Category: English

I had been in love with Samuel for years. Then one day, I suddenly asked him to leave, and he simply gave a quiet nod. For many years after, we never saw each other again. Not until I was diagnosed with terminal cancer, my death sentence signed and sealed. I decided to hire a hospice care specialist to help me arrange my final affairs. The man who knocked on my door was holding a beautifully polished wooden urn. It was Samuel. He stood in the doorway, and his eyes met mine. 1. His eyes were as calm and distant as I remembered. A young, fresh-faced boy stood just behind him. Samuel glanced at me with a look of professional compassion, the kind reserved for strangers. “Good morning,” he said, his voice gentle. “My name is Samuel Thorne, from the palliative care agency.” He didn’t recognize me. Not at all. Before the shock could even register, I found myself moving aside stiffly. “Please, come in.” He sat down and placed the wooden box gently on the coffee table, opening the lid. Inside lay several urns of different materials, each one looking exquisitely expensive. “These are our samples. You can choose based on your preference,” he explained, his tone detached. “The materials vary, as do the price and symbolism.” I curled into the sofa, digging my nails into my palms. The tiny flares of pain were the only thing keeping me grounded. He pulled out a tablet and brought up a form. “Next, we’ll need to confirm some of your specific wishes regarding the scale of the funeral service…” I listened, a dull roar filling my head. His voice was still so beautiful, but now, every syllable was a tick of the clock, counting down the last moments of my life. Finally, he asked, “And lastly, is there anything you’d like to have inscribed on your headstone?” A wave of regret washed over me. “Can I request someone else?” The words hung in the air, and the living room fell into a dead silence. Samuel’s thin lips parted as if to speak, but the sound caught in his throat. The young boy beside him looked at me, bewildered and indignant. “My mentor is the most respected hospice specialist in the entire city! You’re lucky you got him. This is his last case before he goes on leave.” “After this,” the boy added, “he’s going back to his hometown to get married.” Hometown… to get married? My heart dropped like a stone, a sudden, sickening plunge into nothingness. A cold, metallic tang of rust and sorrow flooded the back of my throat. Ah. So that was it. He had moved on. He had a better life now. My ridiculous, hopeful little test just moments ago now seemed utterly pathetic. I turned my head, unable to meet Samuel’s gaze. “Is that so…” I forced a smile that felt more painful than crying. “Well… then… congratulations. That’s wonderful.” Samuel remained silent, his eyes fixed on me. The profound grief in his gaze was so heavy it threatened to drown me. “Ms. Quinn.” A cold sweat broke out on my skin. “How do you know my name?” He looked at me, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “The information you provided to our agency last month only included your name. Clara Quinn, correct?” It hit me then. I had changed my name shortly after breaking up with him. It seemed the illness was stealing my memory along with everything else. 2. In the end, I agreed to let him be my caregiver. He had a home to return to, and I had a grave to prepare for. After a round of chemo, I was leaving the hospital when I ran into him in the hallway. “Ms. Quinn,” he began, his voice deeper and huskier than usual. “It would be better if you called me for future treatments.” He paused, as if needing to justify the sudden offer. “It’s part of my professional duties.” Those words, “professional duties,” were tiny needles against my already numb nerves. I managed a weak smile. “I don’t think that will be necessary. This was my second-to-last treatment.” “After the next one…” After the next one, it would be the end. “I won’t be coming back to the hospital.” The sentence hung in the air, light and final. I felt the arm that had been supporting me suddenly tighten, the grip so strong it was almost painful. “I thought you’d try to comfort me,” I said with a self-deprecating laugh. “Aren’t you hospice specialists supposed to be experts at managing the emotions of the dying?” Samuel let out a slow breath. “Your emotional state appears to be stable at the moment.” He was right. Death was my foregone conclusion. I had no choice but to face it. My physical condition began to deteriorate rapidly, my body withering into someone even I barely recognized. But the fact that he didn’t recognize me… that was a small mercy. It became the single point of solace in my landscape of pain. Looking at him, a huge, almost frantic wave of longing crashed over me. My throat was painfully dry. “Mr. Thorne… could I ask you to… to stay here for a while?” “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, dropping my gaze. “But I can’t even lift a glass of water on my own anymore.” The silence stretched, thick and heavy. After a long moment, I heard him release a sigh, so quiet and so profound it seemed to carry the weight of the world. “…Alright.” 3. Samuel moved into the guest room next to my bedroom. His presence was like a quiet shadow, filling the vast, empty house that had previously only echoed with the sound of my own coughing. Every morning, I would wake to a fresh wave of pain. And every morning, he would appear at my side just in time, his arm sliding steadily under mine to help me sit up, arranging the pillows behind my back. He moved with a practiced ease that felt anything but new, as if he had done this a thousand times before. On sunny afternoons, Samuel would help me to the lounge chair on the balcony, tucking a warm blanket snugly around me. He would tidy up nearby or simply sit with a book, a silent companion. Sometimes, in the hazy twilight between consciousness and the drug-induced stupor, I would secretly open my eyes to watch him. The profile of his face was still so sharp and handsome, the sunlight gilding his features with a soft, golden halo. His fingers, long and clean, turned the pages of his book. Once, those same hands had wiped away my tears. The memories, like reefs exposed by a receding tide, emerged with painful clarity. I remembered a rough patch early in our relationship. I had convinced myself that I had forced him into it, that he didn’t truly love me. He was always so reserved, so calm in everything he did for me. I felt unbearably wronged, yet I knew I had no right to be. One night, I ran out of our apartment in tears. He was the one who found me. He didn’t say a word. He just took off his jacket, draped it over my shoulders, and then crouched down with his back to me. “Get on,” he said, his voice muffled. I stubbornly refused. He sighed and looked back at me. “It’s late. We can argue at home.” In that instant, all my anger and hurt simply evaporated. I climbed onto his broad back, my cheek pressed against his sweat-dampened shirt. He carried me all the way home, step by steady step, without another word. And yet, that was the closest I ever felt to him. Just like now. He was still a man of few words, quietly taking care of everything. He would gently wipe the sweat from my neck, massage my swollen calves, and bring me warm water and painkillers when the pain made me curl into a ball. In those moments, a dangerous illusion would sometimes take hold. It was easy to pretend that he was just a young husband who didn’t know how to express his love, and that I was not a woman on the verge of death. The warm light from the window fell on his downcast lashes. I closed my eyes, allowing myself to be enveloped by this treacherous fantasy. Just for a little while. Let me steal just this one moment. 4. The day of my final chemotherapy session arrived. Samuel placed the pills in my hand. I swallowed them, avoiding his gaze. “Today… I can go by myself.” The air grew still. His calm eyes rested on my face, as if he had expected me to say this. The final treatment always brought the most violent reactions. Vomiting, fainting, a complete loss of control… I didn’t want him to see me like that. I wanted to hold onto that last shred of dignity I had managed to maintain. He was silent for a long time before giving a barely audible reply. “Alright.” At the hospital, the sterile, suffocating scent of antiseptic was more overwhelming than ever. As my consciousness began to blur, I bit down hard on my lip, fighting the rising nausea. Suddenly, I felt a hand close around mine. My eyes flew open. Samuel was standing by my bed. He wasn’t looking at me; his gaze was fixed on the IV bag dripping fluid into my arm. In his silent presence, all my weakness, all my frailty, was laid bare. On the way back, I was so exhausted I could barely move. I leaned back in the seat with my eyes closed, too weak to even speak. He, too, was silent for the entire ride. When the car finally stopped in front of the house, he got out, came around to my side, and gently lifted me into his arms. The dining table was covered with food. They were all my old favorites. I froze, gripping the doorframe, and stared at him as he took off his coat. He turned and met my incredulous gaze without a hint of surprise. “Sit down and have a little. It’s okay to break the rules just this once.” How… how could he know? My heart leaped, and a powerful sense of dread washed over me. He saw the shock and confusion in my eyes and didn’t look away. Then, he finally met my gaze directly, his voice low and clear, each word deliberate. “You haven’t changed a bit.” “Clara Rhodes,” he said, my old name a tremor on his lips, heavy with exhaustion. 5. The sound of my name, spoken from his lips. In that instant, the carefully constructed facade I had maintained for so long shattered into a million pieces. He knew. He had known all along. A wave of profound shame washed over me, corrosive and sickening. It was followed by a surge of furious grief, the feeling of being watched in my most vulnerable state. How could he? How dare he, now, when I was at my absolute worst? I summoned every last ounce of my remaining strength, my right hand trembling as I lifted it and swung it toward his face. The sound was little more than a soft pat. The sensation of my palm against his cheek was barely a sting. His head didn’t even turn, and no red mark appeared. “Get…” The word was squeezed through my clenched teeth. “Out.” I don’t know why I reacted so violently. Perhaps it was because the memory of our past was so beautiful that it made my present reality all the more unbearable. Samuel just stood there, stunned. He looked into my eyes, his jawline tight. He didn’t argue, didn’t move. He just watched me. After a few seconds of dead silence, his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Alright.” I sagged against the doorframe, gasping for breath as black spots danced in my vision. By the time the storm of emotion subsided, the house was empty. He was gone. A colossal wave of panic crashed over me. What have I done? Acting on pure impulse, I forced my weak body to move, making my way to his agency. In the director’s office, I heard my own voice, shrill and sharp. “I want to file a complaint against Samuel Thorne… His service was completely unprofessional! I demand a new specialist immediately!” The director tried to placate me, but I was adamant. Soon, there was a knock, and Samuel walked in. His face was a calm mask, but his eyes were bloodshot. The director looked uneasily between us, about to mediate, when the office door was pushed open from the outside. An elegantly dressed woman burst in. Her eyes scanned the room and landed on me. “Ms. Quinn?” she asked, her tone overly familiar and urgent. She turned to Samuel. “Let me talk to her!” She hurried over to me, trying to take my hand. “Samuel is just too dedicated to his work. I’m sure we can communicate any needs you have…” Her words faded into a dull buzz in my ears. Samuel’s brow furrowed. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said in a low voice. His fiancée. It had to be her. I looked at this vibrant, healthy woman, then at my own reflection in the window—a gaunt, skeletal figure. An unprecedented wave of humiliation washed over me, and the world went dark. 6. When I came to, the first thing I heard was the sound of hushed voices outside the door. “…Sam, don’t worry too much. The doctor said it was just a temporary faint caused by emotional distress, and the fact that she’s so weak…” It was a woman’s voice, soft and soothing. “…I know.” Samuel’s voice was low and hoarse, laced with a bone-deep weariness he was trying to suppress. “But you shouldn’t have come. It only made things worse for her.” Their voices dropped lower, and I couldn’t make out the rest. I struggled to open my eyes, my blurry vision slowly coming into focus. “You’re awake?” I turned my head. It was Samuel’s young apprentice, Leo, peeling an apple. He looked uncomfortable when he saw me looking at him and awkwardly offered me the fruit. He avoided my eyes, his tone filled with a mixture of reluctance and resentment. “…I really don’t know why you’d say those things about my mentor. For this one last case, he stayed up so many nights doing research for you. He’s even delayed his own personal matters… his fiancée came all this way today to see him…” Leo was still mumbling his complaints, but my gaze drifted back to the doorway. Samuel had his head turned slightly, listening to what the woman was saying. She reached up and, with a natural, familiar gesture, straightened his tie, which hadn’t even been crooked. It was an intimate, possessive gesture. Just as I felt the last bit of thin air in my lungs about to give out, the door opened gently. The woman walked in, an apologetic look on her face. She gave Leo a pointed glance, and the boy immediately fell silent and scurried out of the room. Then, she turned to me, her voice so soft it was almost false. “Ms. Quinn, you’re awake. Are you feeling better? You gave us all quite a scare.” She paused, her eyes shifting subtly between me and Samuel’s silhouette in the doorway. “Sam and I have talked. I reminded him that no matter how important his work is, he can’t neglect his client’s feelings. If you really don’t want to see him, I can take over for the remainder of the time. It’s all the same.” She took a step closer, leaning in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “After all… you don’t have much time left. This is your final journey. You should be as comfortable as possible. Why cause yourself any more stress? Don’t you agree?” You don’t have much time left. A chill ran through me, but in the next second, the flicker of anger was smothered by a deeper exhaustion. What had I been hoping for? When I first heard he had a fiancée, a part of me refused to believe it. But now, with her standing right here in front of me… Wake up, Clara. What are you still hoping for? You should have understood the moment you got sick. You would only ever be a burden to him. He had finally escaped your shadow, built a normal life, a respectable career, and was about to marry a healthy, proper woman. You are a sinking ship. Are you really going to try and drag him down with you right before you go under? I looked into her eyes, and then past her, to the blurred figure in the doorway. A strange sense of calm settled over me. I closed my eyes very slowly. “Okay.”

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The day after I broke up with Jay, he came over while I was at work and packed up all his stuff. Everything except the cat he’d adopted with his ex-girlfriend. Online, they say that calico cats with those splotchy, unfortunate-looking orange patches are the absolute worst. I crouched down in front of the cat and tried to sound menacing. “Your deadbeat dad abandoned you,” I hissed. “I’m your evil stepmother now.” “You don’t listen to me, I’m shipping you off to Siberia.” “Someplace where you’ll have to row a boat for a hundred years just to get back.” That night, I felt something licking my hair. In my drowsy state, I thought I heard a tiny voice in my head. Stepmom, don’t ship cat away. Cat gets seasick. 1 I jolted awake, fumbling for the lamp switch. The cat was sitting on my pillow, and we stared at each other. “Leo, was that you talking?” “…” Silence. My heart rate settled. I looked at Leo’s big, innocent face and thought, what a vivid dream. I gave his head a little scratch and lay back down. A few minutes later, that damp feeling was back, along with a faint, whiny voice. Stepmom, why Daddy no want me? My eyes flew open. In the darkness, I could just make out a furry cat butt parked right in front of my face. “Leo?” The licking stopped. The air was still for a full minute, and then it started again. I was getting annoyed. “Leo, if you lick me one more time, Mommy’s going to get mad.” Cat giving Mommy a bath. “LEO!” 2 I was sure of it now. That was Leo’s voice. We were face-to-face again. Leo just looked sleepy. “Leo, can you talk?” He didn’t make a sound. I looked down, thinking to myself, Have I been so stressed lately that I’ve developed a split personality? The moment the thought crossed my mind, the familiar little voice piped up again. Stepmom, cat sleepy. I’d named him Leo. When Jay first brought him over, he confessed the cat was a relic from his last relationship. I didn’t say anything, just gave the cat a new name. Now, being able to hear his thoughts was a revelation. “Oh my god! Leo, Mommy can hear you!” Leo just blinked at me groggily. Stepmom, cat sleepy. I scooped him up and gave him a big squeeze. “Okay, okay, let’s sleep. I hope I can still hear you in the morning.” “And stop calling me Stepmom. I was just trying to scare you earlier. You’ve been with me since you were three months old. I’m your real mom.” He didn’t answer, just started purring. He was probably already asleep. 3 Leo wasn’t very old. I’d asked Jay about his age, but he’d been evasive. We only got an estimate from the vet when he went in to get neutered. He was about a year old now, but he was already a solid ten pounds, his face as round as a dinner plate. I remembered when I first met him. He was a tiny thing, maybe three months old. Jay had told me his ex never really liked cats. She’d just pretended to for the image, but she never took care of Leo, which is why he took him. Leo had been a scrawny little kitten. Now, the suction-cup bed on the window groaned under his weight. The next day was Saturday. I woke up unusually early and the first thing I did was look for Leo. Sure enough, he was sunbathing in his window perch. Hearing me move, he looked over, then trotted toward me. Stepmom, cat hungry. A huge grin spread across my face. Oh my god, I could actually hear my cat’s thoughts. It was the most amazing, frustrating thing in the world. I desperately wanted to tell everyone, especially that jerk Jay. But first things first. “Leo, didn’t Mommy tell you? I’m your real mom. Stop calling me Stepmom.” Leo tilted his head. Mom? “That’s right! Mommy’s good boy!” I scooped him up and covered him in kisses, then popped open a can of his favorite food. “It’s a beautiful day. You want to go outside and play?” Leo was already devouring his food, but he managed to answer between noisy chomps. Yay! Go outside! 4 Ever since Leo was a kitten, I’d been working on socializing him. We started with late-night walks when no one was around, then moved to daytime strolls when the park was quiet. Slowly, he got braver, and now we regularly went out to sunbathe. They say a well-socialized cat is less stressed at the vet, and it’s true. When Leo went in for his surgery, he acted like he was visiting Disneyland, tail held high, exploring every corner of the clinic as if he owned the place. After he finished his breakfast, I got out his harness. Mom, cat no wanna wear. “Leo, this is to protect you. If something tries to attack you, Mommy can pull you away safely, okay?” Oh… He didn’t seem to fully grasp it, but he dutifully lifted his paws so I could put on the little pink harness with the bow. I usually carried him in the elevator. We lived on the fifth floor, so it was pretty convenient. Ding. The elevator doors opened to reveal a tall guy and a giant Samoyed. Leo, who had been bouncing with excitement, immediately burrowed into my arms. Mom, cat scared. “It’s okay, Mommy’s here,” I soothed him. “We can just take the next one.” I waved a hand to signal for them to go ahead, but the guy, wearing a baseball cap, didn’t seem to see me. He gave me a questioning look, then his eyes fell on the cat in my arms, and he seemed to understand. I thought he was going to hold the elevator, but instead, he took a step forward, blocking my view of the dog. Leo, no longer able to see the source of his fear, stretched his neck out, trying to get a peek. I whispered a thank you and stepped into the elevator. Mom, he say he goin’ downstairs to eat poop. Can cat eat poop? I practically fled the elevator, trying to stifle a laugh. “Leo, poop is not food.” Mom, doggo so sad. “Doggo? Is that the dog’s name? Why is he sad?” He’d looked perfectly happy and well-cared for to me. Clean white fur, bright eyes. The owner, the tall guy in all black, had a “don’t talk to me” vibe, but you could tell he was handsome under that cap. Leo didn’t answer right away. “Why is he sad?” I asked again. Leo’s voice was filled with somber pity. He say his dad no let him eat poop. I nearly died laughing. 5 There was a big park right next to our apartment complex, with trees, a lake, and a huge lawn. On weekends, it was packed with people—old, young, and plenty of pet owners like me. We were being followed by a fluffy brown poodle. Leo was giving it a dirty look. “What’s wrong?” I asked. Mom, dog bad. Dog pee everywhere. “Hahaha! No, Leo, that’s what dogs are supposed to do outside.” A golden retriever a little ways off was staring intently at Leo. “Why is that one staring at you?” Goldie say his owner best chicken-cooker in whole world. I dunno. Bet not as good as Mom! A little further on, we met a German Shepherd that looked incredibly smart. “They say German Shepherds are really smart, Leo.” Mom, cat smart too. “Yes, Leo is very smart.” He say when he was puppy, he help old lady cross street. “He did what?” Leo’s translations were a constant source of surprise. I never knew the animal world was so dramatic. We walked around for a bit and a little girl shyly asked if she could pet my cat. “Can she pet you, Leo?” I asked. I had to respect his opinion now that I could hear it. Leo hesitated. Okay. But only one pet. The little girl was very gentle. As she stroked his fur, Leo started purring, basking in the warm sun. I felt a wave of pure happiness. Soon, a crowd of kids started to gather. I knew it was time to go. There was a shortcut back to our building. As we were walking, I saw a familiar figure up ahead. Mom, it’s Doggo! I looked closer. It was the Samoyed from the elevator. I’d never seen them before that day. They must have just moved in. Leo seemed to really like the dog, so I was about to go over and say hi when a calico cat suddenly darted out from the bushes, blocking our path.

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At sixteen, my world was the size of a cornfield in Pennsylvania. My future was supposed to be a straight line from shucking corn to a quiet, early grave. Then he showed up. He pulled up in a vintage Porsche, the engine a low growl that scared the crows. A city boy, all sharp angles and restless energy, lighting a cigarette with a hand that trembled with rage. He was on the phone, shouting at his girlfriend. “Are you serious? You’re really ending it?” Her voice, tinny and cruel even through the speaker, shot back. “Dead serious. I was only with you to get to your brother, you idiot. Did you really think anyone could ever love you?” He kicked the gravel, a cloud of dust rising around his expensive loafers. His eyes, wild and hurt, scanned the fields and landed on me. He beckoned with a sharp flick of his wrist. He was making a bet with the universe, and I was his chip. “Hey. You,” he called out, his voice laced with a bitter, reckless challenge. “I’ll pay for your school. I’ll buy you clothes, a car, a life. You’ll never have to worry about money again. All you have to do is love me. How about it?” I didn’t hesitate. “Okay.” That was seven years ago. A lifetime ago. Now, he was asking me for something else. “I need you to go after my brother,” he said. “Make him fall for you. It’s the only way Chloe will finally give up and come back to me.” 1 I didn’t say yes right away. In seven years, I had been completely remade. Leo Fordham had kept his promise. He had molded me, polished me. He paid for my education, hired tutors, funded any class or hobby my heart desired. He was a master sculptor, and I was his clay. When I graduated last year, he bought me a penthouse apartment and a new Mercedes. I remember learning to drive that summer, the city air thick and hot. He sat in the passenger seat day after day, endlessly patient, never once complaining as I lurched through traffic. No one calls me a farm girl anymore. They whisper that I’m the girl the younger Fordham heir keeps tucked away in his pocket. His charity case. His Pygmalion project. His, for all intents and purposes, future wife. After all, he had spent seven years cultivating a single flower. Now that it was in full, brilliant bloom, who would believe he’d ever let someone else pick it? But no one had counted on Chloe Astor coming back. She had left for London shortly after their breakup, cutting ties with everyone. Last month, she returned, armed with a new degree and an old obsession. The first thing she did was confess her love to Alex Fordham, Leo’s older brother. He turned her down, of course. Chloe’s infatuation with Alex had always been a ghost in their relationship, a secret no one spoke of. After his rejection, with nowhere else to turn, she called the one person she knew would answer. She called Leo. “Leo,” she’d sobbed into the phone. “I’m back.” That one sentence was all it took to unravel him. She called him again and again, every time Alex’s silence cut her a little deeper. And every time, Leo was the one who went to her, the one who patched her back together. He was caught in a terrible trap—aching for her, furious with her. How could she not see him? He had offered her his entire world, but her eyes were still fixed on his cold, distant brother. I never thought he’d resort to a scheme this desperate. From what I knew of Alex Fordham, he was a man carved from ice. He wasn’t the type to fall for any woman, let alone one sent by his brother. But Leo was persistent. He started pleading with me daily. Flowers arrived at my office, followed by Celine boxes and Cartier bags. Money flowed toward me like a river, a desperate, glittering tide. My colleagues noticed. “He’s definitely trying to propose,” my friend Maya said, admiring a bouquet of roses so large it barely fit on my desk. “The way he looks at you… it’s not just a friendship. He’s rich, he’s crazy about you. Just say yes, Ava. And make sure we’re invited to the wedding.” I managed a weak smile, saying nothing. Yes, he was so good to me. It was a debt I could never repay. My phone buzzed. It was him. “Get the flowers?” His voice had that familiar, careless charm. “You like them?” “I did,” I said. He sighed, a rare note of defeat in his voice. “Look, I’ve been thinking… if you really don’t want to do this, I won’t force you. I’ll figure something else…” “I’ll do it.” The line went silent. Then, “What?” “The plan. With your brother. I’ll do it.” He was quiet for a long moment before a relieved laugh burst from him. “Okay. Great. Just… give it a shot. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. I’ll still take care of you forever, you know that.” He paused, then added, as if trying to convince himself, “My parents have thrown a hundred girls at Alex over the years, maybe more. He hasn’t looked twice at any of them… but you’re different. He’s always been… I don’t know, nicer to you.” “I wouldn’t ask if I had any other choice,” he finished softly. I watched the moon hang pale and distant in the city sky. After a long moment, I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Okay.” I heard the distinct flick and crackle of a lighter. He was smoking again. He said my name, his voice muffled by the smoke. “Ava.” “Yes?” “I never asked you.” “Asked me what?” “Is there anyone you like? Anyone you’re… in love with?” My gaze fell to the crimson roses on my desk, their petals impossibly perfect. I’d heard he used to fly in flowers for Chloe from halfway across the world, each stem costing more than a month’s rent for a normal person. My lips felt dry. “No,” I lied. “That’s not important.” “It is,” he said, his voice suddenly serious. “If there’s someone else, I can’t ask you to do this. I won’t ruin your life.” I pressed my fingers against the cool glass of my office window. “There’s no one.” 2 I lied to Leo. I was in love with him. I had been since that first day in the cornfield. But for all these years, his heart has only ever held a space for Chloe. A few days later, Leo threw a welcome home party for her at an exclusive downtown club. I received an invitation, a thick card with my name in elegant script. He told me Chloe had insisted on meeting me. “The girl from the cornfield? You actually brought her back with you, Leo?” she’d apparently said, laughing. “She was so… scrawny. All elbows and dirt. I thought you were joking. I’m dying to see what she looks like now.” I had a prior engagement and declined. Leo’s texts started flooding in. One after another, until the final one. [Alex will be there. You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?] Reading the words, a familiar weight settled in my chest, heavy and suffocating. His request had been phrased as a choice, but it was never a choice at all. To refuse would be to prove I was ungrateful. A parasite. I couldn’t let him think that. When I arrived, they were all crowded around a poker table. The moment I walked in, the easy chatter died. A few people who used to greet me with warm hugs and call me “Miss Sheng” suddenly found the ceiling fascinating. Before, they’d fawned over me for Leo’s sake. Now, it was clear to everyone that the tide had turned. I was no longer the heir apparent to the Fordham fortune. I approached the table. Chloe was the only one winning, a smug little smile playing on her lips. Leo was a shark at cards, but tonight, I could see him folding good hands, letting her win. After a few minutes, Chloe finally looked up and saw me. Her eyes widened in performative shock. “Wow,” she breathed, covering her mouth with a perfectly manicured hand. “You look… so different. I remember you being so…” She trailed off with a dismissive little tsk, then pushed her chair back. “Here, you play. I’m tired.” She stood, immediately pulling out her phone. I was close enough to see the name on the screen: Alex Fordham. It was a one-sided conversation, a long stream of her messages met with absolute silence. I took her seat. The moment I sat down, Leo’s expression hardened. He picked up his cards with a new, aggressive impatience. The stakes were high, and no one was going easy on me. Within an hour, I was down over ten thousand dollars. 3 Chloe, who had been watching from the sidelines, spoke up, her voice dripping with faux concern. “Oh, my God, you guys. Why are you letting her lose so much? Where is she going to get that kind of money? Can she even afford this?” Nate, Leo’s best friend, threw his cards down on the table. He looked at me, his eyes cool and indifferent. “What’s the big deal? Leo will cover it.” He wasn’t wrong. That’s how it had always been. Chloe’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh? Really?” Leo grunted in affirmation, already pulling his phone out to make the transfer. But I spoke first. “That’s okay. I’ve got it.” Leo’s head snapped up, his eyes dark. “Ava, don’t be stupid.” “It’s fine,” I said, forcing a smile. “I can’t rely on you forever.” Over the years, with the resources Leo provided, I’d learned how to make my own money. I was a good investor. I had savings. I even had a separate bank account he knew nothing about, where I deposited money every month—a fund I’d started with the intention of one day paying him back. Pulling out my phone, I transferred the money to each of them. Leo’s winnings were the largest. He stared at the transaction notification on his screen for a long time, his jaw tight. Finally, he hit ‘accept’ with a sharp tap. “Well, look at you, Ava Sheng. All grown up.” A little while later, I excused myself to go to the restroom. On my way back, I heard their voices from a secluded balcony down the hall. Leo and Chloe. Arguing. “You said Alex was coming! Where is he?” “Something came up. What, are you still obsessed? You’ve been chasing him for months, has he even sent you a single text?” “So what? It’s my choice!” Chloe’s voice sharpened. “And why do you still have her around? That… Ava girl. Why are you still paying for her life?” I heard Leo shift his weight. “Are you jealous?” “No! I just can’t stand women like that. Freeloaders. Living off someone else’s money like a leech. God knows how much of your money she’s spent over the years.” A pause. Then Leo’s voice, low and rough. “It was a bet, remember? I did it to piss you off. If you’d just give up on my brother and come back to me, I’d cut Ava off tomorrow. I’d never speak to her again.” The dim hallway lights blurred. I stood frozen in the shadows, my heart turning to a block of ice in my chest. I didn’t wait to hear more. I turned and walked in the opposite direction, breathing in the stale, conditioned air until the burning in my lungs subsided. When I finally returned to the private room, it was empty. I walked out of the club and into a torrential downpour. Nate was just leaving, propping up a drunk girlfriend. He’d been sick in the bathroom. He saw me and blinked. “You’re still here? Oh, right. Leo left to take Chloe home.” He looked out at the sheets of rain. “Damn. This is bad. And this place is in the middle of nowhere. I’m heading in the opposite direction, or I’d give you a lift…” He hesitated. “I can call Leo, tell him to circle back for you?” I shook my head. “Don’t bother.” Nate just sighed, giving me a sympathetic look before bundling his date into his car and speeding off. I hated myself for not driving. I pulled out my phone, trying to get an Uber, but no cars were available. I checked the map. There was a bus stop about a mile away. It was my only option. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out from under the awning and into the deluge. I hadn’t made it more than a few feet when an umbrella suddenly appeared over my head, shielding me from the rain. Then, a low, calm voice spoke from behind me. A voice that was exactly as the world described it: cold, steady, and devoid of warmth. “Ava.” 4 That night, it was Alex Fordham who drove me home. The rain hammered against the roof of his car, a relentless, deafening rhythm. Halfway there, his phone rang. He answered it, the caller ID glowing with his brother’s name. The connection was clear. I could hear every word Leo said. “Hey, man. We all took off. Don’t bother coming to the club if you’re done with your meeting.” Alex’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t mention that he had already been there, that he had seen the empty room. “You said it was urgent. You ran off before I even got there. What was so important?” “Ah, it was Chloe. You know how she is. She wanted to see you. I can’t say no to her.” A flicker of something—annoyance, maybe—crossed Alex’s face. “Is that right? You’ll give her anything she wants? Even sell out your own brother?” Leo’s laugh was careless, unbothered. “Of course.” “You know I’ve loved her since we were kids. I’d do anything for her. I’d give up anything for her.” “Besides,” Leo continued, “it’s your own damn fault for never dating anyone.” He paused, and I heard him curse under his breath. “Shit. I forgot about Ava. I gotta go, man.” Alex glanced at me for a fraction of a second. “Right,” he said into the phone, and hung up. How kind of Leo to remember me eventually. Alex said nothing. I turned my head, focusing on the distorted city lights blurring past the rain-streaked window. My phone was in my purse. The old me would have snatched it out, desperately checking to see if Leo had called, if he was worried. But tonight, I felt nothing but a profound exhaustion. I left it in my bag. The screen remained dark, the ringer silent. It occurred to me then that I’d put it on vibrate for a meeting that afternoon and never changed it back. The rest of the drive passed in silence. When we finally pulled up to my building, I felt a wave of relief. The rain was still coming down hard. He reached into the back seat and handed me an umbrella. “Thank you,” I said, my voice quiet. I reached for it, but when my fingers closed around the handle, he didn’t let go. I looked up, confused. “Mr. Fordham?” His gaze was steady, focused on me. It felt like he was seeing straight through the sophisticated shell Leo had built, all the way back to the girl in the cornfield. After a long, unnerving moment, he finally released his grip. “If you’re hurting,” he said, his voice unexpectedly gentle, “it’s okay to show it.” He paused. “And if you need help with anything, you can come to me.” He added, “I won’t tell anyone.” My heartbeat stuttered. I realized then that my hands, hidden in my lap, had been trembling ever since his brother’s phone call. I’d give up anything for her. Wasn’t that me? Wasn’t I the “anything”? I clenched my fists, trying to still them. I looked into Alex Fordham’s calm, serious eyes, and a wild, self-destructive impulse bloomed in my chest. I deliberately changed my tone, my address. “Alex,” I began, my voice a stranger to my own ears. “What if I said… I wanted to be with you?” His brow furrowed. He gave me a single, cool glance. “That,” he said flatly, “is not an option.”

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The bonus announcement. The guy at the desk next to me was about to have a coronary. “A quarter-million!” What I got was a single, gleaming number: Zero. I didn’t scream. I didn’t rage. I just quietly packed up my desk. I went home, locked the door, and tossed my phone in a drawer. I slept like the dead. The next morning, I turned it on. The sound was a physical assault. 129 missed calls. 289 text messages. The one pinned to the top was from HR. It read: The entire company is looking for you. 1 The number that broke the office was two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Greg Peterson’s shriek of joy was sharp enough to shatter glass. “Two-fifty! A cool quarter-mil!” He held the thin paper check above his head like an Olympic medal, his face a mess of triumphant wrinkles. The rest of the office swarmed him instantly, a cloud of flies drawn to the scent of money. The air thickened with a cloying web of envy and praise. “Greg, you’re the man!” “That’s a new Porsche right there.” “Drinks are on you tonight, buddy!” My cubicle, just a few feet away, was an island of silence, forgotten by the tidal wave of noise. The air around me felt cold enough to crystallize. In my hand, I held a check cut from the same stock, addressed to me, Ava Mitchell. But in the amount line, printed in stark, round, mocking figures, was a single number: 0. Next to it, a single word: None. I was the lead on Project Horizon, an initiative that had single-handedly secured the company’s strategic dominance for the next three years. Its projected profits ran into nine figures. And my reward, my year-end bonus, was nothing. The gazes that drifted my way were a toxic cocktail of pity, morbid curiosity, and thinly veiled glee. They were waiting for the show. They wanted tears, or screams, or a furious, desk-clearing rampage. They got none of it. I didn’t even raise an eyebrow. Expressionless, I folded the light, impossibly heavy piece of paper in half, then in half again, and slid it into the deepest recess of my handbag. Then, I picked up my water glass and walked toward the break room. My spine was straight. The sound of my heels on the polished concrete floor was a steady, deliberate rhythm. Not a tremor. The break room door muffled the celebration, but snippets of conversation still bled through. I heard Chloe’s voice, low and tight with a fury that was close to tears. “It’s obscene! Everyone knows Ava’s Project Horizon was the biggest win of the year! Greg Peterson is a bootlicking moron, how does he get a quarter-million? Is there any justice in this place?” Chloe. The only real friend I had here. A fresh-faced graduate who still believed hard work was its own reward. Another voice hushed her. “Keep it down! Are you trying to get fired? This came from Marcus, obviously. Ava must have pissed him off.” I filled my glass and walked out, my eyes meeting Chloe’s. They were red and swollen. She looked away, guilty, like a child caught doing something wrong. Her lips parted, but no words came out. I walked over and placed a hand gently on her shoulder. She looked up, surprised to see the ghost of a smile on my face. It was a smile that never reached my eyes, a thin, cold line drawn across my lips. My gaze told her everything she needed to know: Don’t worry. I know. This is just the beginning. Back at my desk, I began to pack. My movements were calm and methodical, like a ritual. Files were archived, data encrypted, personal items placed one by one into a cardboard box. The office had grown quiet. The only sound was the soft rustle of my packing. Greg, apparently annoyed that my silent dignity was dampening his moment, sauntered over, his face a smug mask of counterfeit sympathy. “Hey, Ava,” he sighed, the glee barely concealed in his eyes. “Tough break, huh? Look, the market’s tight, company’s under pressure… someone had to take one for the team. Don’t take it personally. Just work harder next year.” I paused. Slowly, I lifted my head and met his gaze. My eyes were still. Still as a deep, frozen lake. There was no anger, no sorrow. Just a pure, unvarnished coldness that seemed to suck the air out of the space between us. He flinched. The fake smile on his face froze and then crumbled. I said nothing. I just held his gaze until he squirmed, muttered something, and shuffled away. I packed the last file and shut down my computer. The screen went dark, reflecting my own placid, unreadable face. Carrying my box, I was the last to leave the main floor. Behind me, I could feel the weight of dozens of eyes, could hear the first whispers bloom in the silence. I didn’t look back. I was walking out of this office and into a storm. But first, I needed to sleep. 2 I didn’t turn on the lights when I got home. The apartment was a patchwork of shadow and neon glow from the city outside, so quiet I could hear the dust settle. I left the cardboard box—the container of my professional dignity—by the door and took out my phone. Without hesitating, I pulled open the bottom drawer of my desk, the one that was stiff with disuse, and tossed the phone inside. I shut it with a definitive click, sealing away a world of noise and poison. A scalding hot shower steamed up the bathroom until my reflection in the mirror was a blurry ghost. I let the water cascade over me, as if it could wash away the grime of the corporate world, the stain of public humiliation, the sting of being betrayed by the director I’d trusted. Emotion is the most useless currency in the world, especially when you’re already at the poker table. I dried off, went to the kitchen, and made myself a simple bowl of broth with a handful of noodles. No meat, no eggs, just a few greens and a pinch of salt. I sat in the dark living room and ate every last bite in silence. The warmth settled in my stomach, and the fog in my mind began to clear. I felt no anger. Only a crystalline, ice-cold clarity. A zero-dollar bonus wasn’t an oversight. It was a declaration of war from Marcus Cole, my smiling viper of a boss. It was a calculated act of humiliation, designed to drive me out. Why? Project Horizon. The project I had built from scratch. It had an immense technological barrier to entry and a limitless market, making it the company’s lifeblood for the foreseeable future. Whose slice of the pie had it threatened? Or rather, who had decided to claim it as their own? Marcus was a corporate parasite who had climbed the ladder on nepotism and back-room deals. He didn’t have the technical skill to touch my work, but he had the greed. Greg Peterson, the fool who got the quarter-million, was just a pawn. A loud, obnoxious piece of bait meant to make me angry, to make me lash out and give them a reason to fire me for cause. There was a bigger game being played. And I, Ava Mitchell, was the obstacle that had to be removed. They wanted me gone because I knew Horizon too well. I knew every line of code, every hidden backdoor. They were afraid of me. So, the plan was simple: humiliate me with the zero-dollar bonus. Provoke me. Hope I’d cause a scene, allowing them to fire me for “disrupting the workplace.” If I didn’t, they still won—an employee they’d labeled as worthless could be discarded at any time. It was a brilliant plan. Except they made one critical miscalculation. I, Ava Mitchell, have never been one for shouting matches. I believe that actions are the only language that matters. And results are the only form of justice. Before bed, I stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the sprawling galaxy of lights below. Every light was a story, perhaps a soul like mine, fighting to survive in the corporate jungle. But tonight, I wouldn’t be one of them. I would be the storm. I slipped into bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. My body and mind needed a complete reset, a full charge for the battle that was coming. In my subconscious, lines of code, encrypted files, and the two-faced smiles of my colleagues flashed and sorted themselves, analyzed and filed away. The next morning, the first ray of sunlight cut through a gap in the curtains and landed precisely on my face. I opened my eyes, stretched, and felt a surge of power course through me. It was the exhilarating calm of a soldier heading into a war she knew she was going to win. I got up and pulled open the dusty drawer. The moment I picked up my phone and pressed the power button, I knew. The show was about to begin. 3 The moment the screen lit up, the world came rushing in. BZZZZZZZZT. The vibration was a physical assault, a relentless, high-pitched scream that threatened to deafen me. On the screen, the red notification badges for missed calls and messages climbed at a dizzying speed. They finally stopped at a breathtaking combination: 129 missed calls. 289 text messages. I narrowed my eyes and swiped to unlock. The message pinned to the top was from the Head of HR, a woman whose communication was usually limited to corporate platitudes and layoff announcements. Her text was a thinly veiled command: [Ava, call me immediately. The entire company is looking for you.] The entire company? A cold smile touched my lips. Yesterday, I was the invisible woman, the disposable employee they could humiliate and discard. Overnight, I’d become the most wanted person at OmniCorp? Their reaction was faster, more explosive than I could have hoped. I scrolled through the messages. A third of them were from Chloe. [Ava, are you okay? Just text me back!] [Please don’t do anything crazy! That place isn’t worth it!] [SOMETHING IS WRONG! It’s Project Horizon! CALL ME! NOW!!] Her panic escalated with every message. Greg Peterson’s texts were an interesting progression as well. [Ava, don’t take the bonus thing to heart. Marcus had his reasons.] [Where are you? Get back to the office ASAP! It’s an emergency!] [Ava, where the HELL are you?! Get your ass back here!] From phony sympathy to frantic anxiety, and finally, to pure, unfiltered rage. He seemed terrified that I had vanished. But the most telling communications were from Marcus Cole himself. He had called over twenty times from his personal cell. His texts were a masterclass in manipulation. [Ava, I know you’re upset, but this isn’t the time for drama. The company needs you.] [Return to the office immediately. That’s an order.] [If you do not show up, there will be consequences.] Threats, bribes, empty promises—he was running through his entire playbook. Too bad for him, I was no longer a piece on his board. I rose from the desk, ignoring the urge to call anyone back. I walked to the bathroom, went through my morning routine, and even put on a hydrating face mask. Then, I opened my closet to select my armor for the day. I chose a tailored black suit, a silk shell, and a pair of four-inch stiletto heels. I didn’t look like a disgraced employee. I looked like a queen about to stage a corporate takeover. I brewed the strongest black coffee I could, no cream, no sugar. The bitter liquid sharpened my focus. I opened my laptop, connected to my private network, and began scanning OmniCorp’s internal servers and the latest industry news. I knew that every minute I delayed, their panic would multiply tenfold. The power had shifted. The moment I’d turned off my phone, the roles in their little hunting game had been reversed. I, Ava Mitchell, was no longer the prey. I was the hunter. 4 Halfway through my coffee, I called Chloe. She answered on the first ring. “Ava! Oh my god, you finally answered!” Her voice was thick with tears, the words tumbling out in a rush. “You scared me to death! I thought you…” “I’m fine,” I cut her off, my voice perfectly level. “Tell me what’s happening. The facts.” My calmness seemed to ground her. She took a shaky breath. “It’s Horizon… the source code for Project Horizon. It’s been stolen.” My pupils contracted almost imperceptibly. There it is. Just as I predicted. Project Horizon. My masterpiece, the pinnacle of my career, and the most powerful landmine I’d ever planted. Chloe’s voice was breaking as she continued. “Last night… right after the bonus meeting, security detected a remote breach. All of Horizon’s core code was copied and extracted. And the backups… they were all wiped out by some kind of custom virus. There’s nothing left, Ava!” “The whole company is in chaos. The tech department is losing its mind. I heard our stock is already plummeting in pre-market trading!” She choked back a sob. “And Marcus… in the emergency meeting, he said your name. He said you did it out of revenge. He’s already called the police. He’s naming you as the prime suspect in a major corporate espionage case.” Listening to her, I felt a cold, sharp laugh rise in my chest. What a beautifully vicious move. Frame me for revenge by withholding my bonus, creating the perfect motive. Then, when the code goes missing, I, the one person with both motive and means, become the perfect scapegoat. He wasn’t just trying to fire me. He was trying to bury me. “Don’t panic,” I told Chloe, my voice steady. “Give me more details. What was the exact time of the breach? What did security’s initial report say? What’s the executive response?” “The breach was around 10 p.m. last night. Security said it was a top-tier hacker, clean work, almost no trace. The board is furious. Mr. Sterling flew back from Europe overnight. He’s in the emergency meeting right now.” Mr. Sterling? Arthur Sterling, one of the company’s founders. A brilliant, old-school engineer with actual vision. His presence changed the equation. Chloe added one more thing. “And Ava… last night… I saw Greg Peterson. He was still at his desk when I left, acting really weird. This morning he looks like hell. Dark circles under his eyes, the whole nine yards.” I hung up, my fingers already flying across the keyboard. I bypassed the standard network protocols and used a private security tunnel I’d built years ago, slipping into the company’s backend server logs undetected. The records here were far more complete than anything the security team could see. And there it was. Buried deep in the log files were several entries that had been deliberately overwritten and deleted. I spent a few minutes reconstructing the fragmented data. An unfamiliar IP address had logged in for a brief period at 10:07 p.m. last night. But the pattern of the IP… I knew it instantly. It wasn’t an external hacker. It was an internal, temporary network port, one set up to facilitate data transfers with specific third-party vendors. Fewer than five people had access to that port. And one of them was Marcus Cole. The final pieces clicked into place. This wasn’t a hack. It was an inside job, a carefully staged heist. And I was the sacrifice they planned to offer up. I shut my laptop and stood, looking at my reflection in the dark screen. Sharp eyes, immaculate makeup, a warrior’s calm. It was time. Time to go meet my executioners.

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Katherine was drunk when she got home, pushing me down on the bed and kissing me with an urgency I hadn’t felt from her in years. Anything resembling a sex life between us had died a long time ago. Ever since the company went public, she was barely ever home. So this sudden heat caught me off guard, and I let myself get lost in it. But just as I was about to lose control, she pulled me in tight, her voice a desperate whisper against my ear, “Oh, Caleb…” A bomb went off in my head. For her, the fire was instantly out. She rolled off me, her back to me as she sat on the edge of the bed. The bedroom was dark, the only light a pale wash from the streetlamp outside. Katherine smoked a whole cigarette in silence. When she finally stubbed it out, her voice was flat and hollow in the dark. “Leo, let’s get a divorce.” “Caleb doesn’t care about my money,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion. “He just wants to make it official. I owe him that.” 1 We had been together for eleven years, from college to this cold, dark bedroom. To the outside world, Katherine was the perfect wife: a brilliant CEO, a loving partner, a dedicated mother. Before tonight, the thought of her cheating had never even crossed my mind. A heavy stone settled in my chest, making it hard to breathe. “When was the first time?” I asked, my voice a dry rasp. Moonlight, as cold as frost, sliced through the blinds and fell across her bare shoulders. She flinched, almost imperceptibly. “Two years ago. That business trip to Chicago.” I remembered that trip. She was there to save a massive contract, the one that would make or break the company. The pressure on her had been immense. “I was at my lowest point,” she continued, her voice still a monotone. “And Caleb just… showed up at my hotel room door. He was soaked from the rain, like this lost, pathetic puppy. He just collapsed into my arms.” I stared at the black ceiling, silent tears tracing paths down my temples and into my hair. What was I doing that night? Her mother had slipped in the shower and broken her leg. I’d gotten the call from the ER, dropped our daughter Lily at my dad’s place, and rushed to the hospital to be with her. I didn’t tell Katherine. I didn’t want to add to her stress. I even found a moment between talking to doctors to send her a text. Don’t lose hope, babe. You’ve got this. I believe in you. No matter what happens, Lily and I are always here for you. We can sell the house and use the money for the company if we have to. As long as the three of us are together, that’s all that matters. It was the first time she never replied. I was naive. I told myself she was exhausted, that she’d fallen asleep. But she was in another man’s bed. Tangled in his sheets. That was two years ago. Two years. Katherine had hidden it so well. Just last month, we celebrated our seventh wedding anniversary. In front of our entire family, she handed me a bouquet of roses and a gold watch. “Honey, thank you for taking care of everything at home all these years,” she’d said, her voice warm. “Happy anniversary.” She had pulled Lily and me into a hug. My dad insisted on taking a picture of the three of us. That photo is still pinned to the top of my social media profile. The silence in the room was crushing, a tide of pressure building around me. “Katherine,” I said, the words tasting like ash. “If you weren’t a CEO with a nine-figure net worth, would that boy still be with you?” She didn’t answer right away. Outside, the wind picked up, and a flash of lightning briefly illuminated the room. In that stark, momentary light, her face was a mask. “Leo, I know you love me,” she finally said, her tone unnervingly calm. “But Caleb isn’t like that. He’s not after money. He’s been with me for two years with no titles, no promises. He’s been through so much shame for me. I can’t betray his trust.” So you’ll betray mine instead? Back when we started in San Francisco, we were so broke we crammed ourselves into a basement studio apartment, less than two hundred square feet. We lived there for three years. No heat in the winter, no AC in the suffocating summer. I’d wake up some nights with cockroaches crawling on my arm. I thought our love could conquer anything. Turns out, it just fizzles out. “Did you forget, Katherine?” My voice cracked. “When we got married, you cried and swore you’d love me for the rest of your life.” She paused, considering my words as if they were a line item in a budget. “We were young, Leo,” she said, a weary sigh in her voice. “We mistook the thrill of being young and struggling together for love.” “We’re thirty now.” “And after meeting Caleb, I finally understand what real love feels like.” I thought I would scream. I thought I would lunge across the bed, grab her by the collar, and shake the lies out of her. Instead, a strange, horrifying calm washed over me. Tears burned in my eyes, but I let out a choked, bitter laugh. On the nightstand, Katherine’s phone lit up, the screen a harsh glare in the darkness. The silence was so absolute that I could hear the tinny, cloying voice from the speaker. “I know I’m not supposed to call when you’re home, Kat… but there’s a thunderstorm, and I’m really, really scared…” The pressure in my chest was suffocating me. Katherine’s voice, however, softened into a gentle coo. “It’s okay, baby. I just told him.” “You just pull the covers up tight and wait for me. I’m on my way.” 2 It was two in the morning. I was sitting in Katherine’s home office. She always backed up her chat histories, terrified of losing a single message from an important client. Luckily, her laptop password hadn’t changed. It was still Lily’s birthday. I scrolled through her messages with Caleb. 26,893 of them. Last week: Caleb: Babe, I made dinner tonight! It’s my first time ever cooking, I learned just for you. You have to tell me I’m a good boy. Katherine: You don’t have to do things like that to please me, Caleb. You’re perfect just the way you are. Katherine: I love you for your innocence, for that beautiful soul. Caleb sent a string of crying emojis. Caleb: omg Kat you’re going to spoil me. Katherine: My man, my rules. I’ll spoil you all I want. My hand trembled as I scrolled further back. Last month. The day of our seventh wedding anniversary. She had slept with him that afternoon. She was texting him on the drive home to our family dinner. Katherine: It still looks a little red. Make sure you put some more cream on it tonight, okay? Be good. Caleb sent the blushing emoji. Caleb: I know, you worry too much. Caleb: It’s your fault anyway. I’m never letting you do that again. Caleb: But Kat… can you promise me you won’t let him touch you? The thought of you kissing him… it literally feels like my heart is breaking. Katherine: Little fool. After eight rounds with you this afternoon? I’m not made of steel. I kept scrolling, my stomach churning. Finally, I found it. The first messages after they slept together, two years ago. He wasn’t calling her Kat back then. Caleb: Ms. Reyes, you don’t have to feel responsible for last night. I wanted it to happen. Caleb: I know you were just drunk and upset. I get it. Just having that one night with you was more than enough for me. Caleb: But I wanted you to know. You were my first. I could see Katherine’s conflict in the timestamps. She didn’t reply until the dead of night. Katherine: The wine had nothing to do with it. Katherine: I kissed you because I couldn’t stop myself. I felt sick. I couldn’t read anymore. I backed up their entire chat history to a thumb drive. Then I hugged myself, curling into a ball in her expensive leather office chair, a strangled sob caught in my throat. I wanted to howl, but I forced it down, terrified of waking Lily in the next room. My heart felt like it was being shredded by a million tiny blades. For so many years, Katherine had been the center of my universe. The thought of cutting her out, just like that… it was an agony I couldn’t have imagined. Once the initial wave of grief passed, a cold calm took its place. I called my mother in London. It was evening there, eight hours behind us. “Mom,” I said, my voice steady. “Katherine is cheating on me. We’re getting a divorce.” “I need you to pull your investment from her company.”

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After falling for a guy with nothing to his name, I hid the fact that I was an heiress. I wanted to build a life with him, starting from the ground up, working my way up from the bottom right beside him. But on the eve of our wedding, I walked in on him with his boss. “That woman, Jenna… she’s plain and broke. She’s not worth a single hair on your head, Melissa.” “I’m counting on you to help me climb the ladder.” A sharp pain bloomed in my palm as my nails dug into my skin, the only thing stopping me from throwing the door open and confronting them. I tore the ten-million-dollar contract in my hands to shreds, then sent a text to my father. “I’m coming home. I’ll do the merger.” 1 The lights in our small walk-up apartment were still on. When Caleb pushed the door open, he found me sitting on the sofa. “Jenna? You’re still up?” He slipped off his jacket, his voice gentle, as if nothing was wrong. As if the world hadn’t just shattered. I looked up, my eyes meeting his. There, on the collar of his shirt, was a tell-tale crimson stain. A smear of lipstick. “Working late?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. He nodded, tossing his jacket onto the sofa and moving in to hug me. “Yeah, project’s on a tight deadline. I’m exhausted.” The cloying, expensive perfume I knew belonged to Melissa Vance clung to him, and a wave of nausea washed over me. I shifted away, forcing a brittle smile. “I’m a little tired myself.” I hesitated, then decided to give him one last chance. A final test. “Caleb, what do you think of me?” His expression froze for a fraction of a second before he stretched his lips into a stiff smile. “You’re the best person in the world, of course. You never looked down on me for being poor. You’ve always taken care of me.” My fingertips trembled. I scoffed silently. “Is that all?” His gaze flickered between me and the clock on the wall, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “Of course not. I love you more than anything.” “And what if someone better came along?” I pressed, my voice unyielding. “Someone with money? Someone who could give you a future?” “Did you hear some rumor?” he asked, a hint of panic in his voice. “We’re about to get married, Jenna. I would never want anyone else.” I stared at him, my eyes brimming with a mockery he couldn’t see. “You’re sure?” “Of course!” He grabbed my hand. His palm was damp, but his tone was painfully sincere. “I’ve wanted to marry you for so long. I just couldn’t afford it before.” He was always like this—a master of feigned sincerity. But beneath the surface… ha. I pulled my hand away and stood up, my voice turning to ice. “What about Melissa Vance?” The smile vanished from his face. “What about her?” “Nothing,” I said, the single word heavy with all my disappointment. “Get some sleep.” I gave him a chance. He didn’t take it. So be it. 2 The next morning, I gathered all my documents and went straight to the office. The glass door to Human Resources reflected the sterile, fluorescent glow of the office. When I pushed it open, Melissa Vance was leaning against a desk, her long, crimson nails tapping against a file. She was poured into a tight black dress, the gold senior executive pin on her lapel catching the light. “Well, well. If it isn’t our star assistant, Jenna,” she drawled, putting a venomous emphasis on the word assistant. “You’re in early. Here to quit?” The HR manager, a kind older woman named Kate, stood awkwardly to the side, looking like she wanted to say something but couldn’t. I calmly placed my resignation letter on the desk. “As a matter of fact, yes. I’d like it processed as soon as possible.” Melissa’s hand shot out, pressing down on the paper. “What’s the rush?” She leaned closer, her perfume making my temples throb. “You know, Caleb was at my place last night. We were ‘working’ very late.” She ran a suggestive finger over a faint red mark on her neck, her voice dripping with provocation. “Young men have so much… stamina.” My nails dug deeper into my palm. Just then, the door swung open and Caleb rushed in, a stack of files in his arms. “Melissa, here are the reports you—” His voice died in his throat. Three pairs of eyes met in the suffocating silence. Caleb’s tie was crooked, and another faint lipstick smear stained his collar. The sight of me sent a jolt of panic across his face. “Jenna? What are you doing here?” “Just taking care of some business with Ms. Vance,” I said, my voice as sharp as broken glass. “After all, you seem to enjoy how she… takes care of business, don’t you?” Melissa let out a short, sharp laugh and patted Caleb’s shoulder intimately. “Your girlfriend is a real character.” She turned back to me, her lips curling into a sneer. “Jenna, you’re just a broke kid with a useless degree. Nobody’s going to hire you after you leave here. Isn’t that right, our future director?” Caleb just stood there, his lips moving silently. Finally, he lowered his head and started shuffling the perfectly organized stack of papers. His silence was more damning than any confession. I snatched my signed departure form. As I turned to leave, I gave Caleb one last look. “You know, I was packing up my things yesterday and found that necklace you gave me.” His head shot up. I smiled, a cold, cutting thing. “It’s a fake.” Walking out of the building, the sky was a heavy, oppressive gray. I took a deep breath and dialed my father’s number. “Dad, I quit. I’ll be home tomorrow.” On the other end, I could hear the relief in his voice. “Good. Just come home.” I hung up and glanced back at the office tower where I’d wasted three years of my life. My heart was a block of ice. Back in the apartment, the fluorescent lights buzzed, casting a sickly white glow. Caleb followed me in as I shoved the last of my sweaters into a suitcase. “Jenna, don’t be like this!” he pleaded, grabbing my wrist. There was real fear in his voice now. “There’s nothing going on between me and Melissa! She’s just… you know, very forward.” I wrenched my arm free and pulled a velvet box from a drawer. Inside lay the “gold” necklace he’d supposedly saved up three months’ salary to buy. I threw it into the trash can. The clatter of cheap metal was deafening. “Forward enough to leave hickeys on your neck? Forward enough that you’ve worn the same shirt for three days straight?” I pointed to the laundry rack on the balcony, closing my eyes against the sting of tears. “Caleb, every single day when I washed your shirt, all I could smell was her perfume!” The color drained from his face. “Let me explain.” “Explain what?” I shot back, my voice dripping with scorn. “Explain how you told her in the conference room that I was plain and poor? Or explain how you threw away your dignity for a promotion?” A sudden downpour started outside, raindrops lashing against the window like a thousand tiny slaps. Caleb sank onto the edge of the bed, defeated. “I know I’m not good enough for you,” he mumbled, his voice a mix of sorrow and something uglier—a calculated threat. “But this promotion is everything to me. How am I supposed to marry you without it?” It felt like ants were crawling under my skin. I zipped up my suitcase. The sound of the metal teeth locking together felt like an ending. “Believe whatever you want.” With that, I turned and walked to the door. “Where are you going?” he scrambled up, blocking my way. “Business trip,” I lied, my heart cold. “Last-minute thing. I’ll be gone a week.” He opened his mouth, then closed it, letting out a heavy sigh. “Okay. Be safe. Come back soon.” I didn’t answer. I just pulled my suitcase behind me and walked out of that apartment, and out of that life, for good. 3 The day after I returned home, my father arranged for me to meet my intended. In the sun-drenched parlor of the Sinclair Estate, the front doors swung open, and the Earl Grey tea I was sipping caught in my throat. The man standing there was impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, a wry smile playing on his lips. It was my childhood rival, the one person I could never stand. “Julian Croft! What are you doing here?” I slammed my cup down, the clatter startling a black cat outside the window. “Disappointed to see me?” Julian asked, slowly polishing his gold-rimmed glasses. His voice was as infuriating as I remembered. “I heard the great Jenna Sinclair ran away from home for love. I came back just to see the show.” The lenses of his glasses caught the light, and his eyes curved into a dangerous arc. “I didn’t expect to find a drowned rat.” I hurled a silk cushion at him, my face flushing with anger. “You’re the rat!” He caught it effortlessly, his playful demeanor suddenly vanishing. “I heard the guy was sleeping with his boss.” When I didn’t answer, he let out a short, harsh laugh. “I told you. The first thing a man like that throws away when he gets a taste of money is his conscience.” “What do you know!” I shot up from my seat, ready to defend… what? I didn’t even know anymore. “At least he—” “At least he what?” Julian stood too, his tall frame casting a shadow over me. “Cooked you soup when you had a cold? Made you breakfast?” He reached out, his fingers closing around my chin, forcing me to meet his searching gaze. “Jenna, when did you get so cheap?” I slapped his hand away, but his next words stopped me cold. “So, what do you say? Want to marry me?” I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “Why not?” he pressed. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I could see my father and his, old Mr. Croft, chatting amiably in the garden. I stared at the diamond tie pin on Julian’s tie and crossed my arms. “I want the wedding of the century. I want every media outlet there.” He raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. “And?” I met his gaze, my voice steady and cold as steel. “And on my wedding day, I want Caleb to watch, in person, as Melissa Vance’s company goes bankrupt.” Julian threw his head back and laughed, a rich, genuine sound that filled the room. He reached out and ruffled my hair. “Now that’s the Jenna Sinclair I know.” 4 The wedding was set for the following week, and it was an affair of breathtaking extravagance. I stood in the dressing room, my hands clammy in the couture gown. Julian pushed the door open and saw my nerves. “Having second thoughts?” he teased. I shot him a glare. “Shut up.” He chuckled, stepping forward to adjust my veil. “Relax. I’m here. No one will dare laugh at you.” I paused, and for a fleeting moment, I thought that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t so bad after all. On the guest registry, Caleb’s name was crammed into a corner. As Melissa’s “plus-one,” he’d been seated at an extra table in the very back. I could see him fawning over her, pouring champagne, his eyes darting hungrily toward the lavish gift tables. Then, the wedding march began. As I walked down the aisle on my father’s arm, I saw Caleb’s back go rigid out of the corner of my eye. The champagne flute in his hand tipped, spilling red wine all over Melissa’s dress. “What the hell are you doing?” Her shriek turned a few heads. But Caleb didn’t hear her. He was staring, transfixed, at the diamond-encrusted belt on my wedding gown. The one he’d once said he could never afford in a thousand lifetimes. “And now, the bride and groom will exchange rings,” the officiant announced. Julian deliberately lifted my left hand high, letting the ten-carat pink diamond catch the spotlights and explode with light. “You may now kiss your bride.” The second the words were spoken, Julian lifted my veil and his lips met mine. The hall erupted in applause. In my peripheral vision, I saw Caleb stumble forward, trying to push through the crowd, only to be blocked by security. “Jenna!” he cried out, his voice raw with anguish. The orchestra swelled, perfectly timed, drowning him out. Julian wrapped an arm around my waist, leaning in to whisper in my ear, “Care for a bit more drama?” Before I could answer, he turned back to the microphone. “Thank you all for coming. We’d especially like to thank my wife’s former colleagues for joining us.” The spotlight operator took the cue, swinging the beam directly onto Caleb’s pale, horrified face. He nervously clutched the lapels of his cheap suit, his jaw tight with rage. “Jenna, how could you marry someone else? Was it just for the money?!” Julian let out a cold laugh, his voice laced with contempt. “Money? Mr. Evans, I think you’re confusing my wife with yourself.” He paused for effect. “You see, you seem to be under the impression that you were dating a simple assistant.” The spotlight seemed to burn brighter. “My wife… is Jenna Sinclair. Heiress to the Sinclair Corporation.”

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On our wedding day, en route to the hotel, my fiancé Bryan Croft, a crisis negotiator, slammed the limo’s brakes for a woman about to jump off a bridge. I grabbed his arm. “It’s our wedding day. You are not going.” He gave me a placating smile. “A life is on the line. I can’t just stand by.” He was out of the car before finishing. My face turned to ice. “If you save her, we are canceling the wedding.” He stared in disbelief. “Elara, you’re the kindest person I know. How can you say something so cruel?” My gaze drifted to the woman’s slightly swollen belly. My voice was unwavering. “Save her, or marry me. You can’t have both.” 1 The sudden stop of the lead limo caused a chain reaction, and the entire wedding procession ground to a halt behind us. Family and friends began to spill out of the cars, confused. “What’s going on? Why have we stopped?” Bryan’s expression darkened. “That woman on the railing… I think she’s going to jump.” He gestured vaguely toward the bridge. “I want to help, but Elara won’t let me. She’s threatening to call off the wedding.” A collective gasp went through the small crowd. All eyes followed his gesture. The woman on the railing had noticed the commotion. She turned, her eyes red-rimmed with tears, and her hand instinctively went to her stomach. My maid of honor, Krista, tried to smooth things over. “Bryan, maybe you should just get back in the car with Elara. Someone else can help her.” My best friend since childhood pulled out her phone, scowling. “Seriously, this isn’t that complicated. You see something like this, you call 911.” She started dialing as she walked toward the bridge. She’d only taken two steps when the woman in white scrambled to her feet, her voice a panicked shriek. “Don’t call the police! And don’t come any closer! One more step and I’ll jump!” The wind coming off the river was strong, whipping her dress around her legs. Standing, she looked fragile, her whole body trembling against the force of the gusts. The sight seemed to flip a switch in Bryan. He shot me a look of pure exasperation and strode forward, grabbing Krista’s arm. His voice was sharp, professional. “Don’t go any further. You’ll agitate her.” I lifted the heavy skirt of my wedding gown and stepped out of the limo, walking deliberately until I stood directly in his path. “So you’ve made your choice, then? You’re going to save her.” Bryan looked down at me, his patience clearly wearing thin. Still, he took my hand, his voice a low plea. “Elara, please, just try to understand. This is what I do. I’m a negotiator. How can I see this and just walk away? Is our wedding really more important than a human life?” He glanced back at the woman on the railing as he said it. His words seemed to sway our guests. “Elara, honey, he has a point. It won’t take long.” “That’s right, dear. To save a life is a great blessing.” “Just let him talk to the poor girl. Look, I think she’s pregnant. She must be in a terrible state.” As they all murmured their support for him, my eyes never left his. When they fell silent, I spoke, my voice dangerously quiet. “Bryan. Answer my question.” His jaw tightened. For a moment, he seemed to be wrestling with himself. Then, he let go of my hand and stepped past me. He stopped a few feet away, his expression softening as he turned his focus entirely to the woman on the bridge. “We won’t come any closer,” he said, his voice calm and soothing. “Just take a breath. Don’t panic.” The woman stared at him, her eyes wide. As his words washed over her, a fresh wave of tears broke free and streamed down her cheeks. “Stay away from me! All of you…” It was the same demand, but her voice had lost its edge, cracking with a sorrow that sounded almost like a plea. Bryan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. He took a small, careful step forward. “Okay, we’ll stay back,” he cooed. “Just calm down… calm down…” The woman’s frantic energy did seem to recede, but her tears fell faster. Seeing this, I reached into my clutch and pulled out my phone. “Hi, Mom. Are you at the hotel yet? Good. I need you to tell the guests the wedding is off.” 2 A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers. Until that moment, they had probably all thought my threat was just an empty, emotional outburst from a stressed-out bride. My actually making the call proved them wrong. Bryan, who had been laser-focused on the woman, froze. He whipped his head around to look at me. “Elara?” I held the phone in one hand and the hem of my dress in the other, my face an unreadable mask. “What is it?” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Do you have to be so unreasonable?” I took a step back. “If this is unreasonable to you, then so be it. But it’s done. I’ve already told my parents to cancel.” I offered him a thin, humorless smile. “You’re free now, Bryan. You can go be the hero.” Just then, the woman on the railing wiped her eyes. Her face was ashen, her voice a raw, broken whisper. “I’m sorry… It’s all my fault that you’re fighting.” She looked at me, her eyes begging. “Please, miss, don’t fight with your husband. You should go. Go get married. They say you should never come between a man and his wife… If I ruined your wedding, I… I couldn’t live with myself…” Her voice broke, and the tears started anew, like pearls spilling from a broken string. She looked down, gently stroking her swollen belly. “My life is worthless anyway. No one’s ever cared about me.” At that, Bryan’s brow furrowed in concern. He edged another cautious step closer. “Don’t say that,” he said, his voice softening into the gentle, persuasive tone of his profession. “Someone in this world loves you. You can’t give up on yourself.” His voice grew even more tender. “You can’t be this pessimistic. You can’t just throw your life away.” Bystanders who had gathered began to chime in. “Yeah, kid, you’re too young for this. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.” Meanwhile, our family and friends were whispering amongst themselves. “I don’t know who’s right or wrong here.” “A wedding is once in a lifetime, but I think Bryan’s doing the right thing.” “I agree. Elara is being a little too selfish right now.” Bryan let out a heavy sigh. “Everyone, please, just be quiet for a minute.” He looked at me again. “Elara, this isn’t you. What is going on today? This woman is clearly at the end of her rope. Are we really just going to watch her jump?” I stared back at him, my gaze unwavering. “Bryan, don’t you know exactly why I’m acting this way?” Before he could answer, his best man, Leo, stepped forward. “Elara, maybe the rest of us don’t know what’s going on, but I was in the front seat. I saw the whole thing. You’ve been making a scene from the very beginning. All Bryan wants to do is help someone. What’s so wrong with that?” I glanced at the now-silent Bryan and let out a cold laugh. “You’re right. He’s a saint. A good Samaritan. And I’m a petty, vicious shrew. We’re clearly not meant to be.” “So I’m calling it off. Now he can go be the hero without any distractions. What’s the problem?” I shifted my gaze to the crying woman on the railing. “Besides, if she really wanted to die, she wouldn’t have been sitting there for so long. Don’t you think she’s being a little dramatic?” My words hit her like a physical blow. The last bit of color drained from her face. She bit her lip, her sobs turning into ragged gasps. “Fine! Fine… I’ll die. I’ll just die…” She gave Bryan one last, long, meaningful look, then turned without another moment’s hesitation. She clenched her fists and prepared to leap into the churning water below. “Don’t!” 3 The word was torn from Bryan’s throat, a raw, desperate shout. He lunged toward the railing, his hand outstretched, but he was too late. The woman’s body plummeted into the river, where she began to thrash in the cold, dark water. Without a second thought, Bryan shrugged off his tuxedo jacket and dove in after her. I remained on the bridge, watching the scene unfold with an unnerving calm, as if the man who had just risked his life wasn’t the man I was supposed to marry. If anyone had been on my side before, my last comment had obliterated that support. I was now the villain of the story. The crowd of onlookers turned on me, their whispers turning into outright accusations. Someone shoved a phone in my face, the camera recording. Another person had started a live stream. “You won’t believe the ice queen I’m seeing right now!” the streamer narrated excitedly. “This woman is beautiful, but she’s pure evil. Her husband wanted to save a suicidal woman, and she forbid him! Then she taunted the poor girl until she jumped! She’s basically a murderer!” A chorus of agreement rose from the crowd. “That’s right! She’s a killer!” “Threatening to cancel the wedding… a good man like that doesn’t deserve a monster like her!” “He’d be miserable if he married that witch!” I ignored them all. The river was frigid, but Bryan was a strong swimmer. He reached the woman quickly and pulled her back to the bank. They were both soaked and shivering, a pathetic sight. Her white dress was now transparent, and Bryan, ever the gentleman, immediately draped his jacket over her shoulders. “Here, I’ll take you to the hospital.” He didn’t even look at me. He put his arm around the woman and started to lead her toward the wedding limo. It was only then that I moved, stepping in front of them. “Wait.” Bryan, who had been struggling to control his temper, finally snapped. His face was dark with rage. “Elara, you already pushed her to this. What more do you want?” The last few words were practically a roar. In the year and a half we’d been together, I had never seen him lose control like this. I glanced at the woman huddled under his arm. “Relax. I’m not here to stop your heroic rescue. You can take her to the hospital. But first, you’re coming to the hotel with me.” Bryan’s jaw was a hard line. “Elara, you’ve gone too far.” The crowd’s jeers grew louder. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Was she raised by wolves?” I turned to the most vocal of the hecklers and pointed to the wedding videographer standing behind me. “Just so you know, my camera crew is recording every word you say. If you want to get sued for slander, please, keep talking.” That shut them up. I turned back to Bryan. “The wedding is off. You will come with me to the hotel and we will finalize the dissolution of this arrangement, right now.” This time, even my best friend looked at me with confusion. “Elara, are you sure…?” “Don’t try to talk me out of it. This is not up for discussion.” In the end, he came with me. When we arrived at the hotel, it was clear my parents hadn’t had a chance to make the announcement. The grand ballroom was still filled with hundreds of guests. I walked straight to the stage, my dress trailing behind me, and took the microphone. “Since everyone is here,” I announced, my voice ringing through the silent room, “I won’t waste any time. The wedding between Bryan Croft and myself is officially canceled.” “And since you are all here as our witnesses, we will handle the logistics of our separation right now. We will be returning all gifts, dowries, and family offerings on the spot.” A stunned silence fell over the massive room. Our parents rushed toward the stage. “Elara, what on earth is going on?” A few relatives who had been at the bridge began to whisper a heavily embellished version of the story, and a new wave of condemnation washed over me. I even noticed the live-streamers from the bridge had followed us, their phones still held high. “She threatened me,” one of them said smugly to her phone’s camera. “But I’m not scared. I’m going to make sure this woman is the most hated person in the country by tonight.” I ignored her and pulled out a pen and paper from my clutch, beginning to list all the financial and material items exchanged between our families. “Bryan, come and look at this. If there are no objections, sign it, and we can start the exchange.” The woman in white was still clinging to Bryan’s arm, her sobs a constant, pitiful backdrop. “I’m sorry… It’s all my fault…” Bryan’s mother, who had been pleading with me to calm down, heard the woman’s voice and her head snapped around. The moment she saw her, Mrs. Croft’s breath hitched. She stormed over to Bryan and slapped him, hard, across the face. “You… you ungrateful son! What is this madness on your wedding day?” She then turned back to me, her hands outstretched. “Elara, please…” I silently held out the list to Bryan. “Hurry up.” It was only then that he seemed to realize I was completely serious. This was not a negotiation. He looked up at me. “Elara…” Seeing him hesitate, I unlocked my phone, opened a popular social media app, and held a particular post up for him to see. “My patience is wearing thin, Bryan. And I am not a fool. Either you explain everything to our families, or I will.” His face went white as he read the screen, his lips beginning to tremble. 4 A few of the closer relatives with sharp eyes saw the screen and their expressions shifted instantly. Bryan looked like he couldn’t breathe. He finally met my gaze. “Elara, do you have to do this? We’ve been good together, haven’t we?” I clutched my phone, my heart a frozen lump in my chest. “Yes. I have to do this. After what happened today, you can’t possibly think there’s any coming back from this, can you?” He looked away, his hand slowly reaching out to take the list from me. He stared down at it, but he didn’t speak. Meanwhile, the live-streamers were still providing their running commentary. “Look at her! The evil bride is forcing the groom to annul the marriage right here, right now!” “I’m telling you, after today, no one will ever marry this woman!” “I agree! The whole country will know what a monster she is. Who would want her?” My mother stood behind me, tugging at my sleeve. “Sweetheart, you haven’t told me why you’re doing this. You know your father and I will support any decision you make, but you have to give us a reason.” I patted her hand. “Don’t worry, Mom. Just wait. You’ll understand in a minute.” As I was speaking to my mother, Mrs. Croft had finally lost her composure. She marched forward, yanked the woman in white away from her son, and began slapping her, again and again, before starting to kick and shove her. “Stella Reed, you little viper! Why can’t you just leave us alone? Is our family indebted to you and your mother from a past life? Are you two determined to haunt us until we’re all miserable?!” The woman, Stella, staggered under the blows, but she didn’t say a word, only covering her face and crying softly. At this point, even the slowest person in the room knew something was deeply wrong. The judgmental whispers died down. Even the live-streamers paused, bewildered. “Whoa… what is happening?” one of them muttered. “This is big. This is really big.” She moved closer with her phone. Bryan rushed to Stella’s defense, shielding her with his body. “Mom! Calm down!” Mrs. Croft’s face was flush with rage. “Calm down? You’re telling me to calm down? I told you, I made you promise you would break it off with this little tramp for good! You promised me! And what did you do? You brought her here, to your wedding! Are you trying to kill me?” Bryan’s face was grim. “Mom, it’s not what you think!” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I…” He opened his mouth, but no explanation came. I couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t bother, Bryan. You can’t think of a good lie. I don’t want to get involved in your family’s drama. All I want is to get this over with while our family and friends are here to witness it. Then we can go our separate ways.” Mrs. Croft tried one last time. “Elara, please, give him another chance. You’re the only daughter-in-law I will ever accept…” I looked at her with a flicker of pity. “Mrs. Croft, you are a good woman. But your son and I were not meant to be.” Our cryptic exchange only fueled the speculation in the room. “What is going on? It looks like Bryan has known this woman for a long time.” “Is she an ex-girlfriend the family doesn’t approve of?” “I think it’s more complicated than that.” Seeing Bryan still standing there in silence, I held up my phone again. “Since everyone is so curious, why don’t I clear things up?”

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My pen hovered over a ten-million-dollar contract. Across the table, Carter Sterling, the “Crown Prince of New York Real Estate,” watched me, surrounded by the press. Suddenly, the doors burst open. A little girl, his three-year-old daughter, ran in, sobbing. She pointed a trembling finger at her father. “Daddy,” she wailed, her voice piercing the silence. “Mommy’s gone bad.” A collective gasp rippled through the reporters. Carter froze, his pen still in his hand. The little girl wasn’t finished. She pointed a small, trembling finger directly at me. “And you’re still in here flirting with your canary!” My back went ramrod straight. My hand, instead of reaching for the pen, shot to my purse for my phone. What? Who’s gone bad? My God, someone call 911. Wait a second. Did she say… canary? At me? Nobody sent me the memo. And I sure as hell haven’t seen a check for any “services rendered.” … 1 Every jaw in that room, including my own, was on the floor. The reporters, sensing blood in the water, went into a feeding frenzy. Cameras swiveled, flashes erupted, capturing the three of us in a perfect, scandalous tableau: the powerful tycoon, the newly-crowned Best Actress, and the little girl who couldn’t possibly know how to lie. Carter Sterling pinched the bridge of his nose, a deep weariness settling over his handsome features. “Please, everyone,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “She’s a child. Don’t take her words seriously. Ms. Monroe and I have a professional relationship, nothing more.” But the little girl’s sobs only grew louder, more heartbreaking. “Daddy, are you leaving us? Are you leaving me and Mommy?” she cried. “Mommy’s already dead—” Seeing my thumb hovering over the 9-1-1 on my phone screen, Carter’s frown deepened. He was trapped. With a sigh that seemed to drain the life from him, he made a decision. He was going to have to take us all home to see the “bad” Mrs. Sterling for ourselves. The Sterling residence was a palatial townhouse on the Upper East Side. Carter swept through the rooms, calling for his wife, Isabelle, his voice echoing in the marble foyer. The press corps, a pack of well-dressed vultures, followed closely. I trailed behind, feeling like I’d wandered onto the wrong film set. I noticed the little girl, Lily, kept glancing nervously toward a heavy oak door at the end of the hall. “Mr. Sterling,” I said quietly. “Have you checked the master bathroom?” Recognition, or perhaps dread, flashed in his eyes. He didn’t answer, just strode to the door and threw it open. “Isabelle, how long are you going to keep this up?” he roared, his voice cracking like a whip. “Get out of the damn tub! Now!” The raw fury in his voice sent a shiver through the crowd. In an instant, they surged forward, cameras and microphones jostling for position to see into the bathroom. And there she was. Isabelle Sterling, dressed in a delicate white slip, lay motionless in a clawfoot tub filled with water the color of arterial blood. The crimson liquid stained her dress and lapped at her pale skin, creating a tableau that was both tragic and eerily beautiful. Lily started wailing beside me, a gut-wrenching, genuine cry of grief. “Mommy, don’t leave me! I’ll be good, I promise!” she sobbed. “I brought Daddy back from the bad lady, see? Please, just open your eyes!” She looked from the tub to me, her blue eyes filled with a pure, unadulterated hatred that was chilling to see in a child. Just as I was about to finally make the call to the police, Carter did something shocking. He reached into the tub and hauled Isabelle out of the water, her limp body dripping red all over the pristine white marble. “Stop it, Isabelle. Just stop,” he said, his voice flat. “There’s no smell of blood. This is that expensive red bath bomb you love so much.” A stunned silence fell over the room as the reporters slowly processed his words. “He’s right,” one of them whispered. “It doesn’t smell like anything.” “And there are no wounds on her body.” “So… why did the little girl say all that?” All eyes turned to Lily. The three-year-old’s face turned scarlet, and she stared intently at her own tiny shoes, suddenly unable to speak. Just as the silence became unbearable, Isabelle Sterling’s eyelids fluttered open. She blinked, feigning disorientation. “Carter? What… what are you doing here? What happened to me?” Carter stared down at his wife, the last ounce of patience draining from his face. “Are you done playing games, Isabelle?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “Faking your own suicide, coaching our daughter to lie for you… What was the point of all this?” The performance dropped. Isabelle’s tears vanished, replaced by a venomous glare aimed at me. “It’s because of her!” she shrieked, pointing a dripping finger in my direction. “Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on. Stella Monroe, your new little canary. The Oscar you probably bought for her…” Her voice trailed off, her implication hanging poisonously in the air. “You haven’t been home in a week, Carter. All for her.” I was speechless. I’m a glamorous actress, yes, but I built my career on talent and grit. I earned that Oscar with my own blood, sweat, and tears. But in the twisted narrative Isabelle was weaving, my greatest professional achievement was suddenly tainted, reduced to a transactional perk. Isabelle’s face crumpled again, the tears returning on cue. “I… I just missed you,” she whimpered, her voice thick with manufactured pain. “I had to do something to get you to come home…” Carter closed his eyes, looking utterly defeated. “I told you, the company has been…” He didn’t get to finish. I’d had enough. “Mrs. Sterling,” I interrupted, my voice calm but firm. “I don’t know what misconception you have about me, but Mr. Sterling and I are business partners. Your husband’s company and my career goals align. That’s why they chose me as a brand ambassador. That is all.” Isabelle collapsed against Carter’s chest, a fragile, weeping damsel. “Stella, please,” she sobbed, her voice just loud enough for every microphone to pick it up. “Please, don’t destroy my family. I love my husband so much. Our daughter needs her father.” She took a shaky breath, delivering the killing blow. “That lace teddy you ‘accidentally’ left in the sofa cushions last week… I washed it for you. It’s clean. You can have it back. Just please, give me my husband back.” 2 Her words were a grenade tossed into the room. The reporters exploded. “Ms. Sterling, what is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Sterling?” “How far has this affair gone?” “Ms. Monroe, was your Oscar win influenced by your relationship with Carter Sterling?” Isabelle buried her face in her husband’s chest, but not before flashing me a triumphant, malicious smile from the corner of her eye. My mind went blank with rage. I’ve never even met this woman before today. Why was she fabricating this elaborate, career-destroying lie? My composure finally snapped. I whipped out my phone, hit record, and aimed the camera squarely at her face. “Mrs. Sterling,” I said, my voice dangerously even. “First, this is the first time I have ever set foot in your home. Second, I am the brand ambassador for a high-end lingerie line. And third, I have never had any private contact with your husband whatsoever. This entire conversation is being recorded. For your baseless and defamatory accusations, I will be contacting the police and instructing my legal team to file a lawsuit.” For the first time, a flicker of panic crossed Isabelle’s face. Her eyes darted to Carter, her default setting when in trouble. But this time, her husband didn’t rush to her defense. Instead, he peeled her off his chest and exposed her lie. “What the hell are you doing, Isabelle?” he demanded, his voice laced with a fury I hadn’t heard before. “We’ve known each other since we were kids, a textbook love story, yet you insist on telling everyone we have an arranged marriage and that I’m destined to cheat on you. Over the years, you’ve accused my assistant, our nanny, and even our chef. I fired them all, just to give you peace of mind. I met Stella Monroe for the first time today. What is this canary nonsense you’re spewing?” Isabelle’s lower lip trembled. “Then fire her, too,” she pleaded weakly. “Replace her with a male ambassador…” A bitter, humorless laugh escaped Carter’s lips. “She’s the face of our new line of sanitary pads, Isabelle. The artists have to test the product. How, exactly, do you suggest a man does that?” Cornered and defeated, Isabelle’s eyes scanned the room, searching for a lifeline. They landed on her daughter. “I wasn’t lying!” she declared, her voice rising with renewed conviction. “Lily saw it with her own eyes. She can prove that the lingerie belonged to Stella.” She shot a look at Lily, a silent, menacing command. If you don’t back me up, you’re in for it. The little girl began to tremble, fat tears rolling down her cheeks like pearls. “Mommy, I…” She hesitated, her small body shaking with fear and conflict. Finally, she took a deep breath. “The panties…” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Mommy put them there herself. And… and she told me what to say to Daddy…” Isabelle’s face contorted with rage. But her fury wasn’t directed at her husband, who had exposed her, or her daughter, who had told the truth. It was all aimed at me. “You!” she screamed, lunging toward me before a security guard caught her arm. “What did you do to my daughter? Why would she help a manipulative slut like you instead of her own mother?” I stood my ground, my face a mask of stone. “Mrs. Sterling, for the last time, I am not your husband’s mistress, and I have no interest in your marriage.” “Enough!” Carter’s roar silenced the room. “One more word, Isabelle, and we are getting a divorce.” He had his security team escort the reporters out. As I turned to leave, finally extricating myself from this nightmare, Isabelle lunged again, grabbing my arm in a surprisingly strong grip. “You’re not going anywhere!” she hissed. “You conniving bitch, is this your endgame? Getting Carter to divorce me?” Carter looked like he had aged ten years in the last hour. “What are you talking about? Our divorce would have nothing to do with Ms. Monroe…” Before he could finish, little Lily suddenly dropped to her knees in front of me, her hands clasped together as if in prayer. “Pretty lady,” she whispered, her eyes wide and pleading. “Please… please don’t take my daddy away.” 3 I knelt, gently helping her to her feet. I smoothed down her tangled curls, my heart aching for this poor, confused child. “Honey,” I asked softly, “who told you I was going to take your daddy away?” Lily glanced nervously at her mother before quickly dropping her gaze back to the floor. That was all the answer I needed. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to worry,” I assured her, giving her a small, reassuring smile. “I would never, ever take your father away from you.” I stood up, ready to tell Carter Sterling that he could keep his endorsement deal; no amount of money was worth this circus. But he spoke first. “One million dollars added to the endorsement fee,” he said, his voice clipped and businesslike. “And Sterling Corporation will donate ten thousand feminine hygiene products to girls in underserved communities, in your name.” The words died in my throat. Really, Mr. Sterling. The money is hardly the point. But that donation… that was a masterstroke. He then knelt down to his daughter’s level. “Lily, listen to me. I will always be your daddy. No one and nothing will ever change that. You understand?” Isabelle opened her mouth to protest, but a single, withering look from her husband silenced her. She settled for glaring at me with pure, unadulterated venom. After that day, I went to great lengths to ensure Carter Sterling and I were never in the same room. While he and his team had managed to kill the story with the press, a faint, ugly rumor still clung to me within the industry. Just as the whispers were starting to fade, Isabelle went live on Instagram. She appeared on screen looking pale and haggard, her voice raspy. “Stella Monroe,” she began, her eyes staring directly into the camera. “I’m begging you. Can you please just give me my husband back?” My name, alongside Carter’s, shot to the top of the trending topics. “My daughter, Lily, is sick,” Isabelle continued, her voice breaking. “She has a terrible fever. But I can’t reach Carter. He hasn’t been home in a week.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I know you’re the one keeping him away, but Lily misses him so much. Please…” As if on cue, she turned the camera to show Lily lying on a couch, her little face flushed bright red with fever. The child was barely conscious, mumbling “Daddy… Daddy…” over and over again. It was a heart-wrenching sight, and the comments section immediately exploded with vitriol directed at me. 【Figures. The whole Hollywood scene is rotten. Stella Monroe looks like an angel but she’s just another homewrecker.】 【I knew that story wasn’t fake! She’s totally sleeping with Carter Sterling…】 The tide of online hate was overwhelming. My fans tried to defend me, but their voices were drowned out in the flood. I was about to request to join her live stream and confront her when someone else beat me to it. Carter Sterling’s exhausted face appeared in a split screen. His voice was rough with fatigue. “Isabelle, what are you doing now?” he demanded. “I told you a week ago I was on a business trip overseas. What’s wrong with Lily?” He sounded genuinely alarmed. “Why haven’t you called the family doctor? Why is she so sick? I pay him a hundred thousand dollars a month to be on call!” Suddenly, a man’s trembling voice could be heard from off-screen on Isabelle’s side. “Mr… Mr. Sterling, it’s Dr. Evans. I’m here. But Mrs. Sterling won’t let me give Lily anything for the fever…” His voice dropped lower. “Sir, she’s been making her take a cold bath every hour. She said she’d fire anyone who tried to stop her…” 4 I knew Isabelle was unhinged, but I never imagined she was capable of this. Lily was only three years old. How could a mother be so cruel? Isabelle kicked wildly in the direction of the doctor’s voice, her eyes red-rimmed and frantic. “Carter, don’t listen to him! He’s lying! She’s obviously paid him off, too!” Tears streamed down her face, splashing onto her phone. “I know you’re not really working, Carter. You’re on vacation with Stella Monroe…” My fans were spamming the comments, pointing out that I was in the middle of a film shoot in the States and posting set photos as proof, but Isabelle was either ignoring them or too far gone to care. I couldn’t take it anymore. I hit the request to join. A second later, my face appeared on the live stream. “Seriously, lady, get a grip,” I snapped, not bothering to hide my anger. “Look at me. It’s nighttime here. I’m in the middle of the damn desert. There’s nothing but sand and stars. Now look at your husband. The sun is shining so brightly on his face it’s practically blinding. How could we possibly be together? For the love of God, keep me out of your weird, twisted games. I’m begging you!” The undeniable proof was like a slap in the face. Isabelle froze, looking like a deer caught in the headlights, utterly speechless. In that moment of stunned silence, Dr. Evans seized his chance. He darted into the frame, scooped up the feverish Lily, and rushed away. Other people—staff, presumably—grabbed a struggling Isabelle, who accidentally ended the live stream in her frantic attempts to break free. Suddenly, it was just me and Carter Sterling, staring at each other from opposite sides of the world through our phone screens. He looked grim, his face an emotionless mask. It wasn’t stoicism; it was the look of a man who had simply run out of options. “Stella,” he said, his voice heavy. “I am so sorry for this. I will make sure my wife apologizes to you.” Before I could tell him to absolutely not do that, he ended the call. A week later, I was on set for a Sterling Corp commercial shoot when Carter appeared, with Isabelle in tow. “Stella, I’m sorry,” she mumbled, refusing to meet my eyes. “I shouldn’t have gotten so jealous. I shouldn’t have said those things about you and my husband in front of all those people…” She sniffled, and the waterworks began anew. “It’s just… after I had Lily, I let myself go. It’s only natural for Carter to want something new and fresh.” I stared at her, dumbfounded. Was this supposed to be an apology? I felt a surge of rage so intense I was about to leap out of my chair and give her a piece of my mind. My agent, sensing disaster, grabbed my arm under the table. “The contract is signed,” she hissed. “Breaching it now will cost you millions.” The thought of that astronomical penalty was like a bucket of ice water. I clenched my fists and forced myself to sit back down. Carter was watching his wife, a look of profound disbelief on his face, as if he was seeing her for the first time. Isabelle, oblivious, continued her masterclass in non-apologies, each word a veiled insult designed to reinforce her narrative. Carter caught my eye and silently held up one finger. A moment later, his assistant approached me and discreetly slid a script across the table. It was for the lead role in a new film by one of the most acclaimed international directors working today. My vision cleared instantly. Suddenly, Isabelle didn’t seem like a demonic succubus anymore. She was my lucky charm. My golden goose. Carter then wrapped an arm around his wife, pulling her into an embrace. “Honey, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice softer now. “I’ve been neglecting you. I’m going to clear my schedule for the next month. We’re going to find you some help. A good doctor.” I learned later that Carter and Isabelle had been college sweethearts, a genuine love story that had culminated in a fairytale wedding. But after Lily was born, Carter’s work became all-consuming. Isabelle, alone and isolated, fell deep into the world of over-the-top romance novels, the lines between fiction and her own life blurring until she couldn’t tell them apart. She was a woman suffering from severe, untreated postpartum depression. Thinking of it that way, I found it hard to stay angry at her. After that incident, I avoided Carter Sterling like the plague. If I saw him at an event, I would execute a perfect 180-degree turn and walk in the opposite direction. But even with me keeping my distance, Isabelle wouldn’t let it go. 5 She refused to see a therapist, insisting there was nothing wrong with her. So Carter, the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar corporation, started working from home to be with her. Trapped in the house, Isabelle began a new campaign, mailing photos of me and Carter from the press conference to every tabloid and gossip blog in the country, hoping someone would expose my “true identity” as his canary. But no one took the bait. The photos clearly showed a professional, social distance between us. In fact, a few of the more reputable journalists contacted me directly to warn me about her. Undeterred, Isabelle upped the ante. She sent a new batch of photos to the seediest online gossip sites—blatantly photoshopped images of me and Carter in compromising positions. Her goal was to create a scandal so massive it would force him to terminate my contract. The plan backfired spectacularly. The photos ended up in Carter’s hands before they were ever published. The paparazzi, however, had a field day capturing the fallout. Photos of Carter, his face like thunder, were splashed across every entertainment site. The accompanying articles detailed their explosive argument, with Isabelle screaming that he was protecting me. “Right now, Stella is just your canary, but soon you’ll divorce me for her!” her voice was recorded saying. “You’re going to fall in love with her, I know it!” “I love you, Carter! I don’t want to lose you!” Carter’s fury was palpable even in the grainy photos. He was seen throwing a stack of files across his study. “I have told you a thousand times, my relationship with Stella Monroe is purely professional! It is not whatever twisted fantasy you’ve cooked up in your head!” he roared back. “And sending these obviously fake AI-generated pictures to gossip sites? Are you trying to destroy my reputation or hers?” For the first time, it seemed to dawn on Isabelle that she had gone too far. Seeing the genuine rage in her husband’s eyes, her bravado crumbled. “Fine… I’ll apologize to her, okay?” she stammered. I wanted nothing to do with another one of her “apologies.” I just wanted her to leave me alone. But, of course, her next apology was as unique and horrifying as the last. I was at the ribbon-cutting ceremony for a new Sterling Corporation manufacturing plant. As I stood on the stage, scissors in hand, Isabelle suddenly burst through the crowd, dragging Lily behind her. She threw herself to the ground at my feet, a dramatic, theatrical kneel. “Ms. Monroe, I know I was wrong!” she cried out for all the news cameras to hear. “Please, I’m begging you, don’t make Carter throw my daughter and me out on the street!” I was completely bewildered. Carter rushed forward, trying to pull her to her feet. “What are you talking about?” he gritted out. “You’re my wife! When have I ever said I was kicking you out?” Isabelle ignored him, her performance solely for the audience. “Carter, I know I shouldn’t have exposed your affair with Ms. Monroe,” she sobbed. “But I’m a mother! I have to think of my child’s future! Ms. Monroe,” she said, her voice dropping to a low, menacing tone, “I will not let you destroy my family.” She looked up, her eyes like a cornered snake’s, locking onto mine. In one swift movement, she sprang to her feet, produced a small, black pill from her pocket, and shoved it into my mouth. I tried to spit it out, but she clamped her hand over my mouth, forcing me to swallow. Chaos erupted. People screamed and rushed forward to pull her off me. But before they could reach us, Isabelle popped an identical pill into her own mouth. The crowd froze, terrified of what she might do next. Lily was screaming, lost in the sea of panicked adults. Carter’s face was a mask of pure fury. “Isabelle, what did you give her? What did you do? You said you were here to apologize!” A faint, triumphant smile played on her lips as tears streamed down her face. “You wouldn’t choose between me and your canary, Carter, so I’m making the choice for you,” she said, her voice breathy. “We both took the same pill. It’s a powerful aphrodisiac, and the only antidote is… a man. It takes effect in three minutes. The cure is in your jacket pocket.” Her eyes gleamed with a crazed light. “But there’s only one dose. Who do you save, Carter?” His hand shot to his pocket, pulling out a small vial. He stared at the single pill inside, his eyes wide with horror. “You have two minutes,” Isabelle taunted, her breathing already becoming labored. “This is insane, Isabelle! Give me the rest of the antidote, now!” Carter yelled, his voice tight with panic. My vision was already starting to blur at the edges. A wave of heat washed over me. Beside me, Isabelle let out a soft moan, but her smile was chillingly triumphant. “Time is running out, Carter.” Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead. “Thirty seconds.” “I choose!” Carter shouted, his voice raw. He lunged forward, holding the antidote out to…

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Adam’s executive assistant hinted that the new girl wasn’t playing by the rules. I looked down at the résumé. Sophie Bell. A scholarship student from a program the Shaw Foundation had sponsored. Four years ago, clutching her university acceptance letter, she’d shown up at our door with a small gift basket to express her gratitude. Adam had turned her away with a cold shoulder. The timid girl with the neat bangs had blossomed into a poised young woman. No wonder he’d been coming home later and later from “client dinners.” But she wasn’t the only one with a hidden agenda. Just when my search for proof had hit a dead end, Sophie came to me in private, her voice choked with tears. “Mrs. Shaw, please… you have to help me. I can’t be used like this anymore…” 1 The girl in the résumé photo was pretty, with quiet, clear eyes that made you want to like her. What a waste it would be if she were really shameless enough to be the other woman. A message from Adam popped up on my screen. [Honey, got a client dinner tonight. I’ll be late. Get some rest, and don’t you dare stay up late.] Before I could reply, a new friend request appeared. The note read: [Mrs. Shaw, this is Sophie Bell, Mr. Shaw’s assistant.] So it begins. I accepted the request. [Good evening, Mrs. Shaw. So sorry to bother you. Mr. Shaw asked me to add you. He said I should let you know when he’s on his way, in case he’s had too much to drink.] [Thank you, Sophie. I appreciate you looking after him.] [Not at all, it’s my job.] Eleven o’clock. My usual bedtime, but tonight my phone felt welded to my hand. I was waiting. And right on cue, a message arrived. [Mrs. Shaw, are you still awake? Mr. Shaw is quite drunk. The driver and I are bringing him home now.] [I’m up. Thank you for your trouble. I’ll be waiting.] I watched from the doorway as Sophie and our driver helped a stumbling, barely coherent Adam into the house. Her brow was furrowed in a tight line, her slight frame straining under his weight. The moment she saw me, her eyes lit up with relief. “Mrs. Shaw… Mr. Shaw’s had a bit too much.” I moved to take her place, feeling her exhale as I slid my arm around my husband’s waist. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be heading out,” she said, her voice small. I nodded. “Wait,” I called out just as she reached the door. She paused, turning back with a questioning look. “It’s late. It’s not safe for a young woman to go home alone. Let the driver take you.” A pair of dimples appeared as she smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Shaw.” Adam clung to me, his words a drunken slur against my ear. “Clara, my love… I love you so much…” “Why did you drink so much? You’re going to hate yourself in the morning,” I murmured, guiding him towards the stairs. “Got you… so I’m not worried…” I told my best friend, Mia, about it the next day. “Have I lost my touch?” I wondered aloud. “I just don’t get a homewrecker vibe from this girl.” Mia let out a short, cynical laugh. “Oh, honey. You’ve been living the good life for so long you’ve forgotten what you’re capable of. This is textbook. Men are all the same. Just you wait. Before you know it, she’ll be posting passive-aggressive digs at you on Instagram.” I sighed, a heavy weight settling in my chest. Mia’s own husband, Leo, had been getting a little too friendly with his own assistant lately. She hadn’t found any concrete proof, but the cold war between them had been raging for weeks. Would Adam be the same? The man who pursued me for three years in college, the man who knelt at my dying mother’s bedside and swore to love and protect me for the rest of his life… was he just another cliché? I steadied myself. Wallowing wouldn’t solve anything. But a week passed, and Sophie’s social media remained disappointingly normal. Sunsets at the waterfront, brunch with college friends. Nothing. Aside from being Adam’s shadow at work, there was nothing, at least on the surface, to raise an alarm. This only made Mia more pessimistic. “You’ve got an advanced model on your hands,” she said grimly. “These new-generation mistresses have evolved. They’re not the type to shove the evidence in your face anymore.” I checked everything. The GPS logs in Adam’s car, his credit card statements. Nothing. Not a single anomaly. Had he really become that meticulous? 2 This intangible, suffocating uncertainty was worse than finding hard evidence. It felt like walking through a thick fog, blind and unnerved. I replayed the past few weeks in my mind, searching for any detail I might have missed. There was almost nothing. Adam was as attentive as ever, buying me things he thought I’d like without a second thought. The only strange thing was the necklace he’d given me last week. It was identical to one he’d bought me years ago. Men aren’t always sentimental about such things; it was plausible he’d just forgotten. But it had never happened before. One afternoon, I decided to surprise him and drove to the headquarters of Shaw Corp. But Adam wasn’t there. His executive assistant, Jenna—an old classmate of mine—pulled me aside, her voice a low whisper. “He left with Sophie. Said he was going to Leo’s firm to discuss a partnership, but I don’t buy it. There’s no partnership in the works with them right now. God knows where they really went.” Leo. Mia’s husband. If the two of them were in on this together, covering for each other, then a direct confrontation would only tip them off. I pulled out my phone. “Mia, I need you to do something for me.” Waiting for her to call back, I tried to keep my breathing even, but Jenna must have seen the color drain from my face. “Hey, don’t panic yet,” she said, her hand on my arm. “If it’s true, you’ve got more important things to focus on.” She was right. I don’t tolerate betrayal. If I found proof, the grief and heartbreak would have to wait. The divorce would be non-negotiable, and dividing our assets would be a war. Mia didn’t call back. She showed up in person. “Clara… something’s not right,” she said, her brow creased with worry. My stomach plummeted. What could be worse than confirming Adam was cheating? “Your husband is definitely there,” she began. “But the new girl, Sophie? She’s not with him. She’s just waiting in the lobby’s seating area. Leo saw me and thought I was there to check up on him, made a few snide remarks. But…” She trailed off, struggling to find the words. “I never saw Adam.” “What?” “He went to Leo’s company. You saw Sophie, you saw Leo, but you didn’t see Adam?” This wasn’t what I had expected. A powerful wave of unease washed over me. But didn’t this at least mean he wasn’t with Sophie, doing something sordid? “I left before Leo got too suspicious,” Mia continued. “Clara, what the hell is Adam playing at?” This was far more complex than I had imagined. When Adam came home that evening, his smile was as warm and gentle as ever. It was the same smile he’d had in college. He, who had always been so composed and confident, had thrown all decorum to the wind to chase me for three years, doing all sorts of ridiculous things that were completely out of character. Before him, we had both been the good kids, molded by our families, never having been in a real relationship. We were young when we married, growing together as he took over his family’s business and I opened my art gallery. After my mother passed, I’d drifted away from my father and his new family. In many ways, Adam had filled that void. “Clara.” He opened his arms and pulled me into a tight embrace, inhaling deeply at the crook of my neck. “Just showered?” I asked. “Mmmhmm.” He smelled clean, fresh. Not a hint of perfume, not a single foreign scent. His shirt was crisp, without a wrinkle. “I’ve been so busy lately, I feel bad I haven’t been home for dinner,” he murmured, his fingers gently tracing my jawline. “You’re not mad at me, are you?” “Am I that unreasonable? You’re the one working hard to provide for us.” While Adam was in the shower, I checked his phone. Still nothing. His chats were all work-related. His conversations with Sophie were sparse and professional—brief instructions, followed by a simple “Received.” 3 He came out of the bathroom, saw me with his phone, and chuckled. “My feed is just boring business news. Not like yours, full of artists and culture.” He sat beside me, draping an arm over my shoulder and planting a soft kiss on my cheek. We hadn’t been intimate in a while, and with his affectionate words, I expected things to progress. I lowered my gaze, waiting for his next move. Instead, he simply lay down and turned on his side. Doubt, humiliation, and a gnawing anxiety washed over me all at once. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. A few days later, Jenna messaged me. Adam had taken Sophie to Leo’s building again. This time, I went straight there myself. I spotted Sophie in the lobby, looking bored out of her mind. “Mrs. Shaw? What are you doing here?” she asked, her expression one of pure confusion. “Sophie, shouldn’t you be with Mr. Shaw instead of slacking off down here?” “No, no…” She waved her hands frantically, her face flushing with panic. “Mr. Shaw told me I didn’t need to go up, that he’d call me if he needed anything. I… I don’t really know what I’m supposed to be doing.” She looked down, the picture of frustrated helplessness. My tone softened. “How long has this been going on?” Sophie hesitated, clearly unsure how much she was allowed to tell me about her boss’s affairs. “It’s okay,” I reassured her. “I’m just worried about him. He’s been so stressed lately, and I don’t know what kind of big deal requires him to come here so often.” She bit her lip. “It’s been about three months now. He doesn’t bring me every time. But when he does, I just sit here. I’d rather be at the office, at least I’d have work to do.” Before I left, I turned back to her. “Sophie, if you ever run into any trouble, you can come to me.” I asked Mia to keep a closer eye on things at Leo’s building. Her call came an hour later, her voice tight with excitement. “Clara! I saw Adam get off on the 27th floor!” “The 27th?” “A few floors in the tower are set up as corporate apartments, usually for visiting clients. I just found out the entire 27th floor was taken off the market three months ago. It’s been leased long-term by a single client.” All the seemingly unrelated details suddenly clicked into place, the weight of them pressing down on me, making it hard to breathe. “Mia… can you get me the security footage?” The footage from the elevator bank and the 27th-floor hallway was damning. Over the past three months, Adam had appeared there nearly thirty times during work hours. Each time, he walked to the room at the end of the hall, entered a code, and went inside. The camera never saw who was in there. I watched the clips over and over, zooming in, searching. And then I saw it. In one video, just as the door was closing behind him.

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The Blackwell Group was launching a new division. The chairman appointed his wife, Audrey, as its president, giving her carte blanche to build her own team. Everyone assumed I’d be her VP. Friends were congratulating me in advance, celebrating our joint ascent up the corporate ladder. But on the day the official announcement went out, I received a termination notice. And the intern Audrey had been so close to, the one who always seemed to be whispering in her ear, was named Vice President. Later, Audrey tried to explain. “Leo has depression, Cole. He’s incredibly sensitive. He needs the validation more than you do.” She straightened my tie, her fingers cool against my skin. “Besides, he’s already thought of you. He said you could be his personal driver. The pay is great, and the hours are easy. See how thoughtful he is?” I looked into her eyes, searching for a hint of a joke. There was none. She was dead serious. I gently removed her hands from my collar and met her gaze with the same unnerving sincerity. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll support my wife’s decision.” 1 The next morning, dressed in a black driver’s uniform, I had the car waiting outside Leo’s apartment building on time. I waited for nearly an hour. Three calls to his phone went straight to voicemail. Finally, with only ten minutes left before the workday officially began, he sauntered out of the lobby doors, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He pulled open the rear door and flopped onto the leather seat without so much as a glance in my direction. “Let’s go.” I said nothing, just put the car in drive. The morning rush hour had the interstate in a gridlock. From the back seat, Leo’s impatience grew. “What are you doing? Don’t you know any shortcuts?” he whined. “Audrey won’t be happy if I’m late on my first day.” We finally pulled up to the office building, thirty minutes late. The second I put the car in park, Audrey’s call came through. Her voice was sharp enough to cut glass. “Cole! Where are you? Do you have any idea what day it is? It’s the executive morning briefing! How is Leo supposed to command any respect when his own driver makes him late on day one?” Before I could get a word in, Leo’s voice cut in, dripping with faux-distress. “Audrey, don’t blame Cole. It’s his first day as a driver. It’s an adjustment.” He paused for effect. “He was trying so hard to get here on time, he even ran a few red lights for me.” That sent Audrey into a fresh spiral of fury. “Cole! Are you doing this on purpose? Are you so bitter about being let go that you have to sabotage Leo’s first day just to make yourself feel better?” “You are such a disappointment.” “Forget about this month’s paycheck. You’re not getting it.” She hung up with a sharp click. Leo sat up. The wounded look vanished, replaced by a smirk of pure satisfaction. “Tough break, Cole. Must sting, driving me around.” He laughed softly and swung his leg over the center console, planting a mud-caked leather shoe on the back of the passenger seat. They were the shoes. The custom Italian leather ones Audrey had a friend bring back from Milan for my birthday last month. Now they were on Leo’s feet, sullied with dirt, staring me in the face. “Guess that’s what happens when you’re not good enough,” he said, pushing the door open. He sauntered toward the building, whistling. I sat there in the silence of the car, staring at the muddy footprint on the seat back. My knuckles were white on the steering wheel. A little while later, a few of the senior managers came down for a smoke break after the meeting. They saw me in the car and ambled over. “Jesus, Cole. You’ve got the patience of a saint,” one of them said, leaning against the window. “Getting ridden like that by an intern? We could hear Audrey tearing you a new one from down the hall. If it were me, I’d have driven this thing straight into the river.” Another one just smirked. “I don’t know, man. Maybe he’s got some kind of special kink for this.” I ignored their jeers and pulled out my phone. A new text from Audrey had just popped up. “Honey, I’m sorry. I was just angry. I have to establish Leo’s authority in front of everyone, otherwise they’ll walk all over him. Don’t take it personally. I’ll deposit double your salary into our account tonight. Your old office is gone, per company policy. Just relax in the car for a bit. I’ll come down and have lunch with you.” I stared at the message, then deleted it and locked the screen. Establish his authority? Using my dignity as his stepping stone. Audrey, you really are a wonderful wife. She didn’t come down for lunch. She sent her assistant with a sad-looking boxed salad, explaining that she had to take Leo out with the department heads for a ‘get-to-know-you’ lunch. I tossed the cold salad directly into the nearest trash can. 2 Three days later was our fifth wedding anniversary. I’d made reservations at Le Ciel Bleu, her favorite French restaurant, and bought the diamond necklace she’d been dropping hints about for months. I wanted to surprise her. At five p.m., I texted her: “Hey, are you free tonight?” She replied almost instantly: “Have to take Leo to meet a huge client. It’s going to be a late one. Don’t wait up.” A follow-up text came a second later: “It’s his first time leading a pitch. I need to be there to guide him.” I stared at the screen, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard. I typed out a single sentence: “Do you remember what day it is?” After a long moment, I deleted it, letter by letter. I canceled the reservation and tossed the velvet jewelry box onto the passenger seat. Restless and angry, I called a few friends and met them at a hole-in-the-wall taco joint on the other side of town. We had just ordered a round of beers and a platter of carne asada when two familiar figures walked through the door, hand in hand. It was Audrey and Leo. Audrey wore a playful, giddy smile I hadn’t seen in years. She was pointing at the greasy, handwritten menu on the wall, laughing about something with him. She used to despise places like this. She’d complain that the smoky air would ruin her thousand-dollar perfumes. Now, I heard her say to him with genuine excitement, “See? Places like this have so much more soul.” Then I noticed it. Leo was wearing a bespoke suit. The one Audrey had commissioned for me as my anniversary gift. My gaze locked onto the fabric, the perfect tailoring. Leo must have felt my eyes on him. He turned his head and saw me. He froze for a second, a flicker of panic in his eyes. Then, as if on purpose, he jerked his arm, knocking a full glass of orange soda all over himself. “Oh!” Audrey gasped and immediately grabbed a fistful of napkins, kneeling down to dab at the stain on his pants. The gesture was so tender, so careful, as if she were handling a priceless artifact. I couldn’t sit there anymore. I stood up and walked toward their table. “Audrey,” I said. My voice was a raw whisper. She looked up, and her face hardened the moment she saw me. “What are you doing here?” My eyes went past her to the suit on Leo’s back. “I thought you were meeting a client.” Audrey got to her feet, her expression a mask of annoyance. “The meeting finished early. Leo said he was craving tacos, so I brought him here.” “And the suit?” I asked, nodding toward Leo. “How do you explain that?” “He was meeting a major client, Cole. He couldn’t show up looking shabby, could he? I just lent him your suit.” She looked at me as if I were the unreasonable one. “Can you stop being so petty? It’s just a piece of clothing.” “You’re a driver,” she added, her voice dripping with disdain. “It’s not like you have anywhere to wear something that nice.” “Petty?” I let out a bitter laugh. “That was my five-year anniversary present!” The color drained from Audrey’s face. Her eyes darted away for a second. “I’ll… I’ll buy you a better one later.” Just then, Leo, who had been silent, stood up. He draped a proprietary arm around Audrey’s shoulders, pulling her close. “What can I say, Cole?” he said, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “Someone’s got to pick up the slack when you can’t even hold down a job. Your wife has been under a lot of stress.” He leaned in. “Someone has to help her out. At work… and at home.” His last words were loaded, his eyes locked on mine in a direct challenge. And Audrey just stood there, letting him hold her, not saying a single word. My friends had seen enough. They stormed over, getting in Leo’s face. “Who the hell do you think you are?” “You’re a goddamn leech, living off a woman, and you have the balls to act like this?” The scene devolved into shouting. One of my friends looked ready to throw a punch. I quickly stepped between them, grabbing my friend’s arm. “It’s not worth it. Let’s just go.” They stormed out, one of them cursing me under his breath for being a doormat. After they were gone, I stood by the door of the taqueria, waiting silently for Audrey to come out. I needed to talk to her, away from all of this, to get a straight answer about what was happening. I waited until after midnight. 3 At one in the morning, Audrey and Leo finally stumbled out, both clearly drunk. Leo was unsteady on his feet, practically hanging off Audrey as she supported him on the walk to the car. When they reached my car, Leo suddenly spun her around, pinning her against the passenger door. He lowered his head, his lips finding the soft skin of her neck. “Audrey, you’re so good to me,” he murmured. Her body went stiff. She seemed to want to push him away, but when she raised her hands, they landed weakly on his shoulders, clinging to him. “Leo, stop… I’m still married to Cole.” “Who cares about him? He’s just some loser you kicked to the curb.” Leo’s mouth moved to her earlobe, then trailed down her jawline. Audrey’s resistance melted away. A soft whimper escaped her lips. She closed her eyes and gave in. I was standing not twenty feet away, watching the whole sordid scene. Something inside me snapped. A roar of pure rage tore from my throat as I lunged forward, shoving Leo away from her with all my strength. He stumbled backward and fell to the pavement. My eyes, burning with betrayal, were fixed on Audrey. She looked at me as if I had just shattered a beautiful dream. Then, she drew back her hand and slapped me hard across the face. “Cole! Are you insane?!” she screamed, her voice filled with a cold, venomous disgust. That slap shattered the last, desperate illusion I had been clinging to. Audrey didn’t even look at me again. She turned and rushed to Leo’s side. “Leo, baby, are you okay? Did he hurt you?” He whimpered in her arms like a child who’d scraped his knee. Ignoring me completely, they hailed a cab and disappeared into the night. I drove home alone. The house was cold, empty, devoid of life. I was about to step into the shower when my phone buzzed. It was a notification from my bank. [Alert: Your joint savings account has been frozen. Current balance: $0.00.] Audrey. Because I had trusted her, trusted our marriage, every dollar I’d ever earned was in that account. Below the bank alert was a text from her. “I gave you a chance to walk away with your dignity, Cole. You chose not to take it. After the scene you made tonight, you don’t deserve my respect. You think you’re so tough? Let’s see how tough you are with no money.” I had never kept a secret stash. I was penniless. 4 The next morning, a frantic ringing jolted me from a nightmare. “Cole! It’s your father! He had a massive heart attack, he’s in the hospital! They’re taking him into surgery now!” My world went numb. I raced to the hospital, arriving just as they were wheeling my father into the operating room. A nurse handed me a clipboard. “Sir, we need a deposit of one hundred thousand dollars for the surgery to proceed.” I jammed my hands in my pockets, a pointless gesture. I remembered. I had nothing. With a trembling hand, I dialed Audrey’s number. It rang for a long time before she answered, her voice thick with sleep. “What? What do you want this early?” “Audrey, now! Transfer me a hundred thousand dollars! My dad had a heart attack, he needs emergency surgery!” There was a pause on the other end, followed by a cold, sharp laugh. “Are you serious, Cole? You’re so desperate for money you’d use your own father as an excuse?” “Do you really think I’d fall for a lie that pathetic?” “I’m busy prepping Leo for a client meeting. Don’t bother me with this nonsense again.” She hung up. I tried calling back, but it went straight to a busy signal. Swallowing every last ounce of my pride, I started calling my friends, my brothers, anyone who would listen. “Hey, Mark, it’s Cole… Listen, man, I’m in a really tight spot… Can I borrow some money…?” As I was hunched over, whispering humbly into the phone, I looked up and saw two familiar figures walking down the hospital corridor. It was Audrey, with Leo on her arm. She wasn’t meeting any client. She was speaking to him in a soft, gentle voice, guiding him toward the psychiatric wing of the hospital. When she saw me squatting on the floor, her expression instantly soured. She must have felt a pang of guilt, because she walked briskly toward me, already pulling her phone out of her purse. But before she could do anything, Leo suddenly flinched, his body seizing as if he’d been electrocuted. He clung to Audrey’s arm and let out a theatrical shriek. “Ah! Don’t come near me! You’re scaring me!” He cowered behind her, pointing at me, his body trembling like a leaf. Audrey immediately spun around to shield him, her face contorted with rage as she turned on me. “Cole! Look what you’ve done! You’ve triggered him!” “Leo is having a severe anxiety attack! Are you trying to kill him?!” I just stared, baffled by the ridiculous performance. “What did I do? My father is waiting for life-saving surgery. I don’t have time for your little drama.” Audrey’s neck flushed with anger. She held Leo tight and spat her words at me. “Leo’s first big project failed today because you decided not to show up for work. Your absence cost the company millions in lost orders.” “You pushed him to this point, and you still have the nerve to ask me for money?” So that was it. She was pinning Leo’s failure on me. “If it weren’t for the fact that we were once married, you wouldn’t even have a job as a driver!” She guided the trembling Leo into the therapist’s office. Before closing the door, she looked back at me, her eyes like ice. “You go to the office right now. You walk into that boardroom and you take full responsibility for this disaster. You make it clear that Leo had nothing to do with it. You do that, and I’ll transfer the money.” My chest felt tight enough to burst. I wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug expressions off both their faces. But then I thought of my father on the operating table, and my head sank. I was ready to accept. Just then, my phone buzzed. A new notification. A transfer of three hundred thousand dollars had just been deposited into my personal account. I thought it was from one of my friends, but then a text message came through. I read the message, and the crushing weight of humiliation and rage began to lift. I took a deep, steadying breath. Audrey poked her head out of the office, her voice sharp with impatience. “Cole! What are you waiting for? Get to the office and confess!” I didn’t look at her. I simply turned and walked toward the payment office, my back straight. “Cole! Stop right there! Did you hear me?!” Her frantic screams echoed behind me, but for the first time in a long time, my steps felt light.

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