didn’t set foot in the hospital for a solid month. One evening at dinner, my mother finally broke her silence. “He wet the bed again today,” she said in a low, muffled voice. “I was lucky to be there to clean it up.” She sighed. “I’ve had to cancel so many lunches with my friends, running back and forth to that hospital.” My father’s chopsticks paused mid-air. He was quiet for a long moment. “Let’s hire a 24-hour nurse,” he said finally. “You can’t keep this up, you’ll wear yourself out.” I kept my head down, gnawing on a pork rib, saying nothing. Another two weeks passed. Leo’s name was rarely mentioned in the house anymore. The nurse would call once a week with a robotic update, always the same: “No change.” They would just nod numbly, not even bothering to sigh. My father even took down the only award certificate Leo had ever won and stuffed it in a storage closet. Naturally, this behavior infuriated the commenters. [WHAT IS WRONG WITH THESE PARENTS? LEO IS THEIR SON! HE HAS PLOT ARMOR, HE’S GOING TO WAKE UP!] [THIS IS ALL FAYE’S FAULT! IF IT WASN’T FOR HER, HE WOULDN’T BE LYING IN THAT BED, HELPLESS! AT THIS RATE, WHEN WILL OUR HEROINE EVER GET ADOPTED?!] They had a point. Leo couldn’t do anything lying in that bed. But I could. A few days ago, to protect their own reputation and avoid a flood of pitying inquiries from their social circle, my parents had transferred me to a public elementary school. Now, it was time for the next step. I took the long way home from school, first tossing my backpack into a bush to cover it with dirt and leaves. Then, I found a rough patch of concrete and took a deliberate dive, scraping my knee just enough to draw a few beads of blood. I quickly smeared the blood across my cheek. Once my masterpiece was complete, I ran the rest of the way home. I burst through the door with a wail and threw myself into my mother’s arms. “Mommy! They were picking on me!” She gasped, her hands fluttering nervously as she tried to wipe the “blood” from my face. “What is it, Faye? Who hurt you?” “The boys at school!” I sobbed, my words coming out in hiccupping gasps. “They… they said Leo’s a vegetable… and that I’m just a burden nobody wants… They threw… threw all my books in the mud…” My father, seeing my disheveled state, turned livid. “Which class? What are their names? I’m going to the school tomorrow and talking to your principal! This is outrageous!” I grabbed onto his pant leg, my wails growing louder. “But… but it’s true, isn’t it?” “Daddy, I’m so scared. Why… why can’t my brother be like Amelia’s brother from the other class? He protects her… he chases away all the mean kids…” My mother’s eyes instantly reddened again. She hugged me tight, her voice full of pain. “Oh, Faye, I’m so sorry. We’ve been so focused on… we’ve neglected you. You must have been terrified.” “Mom, Dad, can you… can you adopt a brother for me? One who can protect me?”

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1 Ten years of marriage, and my husband Tedd never let me enter the Vance family estate. Each time I asked to meet his parents, he’d gently squeeze my shoulders and soothe, “Just a little longer, Ava. You’re not established enough. I don’t want them to be hard on you.” Today felt different. I’d just closed a billion-dollar deal for our company. Finally confident, I stood before his iron gates. But a nine-year-old boy opened the door. He scanned me with disdain. “Who are you? Dressed like trash—what do you want with my dad?” My throat closed. Before I could speak, a maid warmly guided me inside. There, on the living room table, stood a framed marriage certificate—with Tedd and his assistant Evelyn. The maid beamed. “See? Our young master and mistress have been married ten years! Their son is already big. The mistress just landed that huge deal. The old master’s so thrilled, he’s throwing her a celebration tonight!” I watched the boy—Tedd’s perfect copy—leap into his father’s arms. Evelyn leaned against them lovingly. My mind went blank. All that talk of me not being “established” was a lie. Ten years of marriage, my hard-won victories—they were just stepping stones for him and another woman. … In a corner of the living room, Tedd’s arm was wrapped possessively around Evelyn’s waist. He gave her a playful squeeze, his voice a low, teasing murmur. “You spoil him rotten. He’s nine years old and still clinging to his father like a toddler. It’s not a good look.” He leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that still carried across the room to where I stood, frozen. “Besides, your arms… they’re meant for me to crawl into at night.” A deep blush crept up Evelyn’s neck. She gave him a soft, theatrical shove. “Ten years, and you still haven’t had enough of me?” Lust thickened Tedd’s gaze as his thumb traced lazy circles on her hip. “A vision like you? How could any man ever have enough?” My fists clenched, my nails digging so deep into my palms that they should have drawn blood, but I felt nothing. They flirted as if I wasn’t even there, a ghost in their perfect home. The irony was suffocating; I was a ghost. After a decade of marriage, I didn’t even have the right to enter this house, while they had built their nest here, complete with a child. Tedd, not yet satisfied, purred, “Send the boy off with the nanny. Let’s head upstairs for some… business.” It was then that his eyes finally drifted across the room and landed on me. The color drained from his face, leaving behind a pasty, white mask. He froze, his lips trembling as he stammered, “Ava… wh-what are you doing here?” The air crackled and died. Evelyn followed his gaze, her brow furrowing. “Who is this?” Tedd scrambled to untangle himself from her, clearing his throat and composing himself with a pathetic flicker of his former confidence. “Honey, this is Ava Sterling, one of the sales reps from the office. You probably don’t recognize her; she’s always on the road for work.” A bitter, hollow laugh escaped my lips. Ten years. Ten years of building an empire with him from nothing, and I was just a sales rep. Evelyn ignored him, her gaze sweeping over me with cold appraisal. Her eyes finally snagged on the delicate silver bracelet on my wrist, and her expression curdled into pure contempt. “A lowly sales rep can afford a piece like that? And why does it look so much like the one I threw in the trash last month?” A wave of humiliation so powerful it stole the air from my lungs washed over me. Tedd rushed to explain. “Darling, you know how some people are. When they can’t afford nice things, they’ll happily pick up other people’s scraps. You tossed it in the office bin; she must have seen it and fished it out.” With a single sentence, he absolved himself, painting me as a pathetic scavenger. He was now shooting me frantic, desperate glances, silently begging me to play along. But this bracelet… this was the gift he’d given me after I’d closed a major deal. He’d fastened it around my wrist himself, right there in his office, his eyes full of what I had mistaken for love. He’d told me it was part of a matching set, that he had the other, and that I should never take it off. I’d sworn to myself that day that I would land the billion-dollar deal, that I would finally earn his parents’ approval and bring our marriage into the light. It never even occurred to me that I had never, not once, seen him wear the matching piece. Only now did I understand. The treasure I had cherished was someone else’s garbage. The real reason I’d never met his family was because he already had one. I took a deep breath, fighting down the storm of rage and betrayal churning inside me. I managed a cold smile. “You’re right. I wasn’t aware of the situation when I… found it. Allow me to return it to its rightful owner.” I unclasped the bracelet and threw it hard onto the marble floor. The sharp crack of splintering silver echoed through the silent room. Tedd lunged, his face contorted in fury. The crack of his hand across my cheek was even louder. “How dare you break my wife’s things! Ava, you’ve gone too far!” Five angry red fingerprints bloomed on my skin. I touched my stinging cheek, staring at the man I had once loved with everything I had. He was a stranger. “My apologies,” I whispered, turning to leave. “Wait.” Evelyn’s voice cut through the air, laced with the smug charity of a queen addressing a peasant. “Don’t be in such a hurry. Since you’re already here, why don’t you stay?” She smirked, her eyes glinting with malice. “My father-in-law is throwing this party to celebrate my success with the billion-dollar deal. You’re a company employee, after all. You should join the festivities, shouldn’t you?” She dragged out the words “billion-dollar deal,” a clear, deliberate jab. Tedd’s face paled, but a sharp look from Evelyn silenced him. She gestured expansively. “My husband had this entire estate renovated just for me, you know. Every last detail chosen to my taste. Pick any room you like. Don’t be shy. Make yourself at home.” “I don’t want her here!” the little boy shrieked, running to tug on Evelyn’s designer dress. “Mommy! I don’t want the beggar staying in our house! She’s dirty! She’ll make everything stink!” He pointed a chubby finger at me. “Look how dark her skin is, and her clothes are all raggedy! She must have crawled out of a garbage can! Make her leave!” A triumphant smile played on Evelyn’s lips. I looked at her, so pampered and pristine, then down at my own hands, calloused and rough from years of fieldwork, my skin tanned from endless business trips. For Tedd, for those damn deals, I had run myself into the ground. I’d worked so hard I’d given myself an ulcer. And this humiliating spectacle was my reward. 2 I laughed, a dry, self-mocking sound. A quick check on my phone confirmed it: all the trains back to the city were sold out. I was trapped here for the night. I had barely set my luggage down in the guest room when my phone rang. It was Tedd. “I told you not to come to the estate, Ava. Did you show up unannounced just to embarrass me? Let me make one thing clear: this disgusting stunt of yours has made me furious. And there will be consequences. Don’t expect my forgiveness anytime soon.” Listening to him, my fingers tightened around the phone. For ten years, every argument had been the same. He would be the one in the wrong, yet he would always adopt that condescending, superior tone, waiting for me to come crawling back, begging for his forgiveness. And like a pathetic fool, I always did, swallowing my pride just to make him happy. This time, I finally worked up the courage to ask the question that burned in my throat. “How could you be legally married to two women at the same time?” But before the words could leave my mouth, the line went dead. I tried calling back. Blocked. It seemed in his eyes, I didn’t even have the right to question him. My heart felt like a hollow cavity in my chest, too numb even for pain. As I stood staring blankly out the window, the door was violently kicked open. Evelyn strode in, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered on her face. Slap! A stack of glossy photographs hit my face, their sharp edges slicing a thin cut across my cheek. “So, you’re the little homewrecker. Did you really think I didn’t know you existed?” I balled my fists, my voice a raw whisper. “Tedd and I are legally married! We have a certificate!” “A certificate?” Evelyn burst out laughing, a shrill, ugly sound. She pulled a document from her purse. “Your marriage certificate with Tedd is a forgery. The entire thing was a scam, from start to finish.” She smoothed her skirt, her voice dripping with condescending pity. “He only let you stick around for so long because you were useful. Obedient. A loyal little dog who worked for peanuts, right? He even told me himself, he only played along because you were so pathetically cheap. You barely took a salary and even spent your own money buying him gifts.” She paused for effect. “Oh, and by the way? Every proposal you stayed up all night to write, every contract you signed while destroying your own health… it was all credited to my name.” She then fanned the photos out in front of my face. “You’re quite the exhibitionist, aren’t you? Tedd showed these to me himself. Tsk, tsk. When a woman has nothing else to offer, I suppose this is the only way to keep a man’s interest. How pathetic.” There I was. On my knees, wearing cat ears he’d cajoled me into putting on. And there were others, far more humiliating. He had called it foreplay, a fun little game between lovers. I had debased myself to please him, and he had turned my humiliation into a spectacle for his real wife. Evelyn drove her heel into my chest, sending me staggering backward. “These photos have been making the rounds on the company’s internal forums for ages,” she sneered. “Do you know what everyone calls you behind your back? The ugly toad trying to play kitten. Hahahahaha!” I collapsed to the floor, the searing pain in my chest nothing compared to the suffocating rage and shame that consumed me. I had known Tedd first. She was the one who came later. But somehow, in their twisted reality, I was the one branded the homewrecker, the one deserving of this torment. I couldn’t stay in this hellhole a second longer. “From this day forward,” I choked out, “you will never see me again.” 3 I dragged my suitcase out of the room, but as I rounded the corner in the hallway, Tedd’s hand clamped down on my wrist. “Where do you think you’re going at this hour?” His handsome face was a mask of displeasure. “You think you can just come and go as you please? What do you take the Vance estate for, a hotel?” The sheer, unadulterated audacity of it was breathtaking. I had just closed a deal that would change his company’s fortunes forever, and I had rushed here, hoping for a crumb of acceptance from his family, only to find his perfect, secret life. “Mr. Vance,” I said, yanking my arm free with a cold laugh. “Isn’t it a little late to pretend you care?” His brow furrowed. “Ava, what is this attitude? Who gave you the nerve to speak to me like that?” Before I could leave, the sound of frantic footsteps echoed down the hall. Tedd’s son, wielding a baseball bat, charged at me and swung it with all his might against my shin. “Ah!” A blinding flash of pain shot up my leg, and I lost my balance, stumbling forward. But to my utter shock, the boy immediately threw himself backward, landing on his bottom and letting out a theatrical wail. “Waaaah! The beggar hit me! The beggar is hitting me!” My eyes widened in disbelief. Before I could process the blatant lie, Evelyn was there, scooping the child into her arms and rounding on me with a roar. “You homewrecking bitch! It’s bad enough you invade my home, but now you dare to lay a hand on my son? Take a good look at yourself in a mirror! If there is so much as a scratch on him, I will make you pay, you worthless piece of trash!” Servants flocked around us, their whispers like a swarm of angry bees. “Shameless. A homewrecker with this much nerve.” “The mistress is too kind. If it were me, I’d have stripped her naked and thrown her in a dumpster.” “Exactly! A low-life like her, daring to cause trouble at the Vance estate. Does she not know what Vance Industries is worth now? Without our mistress, this company would be nothing!” I clutched the wall, trying to stand as agony pulsed from my leg. But what hurt more was Tedd’s reaction. He didn’t even glance at me. He knelt, fussing over his son, checking him for imaginary injuries. Once satisfied the boy was unharmed, Tedd shot up, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and yanked my head back. His voice was laced with a venom I had never heard before. “Apologize to my son. Now.” The pain was searing, as if my scalp was being torn from my skull, but I gritted my teeth. “I didn’t touch him. Why should I apologize?” My vision blurred with tears of rage. “Tedd,” I pleaded, my voice cracking, “we’ve known each other for fifteen years. We were together for ten. Even if you wanted to marry your assistant and have a child, why couldn’t you just tell me? Did you think I would cling to you? I may not have much, Ava Sterling, but I have my pride! I would never stand in the way of your happiness. But why did you have to humiliate me like this? A fake marriage certificate? Turning me into a laughingstock for the entire company?” A flicker of something—guilt? uncertainty?—crossed his eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a cold, hard mask. He released my hair, and I slumped against the wall. He looked down at me, his voice dripping with condescension. “Ava, I thought you were a smart woman. It seems I overestimated you.” He motioned to the maids, who seized my shoulders and forced me to my knees. “This is your punishment for showing up here uninvited. You will accept it.” He then turned to his wife. “Darling, go on. Hit her until you feel better. Hit her until our son is happy again.” The boy’s face lit up. He scrambled to the coffee table, grabbed a heavy crystal ashtray, and hurled it at my head. The sharp edge of the crystal sliced open my forehead. Warm blood instantly began to stream down my face. Evelyn, suddenly, adopted a look of feigned horror, a stark contrast to the vicious woman who had kicked me just moments before. “Tedd, darling, maybe this is too much. Let’s just stop.” Tedd sneered and grabbed her wrist. “What are you afraid of? I said hit her, so you hit her!” He guided her hand, forcing her to slap me, again and again. At first, Evelyn pretended to resist, but soon she was adding her own strength to the blows, her rings scratching my face, leaving behind bloody trails. When they were finally done, I was a heap on the floor, my vision swimming in and out of focus. Evelyn, a smug, triumphant smirk on her face, said sweetly, “Honey, we should lock her in the cellar for now. The heiress from Sterling Enterprises is supposed to be at the party soon. It wouldn’t do for her to see… this.” Tedd glanced at my bloody form and grunted in disgust. “I told you this morning to reflect on your actions, but you wouldn’t listen. You brought this on yourself. Ava, you’re going to the cellar to cool off. When you’ve learned how to be obedient and behave, then you can come out.”

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