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Ten years into our marriage, Declan finally stopped calling me by the wrong name in his sleep. When his “first love” called, he didn’t immediately abandon me to run to her. Even our son started treating me like a mother, instead of begging for “Auntie Serena” to be his mom. Friends and family congratulated me. They said my patience had finally paid off, that the clouds had parted. Even my best friend, who had cut me off years ago because she couldn’t stand watching me degrade myself for him, sent a text: “After all these years, Declan actually started loving you. I guess you win.” Yes, he finally started loving me. He even canceled a major business trip to stay with me for New Year’s Eve—a first. But I couldn’t find it within myself to be happy. When he presented me with the vintage diamond necklace I had admired months ago as a New Year’s gift, all I could manage was a stiff, polite smile. Declan finally snapped. “Isn’t this everything you’ve ever wanted? Elara, what the hell is wrong with you?” Chapter 1 Declan furrowed his brow, looking at me like I was a business crisis he needed to mitigate. “Is it me? Did I do something wrong? Is Leo acting up again?” I shook my head. For the past six months, Declan had cut contact with Serena. He reported his schedule to me. He actually started paying attention to my likes and dislikes. Compared to the hell of the last decade, he was currently a model husband. Even our son, Leo, was behaving. No more screaming at me, and his teachers actually sent home a good report card. Declan’s confusion turned into irritation. He drummed his fingers on the mahogany table. Tap, tap, tap. “If everything is perfect, why are you acting like this?” “Elara, what game are you playing now?” “You have one hour to give me a valid explanation, or I’m not spending New Year’s Eve with you.” He knew that was the ultimate threat. Since I was seventeen, my biggest wish was to kiss him when the ball dropped in Times Square—or at least, in our living room watching it on TV. Now, at thirty-two, I finally had the chance. But the joy wasn’t there. I couldn’t figure it out myself. Was I depressed? Did I just not believe him? Declan didn’t get the answer he wanted. Instead, he got a phone call from Serena. He hesitated for two seconds. Then, perhaps to punish me for my silence, he broke his six-month streak and answered it. Serena’s voice, trembling and fragile, drifted from the speaker. “Declan… you finally answered.” “I fell in the shower… I can’t stand up. Please, you have to come save me.” Declan said “Okay.” Then he watched me, gauging my reaction. The old Elara would have been hysterical. I would have smashed vases. I would have knelt on the floor, hugging his legs, begging him not to go. But since six months ago, I had lost the energy to compete with Serena. I just said calmly, “Falling in the bathroom can be dangerous. You should go.” The darkness in Declan’s eyes deepened. He let out a cold laugh. “You’re so generous now. Fine. Since you’re so worried, come with me to help.” He drove like a maniac. We arrived at Serena’s apartment in record time. Declan waited in the living room while I went into the bathroom. Serena was lying on the tile floor, naked, posed in a way that accentuated every curve. Her voice was like honey. “Declan, I missed you so much… especially your touch…” But when she turned her head and saw me, the seduction died instantly. Her eyes shifted from lust to hatred. “What are you doing here? Did you come to mock me?” “Let me tell you, Elara. Declan only pities you. He’s only nice to you because you’ve been pathetic for so long. The one he really loves is me!” I didn’t care to argue. I stepped forward to check if she was actually injured. Suddenly, Serena lunged, snatched my phone from my pocket, snapped several photos of her own naked body, and then threw the phone across the room. She screamed, blood-curdling and shrill. “Don’t take photos of me! Help!” Declan burst in, panic written all over his face. “Serena! What happened?” Serena covered her chest with her hands, tears streaming down her face as she pointed at me. “She took nude photos of me! She threatened to leak them online and ruin my career if I didn’t stay away from you!” Declan picked up my phone. He saw the photos in the gallery. His expression instantly shifted from concern to terrifying malice. He grabbed my jaw, squeezing hard enough to bruise. “Elara, I thought you had changed. I guess it was all an act.” “You are still the same despicable, vicious, manipulative woman.” Those adjectives made me freeze. Declan had been so nice lately. I had almost forgotten that in his heart, this was who I really was. Chapter 2 They say first impressions are impossible to kill. When we were seventeen, the first time Declan “met” Serena, she was slipping money into his locker. He thought the person who had been anonymously helping him—the poor scholarship student—was her. Pure and kind Serena. But I was the one who put the money there. I had a crush on him. I didn’t want to watch him work three jobs and study until he passed out. I wanted to protect his pride, so I did it anonymously. The day he caught Serena, she wasn’t putting money in. She was stealing it. The first time Declan actually saw me, I was the rich, arrogant girl in the hallway, slapping Serena across the face. Serena was on her knees, begging. “Please, don’t have me expelled! I need this scholarship to change my life!” So, Declan decided I was a bully. A monster. He didn’t know Serena had stolen my late mother’s ring—a ring worth thousands—and sold it to a pawn shop for twenty bucks. I slapped her in a rage. Declan shoved me to the ground. “What do you think you’re doing?” My friend tried to defend me. “That thief stole Elara’s heirloom!” Declan looked at me with pure disgust. As a poor student, he’d been accused of stealing too many times. The scene triggered him. He threw the love letter I had placed in his locker that morning—along with the cash—at my feet. “Elara Vance, right? Let me tell you something. I will never, ever like someone like you.” He helped Serena up and walked away. Later, he put Serena on a pedestal. They went to the same college. He planned to propose. But the night before his graduation, at a party, both he and I were drugged. One night. That was all it took. I got pregnant with Leo. Declan was forced to break up with Serena and marry me. He was convinced I drugged him. At our wedding, he looked at me like I was his worst enemy. I had hope back then. I thought, eventually, he’ll see the real me. But ten years of marriage taught me otherwise. He abandoned me for Serena over and over. He sided with her every time she framed me. He whispered her name in our bed. I was done. Standing in that bathroom, listening to his accusations, I felt nothing but fatigue. “Apologize to Serena,” he commanded. I pushed his hand away. “Only people who do wrong need to apologize. I don’t.” I looked him in the eye. “If you feel so bad for her, go ahead and carry her to bed. She was just saying how much she missed your touch.” I had never spoken to him like that. “Get the hell out!” he roared. As I turned to leave, he yelled, “Elara! Don’t you dare regret this!” I regretted a lot of things. Leaving that room wasn’t one of them. I walked out into the cold night. The next morning, headlines exploded. Tech CEO Declan and Actress Serena: A Steamy New Year’s Eve Reunion. Declan didn’t come home. I was the laughingstock of our social circle again. Leo reverted to his old ways, crying that he wanted to sleep at Auntie Serena’s house. Worse, the internet “detectives” started digging. Since Declan never publicly acknowledged me, they assumed I was the mistress interfering with true love. Serena’s crazed fans cornered me in an alleyway behind the grocery store. Panic set in. I dialed home. Leo answered. “I’m making a birthday gift for Auntie Serena! Don’t bother me!” Click. I called Declan. Before I could scream for help, he cut me off. “Unless you are calling to apologize to Serena, don’t call me.” His voice was so cold it made me forget the baseball bat swinging toward me. I let out a bitter laugh. “What if I’m about to die? Can I call you then?” Declan paused, his breathing heavy. Then, fueled by anger: “Then go ahead and die.” The line went dead. The bat connected with my ribs. I closed my eyes. I collapsed in a pool of my own blood. Chapter 3 I woke up in a hospital bed. Declan was sitting there, looking uncharacteristically disheveled and anxious. I tried to move, but my body felt shattered. Especially my chest. “Don’t move,” Declan said, pressing my shoulder gently. “You have three broken ribs.” He licked his dry lips, looking guilty. “I’m sorry. I… I didn’t know you were in danger that day.” “Did they catch the people who did this?” I asked, my voice raspy. Declan looked away. “Karma will get them.” I almost laughed. Even Serena’s violent fans were protected by him? Seeing my expression, he mumbled, “The ringleader is close to Serena. She… she’s in a delicate condition right now. I can’t upset her by having her friend arrested.” Delicate condition. I looked at his eyes and I knew. Serena was pregnant. He forgot about my “delicate condition” years ago. He brought Serena to our house and slept with her on top of the baby clothes I bought. He claimed he had no money for my prenatal vitamins, then funded Serena’s acting career. When Serena tripped me and sent me into early labor, nearly killing me, he blamed me for being clumsy and hurting Serena’s ankle. The rage should have burned me alive. But Declan, oblivious, took my hand. “I know you’re upset, but you wronged Serena first.” “That day… if you hadn’t provoked me, I wouldn’t have slept with her.” “Elara, if you promise to change, I’ll give her a settlement once the baby is born. I’ll cut ties. And then…” He looked down, his ears turning red. “Then I will love you properly. More than I have these past six months.” My eyes widened. He said he would love me. The words I had waited fifteen years to hear. But instead of joy, my heart sank like a stone. In that moment of clarity, I finally understood why I hadn’t been happy for the last six months. Because by the time he started loving me, I had stopped loving him. It was such a simple answer. Loving him had been my survival instinct. Even when he destroyed me, I couldn’t turn it off. But now? It was gone. I wouldn’t accept crumbs anymore. I wouldn’t accept pain in the name of love. The invisible chains around my neck shattered. “Declan,” I said clearly. “Let’s get a divorce.” He froze. Then, the anger exploded. “Elara, are you threatening me?” “Do you want me to force Serena to get an abortion? Is that it?” “Are you so cruel that you’d kill an unborn child?!” Just then, Serena walked in, holding her stomach. She dramatically fell to her knees. “Elara, please! Spare my baby!” Behind her, my son, Leo, rushed forward. He had a hard plastic toy in his hand. He slammed it down onto my broken ribs. “Bad woman! Don’t bully my Mommy Serena! Don’t hurt my baby brother!” Chapter 4 The pain in my chest was blinding. It rivaled childbirth. Declan pulled Leo back, scolding him, but Leo just glared at me with pure hatred. This was the boy I almost died birthing. The boy I nursed through postpartum depression. He used to cling to me. But at three years old, Declan started “educating” him. Don’t be like your mother. Be kind like Auntie Serena. He turned my son against me. Just minutes ago, I was debating fighting for custody. Now? I was free. When the pain subsided, I whispered, “Have the baby. I was joking.” Declan relaxed. “I knew you wouldn’t be that heartless.” “When you get discharged, you can help take care of Serena at the house. She can’t be seen in public with the bump right now.” I agreed to everything. Inside, I was planning my escape. I had lost my family, my friends, and my career for this marriage. I had hit rock bottom. But I wasn’t going to die there. A month later, I discharged myself while Declan took Serena to an ultrasound and Leo was at school. I went home, grabbed my passport and ID—which I had to hunt for—and packed one suitcase. I took one last look at the house I had been imprisoned in for ten years. On the desk, I saw Declan’s open journal. The last entry read: I forgive her for her despicable past. I have made peace with loving her. I scoffed. I picked up a pen and wrote one line beneath it. I placed the signed divorce papers next to the journal. And then I walked out the door. … After the ultrasound, Serena picked a fight with Declan. “You’re distracted. Are you rushing back to see Elara?” “Do you only feel guilty toward me? Do you love her?” Declan didn’t answer. He didn’t know the answer. He just felt a frantic need to see Elara. He sped to the hospital, but the bed was empty. He raced home, ready to scream at her for leaving without permission. But the house was silent. The closet was open. Her things were gone. He stumbled into the study and saw the papers. He saw the note in the journal. He read it once and collapsed to the floor.

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I was forged in conflict. I learned to fight and scratch for everything I wanted, even at five, when I threw a tantrum demanding my parents get a vasectomy so they could only have me. When I was eight, my father, George Ashworth, tried to sneak his illegitimate son into the house while my mother was in Europe opening our new division. He wanted to play the “family” card, hoping I’d accept the half-brother he’d kept secret. I didn’t. I tossed the recorded evidence right onto my mother’s desk. She flew back that same night and filed for divorce. As the defaulting, at-fault party, George was forced into a settlement that left him bankrupt and entirely outside the company. Growing up, I only sharpened that edge, living by the creed of profit above all. I never bent the knee for sentiment. On the day Ashworth Global was set to ring the NASDAQ bell, my entire inner circle—my executive partner, my fiancé, and my corporate image endorser—pulled a collective vanishing act. A B-list actress named Skylar Bloom had posted a tearful photo of a cut finger in the Maldives. In a synchronized display of heroic idiocy, the three of them—Rhys, Cameron, and Leo—commandeered my private jet and flew off to be her knights in shining armor. I was left alone, facing a sea of media flashbulbs, becoming the city’s joke. Afterward, my business partner, Rhys Kincaid, had the nerve to be righteous. “Skylar was bleeding alone in a foreign country. What if she got tetanus? Can’t you be less cold-blooded for once?” My fiancé, Cameron Wilde, frowned with practiced annoyance. “It’s just an IPO, Sloane. We’ll have a dozen more opportunities. I’ll be there next time.” And Leo Maxwell, my childhood friend and company endorser, offered his fake condolences. “I told my agent to cut your endorsement fee by twenty percent and I’ll throw in a free campaign. Girls should smile more; that’s how happiness finds you.” I looked at the three fools in front of me, calmly closing the folder that contained the company’s controlling documents. “I am notifying you as the sole proprietary holder of Ashworth Global,” I said, my voice dangerously even. “You’re finished.” “Since you love caring for the helpless so much, you can rot in the gutter with her, you pathetic rats!” 1 Across the vast mahogany table, the three men sat, their posture relaxed, almost dismissive. Rhys Kincaid was tossing the Montblanc pen I’d gifted him from hand to hand, his expression bored. Cameron Wilde was hunched over his phone, texting someone with a gentle smile that had never once been aimed at me. Leo Maxwell was busy checking his hair on the reflective screen. The A-list celebrity could never go a moment without worrying about his flawless face. They hadn’t grasped the severity of the situation. In their minds, I, Sloane Ashworth, was a hard ass, but one they could always tame. They assumed that if they acted as a united front, I would cave—because that’s how it had always been for the past twenty-something years. Rhys finally tired of his pen-twirling and tossed the expensive instrument onto the table. “Sloane, that’s enough.” “We simply borrowed your plane to pick up a friend. Did you really have to throw this massive fit and ban us from the celebration party?” Cameron put his phone down and looked up, his brow furrowed, clearly thinking I was being utterly unreasonable. “He’s right, Cleo. Skylar was alone and terrified. We are her friends; of course, we had to help. As the head of Ashworth, shouldn’t you have a little more—perspective?” Leo scoffed, leaning back in his chair. He looked at the other two. “I think Sloane is just jealous. Jealous that we care about Skylar so much.” “Seriously, we’ve been best friends since kindergarten, and you’re still getting petty? It’s a bad look, Ashworth.” The three of them, in perfect harmony, dismissed an egregious corporate betrayal as nothing more than a woman’s fit of jealousy and small-mindedness. Their arrogance was comical. One was my executive partner, holding a ten percent equity stake. One was my fiancé, linking our families in a massive financial merger. And the last was the face of the company, who was not only paid a fortune but enjoyed the best resources my empire could offer. They benefited from my success, yet at the most critical moment, they had stabbed me in the back for the sake of their untouchable muse, Skylar Bloom. I pressed the internal line button. “Send the heads of Legal, Finance, and Security in.” The men froze, clearly realizing I wasn’t going to accept their apologies this time. Rhys frowned. “Why call them? This is an internal matter, we can handle it—” I ignored him. I pulled three prepared documents from my drawer, laying them out on the table. I had drafted these myself, under the blazing lights of the world’s media on that infamous day, staring at the empty chairs reserved for my partner, my fiancé, and my endorser. I knew then that these three fools, blinded by lust and ego, were no longer fit to stand beside me. “It is an internal matter, indeed.” I flipped open the first document and slid it to Rhys. “Rhys Kincaid, this is a Notice of Partnership Termination.” “Given your unexcused absence at the critical moment of the company’s IPO launch, you have severely breached the partnership agreement, causing substantial reputational damage and stock fluctuation.” “Per the terms, Ashworth Global is exercising its right to compulsorily buy back all of your shares at a non-negotiable floor price, and you are liable for all resulting damages.” Rhys shot to his feet, his face ashen. “Sloane, are you insane? You’re kicking me out?” I didn’t look at him, turning to toss the second document at Cameron. “Cameron Wilde, this is a Rescission of Engagement and a Termination Letter for all current Ashworth-Wilde joint projects.” “Your actions severely damaged my personal reputation, which directly harmed Ashworth Global’s image. Our families’ merger is void, effective immediately.” “Furthermore, all of the Wilde family’s construction projects currently underway under Ashworth funding are to be suspended and liquidated immediately.” Cameron’s pupils contracted; his controlled composure shattered. “Sloane, that’s a billion-dollar project! You’re playing with our livelihoods over a petty squabble!” Finally, I looked at the stunned Leo Maxwell, and I slapped the legal notice onto his expensive, perfectly sculpted face. “Leo Maxwell, this is a Contract Termination and Damages Claim.” “As a brand endorser, you vanished without cause on the day of a major brand event, and your social media conduct has since created a negative public narrative. You are in breach.” “The penalty for this breach is three hundred million dollars, payable into the corporate account within three business days.” A deathly silence fell over the office. The three men stared at me in stunned disbelief. After a long moment, Leo spoke, his voice trembling. “Sloane, you… you have to be kidding. All this, for something so minor?” I leaned back in my chair, crossing my hands over my chest, my gaze flat. “Minor?” “You stole my private jet, causing me to miss the final roadshow, which is minor?” “You made me ring the bell alone in front of the world’s media, turning me into a joke, which is minor?” “You illegally charged the cost of private charters, luxury hotels, and a private medical team for Skylar to the company’s expense account, which is minor?” I stood, leaning my hands on the desk, my physical presence looming over them. “I apologize. I was not born with a sense of humor for your petty crimes.” “Since you deem this a ‘minor’ issue, I’m going to show you what a major problem looks like.” “Security. Escort them out.” 2 The three men were still shouting as security ushered them out. Rhys pointed his finger at me, calling me cold-blooded and promising I’d die alone. Cameron, face dark with fury, threatened to call my father to discipline me. Leo screamed that he would expose my villainy and let his millions of fans tear me apart online. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the chaotic scene as the paparazzi swarmed them downstairs. I had never felt such perfect, serene satisfaction. Suddenly, my phone vibrated. It was a text from Rhys. “Sloane, don’t be so cruel.” “Skylar really did cut her finger; it was an emergency, and we were worried about tetanus. Can’t you show a little human compassion?” Attached was a photo. In the picture, Skylar was lying on a first-class seat, her hand wrapped in thick, dramatic bandages. She looked fragile and pitiful, a tear tracked down her cheek. The three men hovered around her, their faces etched with genuine concern. I zoomed in on the photo. Hmm. That bandage was so thick, you’d think she’d lost a limb. Compassion? My compassion had expired years ago. I typed a reply, utterly nonchalant: “Oh, honey. If the situation was so ‘emergency’ and the fear of tetanus so high, it must be an infection with a severe, highly contagious, unknown foreign pathogen! I’d be happy to help you all!” After hitting send, I immediately dialed the city’s Centers for Disease Control (CDC) and Customs and Border Protection (CBP). “Hello, I’d like to file an anonymous tip.” “A private jet, recently arrived from the Maldives, is attempting to smuggle passengers without proper health declarations. There is one passenger with a suspected high-pathogenicity infectious disease and a severe open wound.” “Yes, and three others are close contacts.” “This plane not only failed to file its health manifesto, but it actively tried to bypass customs. For the safety of our city, I urge you to handle this with the utmost urgency.” I hung up and sent one final message to Rhys: “Since you all stressed how serious it was, I’ve done you a favor and called the most professional medical isolation team to ensure your life safety.” “No need to thank me. It’s my last act of mercy as your former partner.” Half an hour later, the internet exploded. #LeoMaxwellAndCoDetainedAtAirport #SuspectedUnknownForeignVirus #PrivateJetQuarantinedAndFumigated In the video, Skylar was being forcefully escorted onto a negative-pressure ambulance by agents in full hazmat gear. She was terrified, her face pale. In her struggle, the thick gauze fell loose, exposing the wound. It was a scratch less than a centimeter long, and it was—already scabbed over. The CBP agents on-site paused, their expressions turning from professional vigilance to utter fury. “This is the high-pathogenicity wound you claimed?” “This is the life-threatening tetanus?” Rhys, Cameron, and Leo were also forcibly loaded into a separate quarantine vehicle. They frantically tried to explain it was just a scratch, a minor cut, that they were rushing and didn’t file the paperwork. But in the face of strict federal regulations, every excuse sounded like a lie. “Failure to comply with health declarations and falsifying documentation. Suspected obstruction of federal health inspection laws. You will be held for mandatory observation and transferred to police custody immediately.” Watching their miserable faces on the live feed, I smiled. I said I was a serious person. Since they claimed the situation was grave, I handled it by the gravest standards. Enjoy the ride. 3 Between mandatory quarantine and administrative detention, they would be locked up for at least two weeks. Two weeks was plenty of time for me to clean house. First, I convened an emergency board meeting. Using my absolute majority controlling stake, I unanimously passed a resolution to remove Rhys Kincaid from his position as Executive Director. I didn’t stop there. I fired all the cronies Rhys had installed, citing incompetence and unmet performance metrics. For the few who tried to fight back, I had the accounting department drop their files of fake expense reports. “You can walk out with dignity, or you can let me call the police for corporate fraud. Choose.” Watching them scurry out, clutching their cardboard boxes, the toxic atmosphere at Ashworth Global immediately cleared. Next was Cameron. The projects between the Wildes and Ashworth were vast and complex. In the past, I would have deferred to family ties and tolerated his incompetence. But now, with the gloves off, I was going to cut deep. I ordered Legal to issue a demand letter, citing Cameron’s unilateral breach of the engagement and partnership agreement. I then froze the capital accounts for every joint construction project. The Wilde family had a massive, multi-billion-dollar development underway. The sudden, complete halt of capital bled their project dry. Robert Wilde, Cameron’s father and my former prospective father-in-law, called me, his voice shaking with rage. “Sloane, you’re shooting yourself in the foot! The project stops, and Ashworth loses money too!” My tone was calm. “Mr. Wilde, you’re mistaken.” “Ashworth only provided the financing; the Wilde family handled the operations. Now, thanks to your heir’s criminal misconduct, the Wilde family’s reputation is in ruins. I have the right to stop funding to protect Ashworth’s assets.” “As for the losses, the contract is clear: the defaulting party—that’s you—is fully liable. You’ll be filling a multi-billion-dollar hole.” I heard the sound of glass shattering on the other end, followed by Robert Wilde’s roar. “Fine! Fine, Sloane! You’re ruthless, but you’ll pay for this! Just you wait!” I hung up and instantly blocked his number. Wait? I never wait for my enemies. Finally, Leo Maxwell. As a top-tier celebrity, his commercial value relied entirely on his pristine image. Now, he was facing not just federal charges for obstructing health inspections, but a storm of public outrage. I had the PR department release a single, cold, and concise statement: [In light of the egregious violation of law and social conduct by the artist Leo Maxwell, Ashworth Global has terminated all affiliations, effective immediately, and reserves the right to pursue full damages for breach of contract.] This move was a scalpel to his jugular. Major brands followed my lead, cutting ties left and right. Leo’s agent called, sobbing and begging, claiming Leo was merely trying to be loyal, that it was a moment of poor judgment. “Loyalty?” I looked down at the flight manifest on my desk. They had forged my signature to authorize the private jet’s flight. “Falsifying documents and stealing a private jet. That isn’t ‘loyalty.’” “That’s grand larceny.” “Tell Leo I require the full three hundred million dollars in breach penalties. If a penny is missing, I will move for forced execution and seize every single asset he owns.” “Additionally, I’m forwarding the evidence of the forged flight authorization to the Economic Crimes Unit to pursue criminal charges for the forgery of corporate documents.” “He can beg his dear Skylar Bloom to save him now.” Having cleaned up the mess, I felt a lightness I hadn’t realized I was missing. Childhood friends, fiancés, partners—they could all go to hell. If you don’t want to share the cake, you get to rot in the gutter with the rats. 4 Two weeks later, the three men were released. The first thing they did wasn’t to apologize or mitigate the damage. It was to host a massive, nationally televised press conference. The event was titled: “Exposing the Bullying Tactics of the Cold-Blooded Capitalist, Sloane Ashworth.” The venue was the city’s most luxurious hotel—the same one Skylar was staying at. Hundreds of media outlets were present, flashbulbs blazing. Skylar, clad in a pristine white dress, looked devastatingly vulnerable, her face deliberately pale and bare of makeup. She sat at the center, flanked by Rhys on the left and Cameron on the right, with Leo standing stoically behind her. They were a united front of victims. Skylar cried for three full minutes before she managed to speak. “I apologize to the public, and most of all, to Ms. Ashworth.” “I know Ms. Ashworth has always disliked me, feeling I wasn’t worthy of being friends with Rhys and Cameron. I understand that.” “But I never, ever intended to take anything from her.” “That day, I was so scared. My finger was bleeding heavily, and I thought I might die…” She held up the hand with the tiny scratch—now barely a faded pink line—for the cameras. “It was only because Rhys and the others were so worried about me that they took Ms. Ashworth’s plane in the heat of the moment.” “We are willing to pay for the jet fuel, and we are willing to apologize.” “But Ms. Ashworth… why such cruelty?” “Why call the federal agents on us? Why let the CDC drag us away like we were diseased criminals?” She wept, her body shaking delicately. Rhys immediately put his arm around her, glaring at the cameras. “Sloane Ashworth is a psychopath. This is nothing but a vicious character assassination.” “She is using her power and wealth to systematically crush us out of spite and jealousy.” “She is even trying to throw me out of the company I helped build from the ground up just to force me to surrender.” Cameron took the microphone, his expression grim. “My engagement to Sloane was always a corporate tragedy arranged by our families.” “She fundamentally misunderstands love. All she sees is profit, control, and winning.” “A woman like that is terrifying. I am thankful I didn’t marry her.” Leo Maxwell, the actor, delivered a heartfelt monologue to the lens. “In this whole cynical industry, only Skylar is pure and innocent.” “Sloane, with her stench of money and cold ambition, isn’t worthy of cleaning Skylar’s shoes.” “She can blacklist me; I don’t care. If it means protecting Skylar, I will quit Hollywood forever!” The statements set off a firestorm online. #JusticeForSkylar #SloaneAshworthIsAVillain #ColdBloodedBillionaire The hashtags dominated social media. Misled netizens swarmed Ashworth Global’s official accounts with hateful comments. Someone even Photoshopped my obituary and sent it to the front desk. The company stock began to flutter nervously. The old-guard board members, the vultures who feared instability, called me one after another, demanding answers. “Ms. Ashworth, is this how you manage a crisis? You’ve turned the company into a circus!” “If you cannot quell this public outrage, we will be forced to activate the impeachment proceedings.” I watched the four of them on the live stream, noting the frantic stock ticker on my desktop. I wasn’t worried. Instead, I poured my assistant a cup of tea. “Patience.” “Let them play their part a little longer.” “The audience isn’t big enough yet. The backlash isn’t intense enough.” “The moment the entire internet is howling my name is the perfect moment to drop the net.” I was waiting for a file, one that would guarantee their complete, irreversible ruin. 5 The press conference reached its dramatic peak. Encouraged by the three men, Skylar pulled out her phone. “To prove how vindictive Ms. Ashworth is, I have an audio recording here.” “It’s what she said to me after I accidentally spilled some wine on her shoe at a gala a few months ago.” She hit play. My voice, cold and measured, cut through the silence. “You think you can just walk away? That shoe is a custom-made Chanel slingback worth eighty-eight thousand dollars. Pay for it, then disappear. Don’t try to play the damsel with me; I don’t fall for it.” The room erupted in gasps. The reporters murmured: “No way, that’s so arrogant!” “Over a pair of shoes?” “Is this the face of modern capitalism?” Skylar cried harder. “Ms. Ashworth has always looked down on me, seeing me as nothing more than a poor girl…” Rhys, Cameron, and Leo looked indignant, as if I were the villain in a Greek tragedy. Just then, the massive screen behind them, which was displaying Skylar’s tearful photo, suddenly flashed. It went black, and a line of stark white text appeared: [EVIDENCE DISCLOSURE: THE CASE OF ASHWORTH GLOBAL PRIVATE JET THEFT & CORPORATE FUND MISAPPROPRIATION] The audience was stunned. Then, a high-definition video began to play. The setting was Rhys Kincaid’s lavish office. The timestamp was two hours before the private jet’s takeoff. In the frame, Rhys, Cameron, and Leo were gathered, smoking and laughing. There was no urgency, no concern, only calculated glee. Rhys exhaled a plume of smoke, chuckling. “Skylar is so dramatic. Cuts her finger and posts it online.” Cameron carelessly played with a lighter. “She wants attention. And frankly, I’m sick of Sloane the Ice Queen. All she talks about is the IPO. No romance, no fun.” Leo had his feet propped up on the desk. “Hey, Sloane’s new jet is sweet. I haven’t flown on it yet. Why don’t we take that one to pick up Skylar?” “Might as well grab a quick week in the Maldives. Sloane is too busy to notice.” Rhys hesitated. “The plane is Sloane’s personal asset. We don’t have the authorization.” Cameron sneered. “What are you afraid of? The three of us can’t handle one Sloane Ashworth?” “We’ll just claim it was a rescue mission. Even if she finds out, is she going to burn us over something so trivial? She needs us.” Leo roared with laughter. “Exactly! Sloane is a pathetic, unloved creature. Just give her a little sweet talk, and she’ll open her wallet. This is a lesson for her, making her realize who she really needs to beg.” Rhys ultimately gave the final nod. “Fine. Let’s go. There’s twenty million in the corporate account for ‘miscellaneous overseas promotion.’ We’ll use that to charter Skylar a private island for a few days. We can always cook the books later.” The video footage was crystal clear, the audio sharp. Every word, every casual laugh, landed like a brutal slap on the faces of the four people on stage and the hundreds in the audience. The reporters who had just been denouncing me now stared, jaws slackened in total shock. Immediately, the screen shifted to Skylar Bloom’s private text messages. The timestamp was one hour before takeoff. She texted Rhys: “Babe, my finger hurts so bad. Hurry! Is Sloane’s new jet super comfy? I really want to try it…” Attached was a deliberately zoomed-in photo of the tiny cut, with the caption: “It would be so perfect to recover on the beach in the Maldives.” Rhys instantly replied: “Wait for us, darling. Picking you up now. Consider this a vacation.” Skylar sent a shy emoji: “Won’t that be too much trouble for Ms. Ashworth?” Rhys: “Forget that ice maiden. With us around, nobody can touch you.” This exchange confirmed Skylar was an active participant in the manipulation. The livestream chat went silent, then exploded with a flood of new comments. [WHAT IS THIS PLOT TWIST?!] [It was never a rescue; it was a vacation plot?!] [Misappropriation of funds? Falsifying books? These are federal crimes!] [These men are disgusting. Mooches who think they’re entitled!] [Where are the Skylar fans now? This is your innocent goddess?] On the stage, the four faces turned bone-white. Rhys tried to lunge for the power cable, but it was useless. Cameron’s water glass slipped from his numb fingers and shattered on the floor. Leo instinctively shielded his face, trying to escape the cameras. Skylar was too terrified to even cry, frozen in place. And it wasn’t over. The screen rotated again, showing pages of official, red-stamped financial audit reports. Every single transaction was flagged for criminal misconduct. Rhys’s fictitious overseas promotion funds were clearly traced to Skylar’s island resort bill. The money Cameron diverted from the Ashworth-Wilde joint projects was used to plug holes in his father’s books. Leo’s chat logs, detailing his insider trading and the sale of confidential company data, were displayed with dates and content. Finally, the screen cut to a live feed from the city’s FBI Economic Crimes Division. The Division Chief addressed the camera gravely. “We have formally launched an investigation into Rhys Kincaid, Cameron Wilde, and Leo Maxwell on charges of embezzlement and corporate fund misappropriation. Skylar Bloom, as a co-conspirator, is also under investigation.” “Preliminary findings confirm the total misappropriated funds exceed five hundred and thirty million dollars. Evidence has been secured. We will be taking all four individuals into custody immediately.” As the feed ended, the doors to the banquet hall burst open. A team of police officers marched in. The lead officer strode onto the stage and displayed the warrants. “Rhys Kincaid, Cameron Wilde, Leo Maxwell, and Skylar Bloom. You are under arrest for severe economic crimes. You are now being taken into criminal custody.” Rhys’s knees buckled; he collapsed onto the carpet. Cameron tried to argue. “I’m the heir to the Wilde fortune! You can’t arrest me! I need my lawyer!” Leo immediately tried to deflect. “This isn’t my fault! Rhys made me do it! I’m just an artist; I don’t understand any of this!” Skylar shrieked, clutching the table leg. “I’m innocent! They gave me the money! I didn’t know! I’m the victim here!” The four allies, moments ago a picture of devoted friendship, immediately tore each other apart under the weight of the law. No one believed their tears now. Reporters shoved their lenses right into their faces, documenting every miserable moment. Watching them being led out and loaded into the police vehicles, I finally felt the tension leave my body. However, just as the police motorcade began to pull away, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. I answered. A voice, distorted by a scrambler, came through the line. “Sloane Ashworth, well done.” “You’ve neutralized these pawns, which saves me a lot of trouble.” “Those three fools were only ever useful for wasting company resources and stuffing Skylar’s pockets. They were useless to my real plan. You’ve cleared the deadwood for me, saving me the trouble of doing it myself.” He gave a cold, sinister chuckle. “But do you think you’ve won?” “Check the wire transfer log for the Ashworth Global overseas account. That five billion—is it still there?” I shot to my feet, my heart pounding in my chest. The overseas account? That was Ashworth’s core capital, the massive reserve for our European expansion—the final lifeline my mother had left me. I immediately logged into the bank system. The screen displayed an unbearable truth. BALANCE: 0. “What did you do? Who are you?” I demanded into the phone. The voice chuckled again. “Who I am is irrelevant. What matters, Sloane, is this: Welcome to the real Hell Mode.” The line went dead. I stared at the dark screen, my hands ice cold.

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The women in the assisted living facility were gathered in the common room, sharing stories of the loves that had defined their lives. The kind of stories you only tell when you know the ending. When it was my turn, I spoke without inflection. “When I was twenty-five, my husband gave me his heart.” The room went instantly silent. No one needed the details. The quiet that followed was profound, the kind that settles after a shared tragedy. Even after forty years, the thought of him still brought that familiar, sharp ache to my chest. I pushed myself up, ready to retreat to my room, when a new resident—a woman who had only arrived a few weeks ago—spoke up. “Funny thing is, the year I’ll never forget is the first year I was with my husband. I told him I wanted a real life, a real title.” She paused, taking a slow sip of her lukewarm tea. “He heard me, and the next day, his wife conveniently suffered a ‘sudden cardiac episode.’ He faked giving her his heart and staged his own death. His wife mourned him for forty years, believing he was her sacrifice. Meanwhile, we lived out our lives, gray and surrounded by children and grandchildren.” Her eyes were fixed on me as she spoke, and the malice in them was a dark, bottomless well. In that moment, I recognized her. Sienna Lowe. Rhys’s secretary from four decades ago. 1 The shock was a physical blow. I passed out. When I opened my eyes again, the first thing I saw was Rhys. He was dressed in a cheap Santa suit, holding out a small, festive gift. “Eliza, Merry Christmas! Go on, open it. Tell me you love it.” The scene was terrifyingly familiar. In my past life, the object inside that cheerfully wrapped box had induced a cardiac episode. When I woke up in the hospital, I received the news of his death. His sacrifice. Now, I looked at his face, vibrant and near—the face I had mourned for forty years. But beneath the relief of seeing him alive, Sienna’s words echoed: Induced cardiac episode… staged his own death… My hand hovered mid-air. Finally, under the expectant gaze of the man I loved, my fingers landed on the ribbon. I slowly unveiled the box. The contents—an object identical to the one in my memory—sat silently on the velvet lining. In the same instant, the familiar, crippling pain seized my heart. My vision tunneled, and Rhys’s panicked face began to swim before me… I woke up to the smell of disinfectant and the sound of quiet sobbing. My mother-in-law, Mrs. Fenton, held my hand, her voice thick with tears. “Eliza, you have to hold on… Rhys… he left his heart for you. He wants you to live a full life…” Everything was exactly as it had been in the last life. Except this time, I didn’t cry. My face was unnervingly blank. The circle of friends and family around my bed watched my dry-eyed silence. Their sympathy curdled into confusion, then into a silent, communal accusation. How could you not weep? How could you be so calm? He gave his life for you! Ignoring their protests, I ripped off the monitors and rushed home. I tore through the house in a frantic search. Drawers, closets, old journals, junk boxes… Finally, hidden deep in the files on his old desktop computer, I found a purchase history. Following the record was an unfamiliar delivery address. I drove there immediately. It was a quiet suburban neighborhood, the house warm and comfortable. I didn’t see anyone, but a neighbor emerged to take out the trash, giving me a friendly, assessing look. “You looking for the couple in 302? They’re the sweetest thing.” The neighbor chatted easily, tossing her bag into the bin. “I remember once, it was pouring rain, and he worried his wife would slip. He actually took two hours off work just to lay non-slip mats from the garage door to the front path.” “And he never comes home from the grocery store without a little bunch of daisies—her favorites…” I listened in silence, every word falling like a drop of ice. Non-slip mats in the rain. Her favorite flowers. Rhys had done those things for me, too. After my diagnosis, during that rainy season, he had silently lined our walkway. He had always remembered to bring home a bouquet of my favorite white lilies. The details I had cherished as symbols of a unique, irreplaceable love were nothing more than a well-used script. They were not for me, but for the role of Wife with a Weak Heart. I sat back in my car and closed the door. The world was suddenly and terribly quiet. The steering wheel was cold in my hands. Where was I supposed to go? What was I supposed to believe? On what foundation had forty years of mourning and heart-wrenching loss been built? How much was sincere love, and how much was a performance? My phone screen flickered to life. A notification. It was a new post from a profile I’d added years ago, someone I didn’t know but hadn’t bothered to delete. The picture was a casual street view, tagged in a distant coastal town. The caption was simple: New place is set up. She loves the ocean. A profound chill ran through me. That coastal town was the exact place Rhys and Sienna had moved to. In the previous life, this profile had also been on my friends list. He rarely posted, but when he did, it was always a glimpse into a peaceful, ordinary married life: grocery runs, watching old movies on a rainy day, tending to the flower pots on the balcony… The words were full of the quiet smoke and warmth of a simple, treasured life. I had no idea who he was, but I’d always thought, If my Rhys were still here, he would be like this. I’d never deleted the stranger’s account. Sometimes, I’d even give a silent ‘Like,’ hoping to borrow a sliver of that illusory warmth to soothe my own endless desolation. I hadn’t known. That was him. Rhys Fenton. He was living the life I had desperately wanted—and loving another woman with the authenticity I craved. 2 The next thing I knew, I was on a flight to that distant coastal town. Forty years of agony demanded an answer. Following the information I’d gathered, I found the coffee shop owned by one of Sienna’s friends. Hearing I was an old acquaintance, the friend greeted me warmly. Before I even had to ask, she began talking about how Rhys and Sienna met. “Rhys and Sienna were college sweethearts, practically! Well, he was two years ahead, but they met at orientation and they’ve been in touch ever since.” “It wasn’t until last year they decided to finally make it official. Sienna loves the coast, so Rhys bought this beautiful oceanfront house. Said he wanted to spend the rest of his life here with her.” “And they’d barely moved in when Sienna got pregnant. Rhys was ecstatic! He said this was true peace, and they had to hurry up and make it all legitimate for her and the baby.” I learned they had known each other for so long. They had planned to grow old here all along. Sienna was already pregnant. The friend kept talking about the details of their courtship, but my mind had slipped back to my past life. Rhys and I had almost had a child, too. But because of my heart condition, the doctor strongly advised against it. Rhys had been silent for a long time. Then he’d held me and said, “We won’t keep it. I only need you to be safe.” I was deeply moved, and profoundly guilty. So guilty I’d considered gambling with my life to carry the baby to term. But then, I overheard a phone call between him and his mother. “Yes, I messed with the timing, so what? She’s pregnant now. I just have to coax her, and she’ll be too soft-hearted to end it! What’s wrong with wanting a child?” In that moment, the world fell silent. I only heard the heavy, sickening thump of my own heart. The tender husband before my eyes warped into a stranger I didn’t know at all. I smashed everything within reach and screamed at him. I called him selfish, a liar, a man who didn’t care about me—only saw me as a means to an end. After his initial panic, his face twisted into the rage of a cheat exposed. He spat the words out. “A woman on borrowed time like you… if you can’t even give me an heir, what was the point of this marriage?” All my fury froze. I looked at him as if he were a monster. Then a sudden, violent spasm gripped my abdomen. A warm gush of liquid soaked my skirt and the chaotic, broken floor. I lost the baby. In the hospital room, his parents arrived. In front of them, Rhys dropped to his knees, slapping his own face, again and again. He sobbed that he had been momentarily insane, that he desperately wanted our child, that he was terrified of losing me, and it had made him lose his mind. He was wrong, he knew it, and he begged me to forgive him, promising he would only focus on my health from now on. He hit himself hard, and his cheek quickly swelled. His parents tried to restrain him, their eyes red, worried about upsetting me further. I kept my eyes closed, unwilling to witness the nauseating, absurd performance. My body was in pain, but my mind was numb and frozen. But the human heart is a wretched thing. Even though I knew it was poison wrapped in frosting, even after experiencing the deepest betrayal, seeing him kneeling there, face bruised and tear-streaked… That pathetic, treacherous emotion began to stir. A man wanting a child with the person he loves… is that really so wrong? In that moment, I found an excuse for him. I softened. I forgave him. After that, he never mentioned children again. He became meticulous, attentive, and outwardly full of remorse. I had believed it was guilt. I had believed it was repentance. Now, sitting in this coffee-scented shop, listening to his mistress’s friend casually mention, “Sienna’s pregnant,” I finally put the pieces together. He hadn’t given up the idea of a family. He had just traded me in for a newer, more functional model to build his perfectly complete home. “Are you… are you here to see them?” The friend finally paused, looking curiously at my silent, pale face. I parted my lips. The saltiness of the sea air seemed to clog my throat. Was I here to see them? Under what identity? Before I could invent a plausible lie, the friend offered her own conclusion. “Oh, I know! You must be coming for their wedding tomorrow night at The Grand Meridian! What a joyous occasion. You can join the fun!” The Grand Meridian. The very hotel Rhys and I had chosen for our wedding. 3 I was back at The Grand Meridian. The champagne-rose archway, the long, sweeping red carpet. Every single detail—the curve of the petals, the fold of the satin ribbon—was exactly as Rhys and I had meticulously planned on the blueprints years ago. In my previous life, I never set foot here again, terrified of invoking the ghost of what should have been. Now, this metaphorical graveyard of my suffering was hosting their happiness. I melted into the crowd of guests and saw many familiar faces. Rhys’s relatives, old colleagues, and even… His parents. The two seniors were dressed in crisp, celebratory clothes, surrounded by old friends, their faces beaming with unconcealed joy. I managed to smile looking at them, though it probably looked more like a grimace. In my last life, after Rhys “died,” his mother had clung to my hand, sobbing until she was exhausted. “Eliza, Rhys is gone, but you are our daughter now. His final wish was for you to live well. We… we will take care of you for him.” I took her words as truth, and as a debt. When they were sick, I was the one who stayed up to nurse them, signing papers and running errands. I fixed the leaky pipes, replaced the lightbulbs, and managed their seasonal wardrobe changes. I never missed a holiday gift, and my weekend visits were sacrosanct. I signed the high-risk consent forms for Mr. Fenton’s heart surgery. When Mrs. Fenton became frail, I paid for her in-home care and visited weekly. I saw them through to their final days, arranging everything properly as their ‘daughter.’ I believed this was penance, a memorial to my lost love. Now, I heard Mrs. Fenton boast to a relative: “Sienna is a dream. She’s taken such good care of Rhys these past few years, and she’s so attentive to us.” “We waited so long for them to finally settle down.” Mr. Fenton nodded, his voice full of relief. “It’s true. If not for her, Rhys would never have recovered. We’ve been anticipating this day for too long.” It turned out that all those years I spent living as their dedicated ‘widow,’ caring for them until the end… They knew the whole time. They knew their son was living an actual married life in another city with another woman. All my heartfelt devotion was probably seen as the pathetic, self-absorbed theatrics of a fool. A sharp, searing bitterness rushed up my throat. I lowered my head. A hot tear splashed onto the carpet, spreading into a dark, small stain. Then, a distant aunt leaned in, her voice low and tentative. “Speaking of which… what ever happened to Rhys’s first wife, Eliza Snow?” The cheerful chatter instantly died. Mrs. Fenton’s smile faded. She quickly pulled her lips into a thin line. “Oh, darling, today is a happy day. Let’s not spoil it by bringing up irrelevant people and things. That’s all in the past. We need to look forward.” Irrelevant people. Yesterday, she sent me a message telling me to move on. Today, I was “irrelevant.” The ceremony was about to begin. Guests took their seats. I stood at the back, watching the scene that mirrored my long-ago dreams. The music I chose, the flowers I selected, every step of the processional I had designed. On the stage, Rhys stood tall and straight in a crisp tuxedo. This was the first time since my rebirth that I truly looked at him. He looked young, vivid, and real—exactly as he was in my memory. That familiar, stubborn ache in my chest returned, dull but pervasive. The barrier between us was not just these few days since my rebirth; it was the four decades of solitude I had endured. The wedding march began. Sienna, in a white gown, started her walk toward Rhys. I watched. The answer I had relentlessly pursued, the very question of his love… it suddenly felt meaningless. He felt meaningless. Sienna, her smile radiant and certain, stopped before him. The officiant began the familiar inquiry: “Rhys Fenton, do you take Sienna Lowe to be your wife, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, holding only to her, until death do you part?” All eyes were on him. I turned away. I was done watching a perfect picture that was never meant for me. I took my first step toward the exit. But from the stage, Rhys’s voice cut through the air, clear and devastatingly loud. “I do not.”

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My sugar daddy took me to a gala, and I ended up in a fistfight with the love of his life. He pulled me out of the brawl, his grip like iron. With my hair a mess and mascara running, I glared at him coldly. “You taking sides now?” He remained silent, his jaw tight. I ripped the diamond ring off my finger and threw it in his face. “I’m dumping you.” 1 I was Chloe, Damian’s kept woman. We’d been together for three years. He was handsome, wealthy, incredible in bed, and generous. His only rule was no kissing scenes in my movies. Because of that, I lost some roles and got labeled “fake” and “stuck up” by the critics. I didn’t care. I had always been obedient. I never caused trouble. I never imagined that the first time I caused trouble, it would be nuclear. I punched his childhood sweetheart in the face. 2 It started when Damian asked me to be his plus-one at a high-society engagement party. I never fit in with his “Old Money” crowd. I wanted to say no, but I’d been filming on location for three months. I missed him. So, I went. Naturally, I ran into people I didn’t want to see. I tried to avoid them, but they cornered me in the garden. Vivian was Damian’s childhood friend. Her family had moved to Europe years ago and just moved back to the States. Jessica was my nemesis in Hollywood. She constantly bought bots to trash me on Twitter. I didn’t know they knew each other. I sat on a bench, trying to be invisible. Jessica was examining her manicure, speaking loudly enough for me to hear. “It’s the Sterling engagement party. How did the trash get in?” Vivian glanced at me, her voice indifferent. “You dragged me out here just to gossip?” Jessica gave her a sycophantic smile. “Viv, don’t be like that. It’s stuffy inside. Besides…” “Viv, are you and Damian finally merging families? Like, marriage?” “It’s… pretty much settled.” “That’s amazing! A power couple. It’s about time some people realized they’re just placeholders.” Vivian didn’t respond. Jessica kept going. I turned to leave, but her next words froze me. “Some people are so trashy. Her dad caused that construction collapse years ago. People lost their jobs, and he only lost a leg? That’s karma.” I stopped. I turned around, walked up to her, and slapped her twice across the face. Jessica clutched her cheek, screaming. “Chloe! Are you insane?” I smiled coldly. “I can handle you talking trash behind my back, but did you think I wouldn’t hit you to your face?” Vivian frowned. “Miss Hart, this is the Sterling estate. Have you thought about the consequences?” My eyes were sharp. “Miss Vance, if someone mocked your crippled father to your face, I’d hope you wouldn’t stop to think about consequences either.” Vivian stayed silent, but Jessica lunged, grabbing my hair. I don’t know how Vivian got involved, but by the time Damian arrived, the three of us were a tangled mess on the ground. Damian, face like thunder, hauled me out of the pile. I looked like a wreck. Vivian barely had a hair out of place. I glared at Damian. “You protecting her?” He frowned, saying nothing. That’s when I threw the ring. “I’m dumping you!” I ran out, dove into a waiting Uber, and sped off. But the moment the door closed, I broke down. I had just wrapped filming yesterday. I came back full of love and excitement to see him. And instead of a warm welcome, I got humiliated, and he took her side. My phone buzzed. Damian calling. I picked up and screamed, “The penthouse in Bel Air is in my name! You have one week to move out!” I hung up and blocked him on everything. Bastard. We were done. 3 I didn’t go back to the Bel Air penthouse. I checked into a hotel in West Hollywood. After a shower, the adrenaline faded, and reality set in. I was probably the first sugar baby in history to evict her billionaire patron. I had gotten bold over the years. In the beginning, I was terrified of him. I met Damian at a slimy networking dinner. My agent forced me to go “socialize” with investors. My family used to be middle class, but after my dad’s accident on the construction site, we lost everything paying off debts and medical bills. To help, I signed a predatory contract with a talent agency. They gave me zero roles and treated me like an escort. I tried to dodge the dinners, playing sick, playing dumb. But that night, I had no choice. I walked into the VIP room. It was full of greasy middle-aged men. Damian sat at the head of the table, looking like a king among trolls. He got up to leave almost immediately. I panicked and followed him into the hall. “Sir,” I stammered. “Can I… go with you?” He towered over me, looking down with cold eyes. “Why? Do I look like the nice one?” He looked like the scariest one, actually. But I couldn’t say that. I shook my head. “You’re the best looking.” Damian scoffed. “I know.” He looked impatient. I blurted out, “You look like a good person.” He smirked, a dangerous glint in his eye. “You need glasses.” He left. My agent dragged me back inside. They forced whiskey down my throat. A fat producer put his hand on my thigh. I struggled, knocking over a glass. He slapped me, calling me ungrateful, and tried to rip my dress. In panic, I grabbed a shard of the broken glass and stabbed him in the leg. I sat there, shaking, thinking I was going to prison. Then the door swung open. Damian stood there. He glanced around the room. The producer, who had been screaming like a pig, instantly went silent. “Didn’t you want to come with me? Well? Come here.” I dropped the glass and ran to him. I was shaking so hard I couldn’t stand. He scooped me up and carried me out. 4 He took me to the penthouse. I spent an hour in the bathroom, terrified to come out. I heard him on the phone, fixing the mess I made. When the voices stopped, I walked out wrapped in a towel. He was leaning back on the sofa, shirt unbuttoned, looking effortlessly expensive. I stood in front of him, gathered my courage, and dropped the towel. I squeezed my eyes shut. He stood up, picked up the towel, and wrapped it back around me. “You’re young,” he teased. “But bold.” My face burned. “I… I’ve never done this… I don’t know the protocol…” “Look at me.” I gripped the towel, forcing myself to meet his eyes. They were dark, amused, and dangerous. “You trust me that much? Aren’t you afraid I’m worse than them?” “No,” I lied quickly. “Handsome people are usually kind.” He laughed. He pulled me close and kissed me. It was my first kiss. My brain melted. He brushed his thumb over my lip. “Go to sleep. Can you sleep alone?” I nodded dizzily. “Hm? Is that how you treat your sponsor?” His voice went up a pitch. I panicked and hugged his waist. “No! I’m scared. I need you to hold me.” He seemed satisfied, tucked me into bed, and went to make more calls. Half an hour later, he came back and held me while I slept. I checked the news for a week. Nothing. My predatory contract was dissolved. Damian set me up with a top-tier agency. The producer I stabbed vanished from Hollywood. For three years, Damian gave me the best resources. I went from a nobody to a B-list star. My parents’ debts were paid. They opened a small shop back home. Life was good. But for me, it was getting worse. Because I was falling in love with him. He was my patron. I was the contract lover. But loving Damian was the easiest thing in the world to do.

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On the day Ethan proposed to me, I broke up with him. Our friends were baffled. He knelt on the ground, pleading that he had been planning this proposal for a month. Roses everywhere, the scent filling the garden—it was indeed thoughtful. But… what a coincidence. I had made up my mind to leave him exactly one month ago. 1 I said the words before Ethan could even pull the ring out of his pocket. The friends who were cheering us on suddenly went silent, as if someone had hit the pause button on the world. A gentle breeze carried the rich scent of roses to my nose. The proposal setup was truly beautiful. Back when we started dating, I told him that if he ever proposed, it had to be in Napa Valley, under an arch of white roses, and I wanted to be wearing a white vintage dress. He remembered everything. He even did more than I asked. “Why? Don’t you love me anymore?” It took Ethan a long moment to react. His face turned beet red. I looked quietly at this face, the man I had loved for ten years. He was still handsome, still capable of making my heart skip a beat. But… I helped him up and gently patted his shoulder. “Ethan, it’s you who doesn’t love me anymore.” 2 Ethan and I met in high school. He was the captain of the debate team; I was the editor of the school paper. Our main activity was competing over GPAs. During senior year, we often stayed late at the library. Sometimes, we’d quiz each other before AP exams. He would poke my shoulder with his pen. “Summer, how did you do? I only missed one question on the History mock exam.” I wouldn’t back down either. We competed like that all the way to graduation. On the night of our graduation party, things went late. Ethan drove me home. For some reason, we got stuck in traffic on the 405. Amidst the honking of cars, I heard his voice. “Summer, I really like you. Will you go out with me?” I heard him clearly, but I pretended I didn’t, turning back to ask, “What did you say?” The night was dark, but I saw his ears turn bright red instantly. He stammered, “Nothing.” He walked me to my front door. Just as I was about to go inside, he suddenly closed his eyes and shouted. “Summer, I like you!” “I heard you. Summer likes you too.” I stood in front of him, grinning. He stepped back, startled. “I thought you went inside?” “Because I heard someone say he likes me, and since I like him too, I came back out.” His face turned completely red. That night was the beginning. The summer wind was hot, his white dress shirt was thin, and his bright laughter echoed in my mind for the next ten years. Back then, even holding hands made us blush for hours. We held hands, and we didn’t let go for ten years. In those ten years, we traveled everywhere. We went to New York, walking through Central Park, getting soaked by a sudden thunderstorm and failing to hail a cab; we went to San Francisco, haggling with a vendor at Fisherman’s Wharf for fresh crab; we went to New Orleans, leaving a note in a crack of a jazz bar wall that read: Hope everyone finds happiness; we went to the Grand Canyon, taking silly photos of each other on the rim… The internet says if a relationship lasts more than five years without marriage, it likely never will. I scoffed at that. Marriage felt like a natural progression to me. When the time was right, it would happen. I believed that. Until this year, when we went to Chicago. While watching the lights on the riverwalk, I accidentally saw his phone. 3 The Chicago skyline was breathtaking. I took a picture and turned to show him. But I saw him smiling, his fingers flying across the screen. Even though he locked it quickly, I saw the contact name and the profile picture. The name was “Zoe,” and the picture was Lotso the Bear from Toy Story. I couldn’t convince myself that a guy would use Lotso as a profile pic. Nor could I convince myself they were just friends. I had never checked his phone before. But that night, after he fell asleep, a gut feeling urged me to look. My hands trembled as I unlocked his screen. Zoe was a pretty girl. Her Instagram was vibrant. Selfies with Lotso. Funny memes. She posted daily updates about her life, full of emojis. Much livelier than my feed, which was mostly reposts of financial news. I didn’t want to scroll up their chat history, but I couldn’t stop myself. I scrolled to the very top and found they had added each other back in college. Her first message was: “Hi Senior, I’m Zoe.” Zoe. Ethan. Their names sounded good together. I read their chat logs like a masochist. When did it cross the line? It seemed to be this year. Zoe shared a playlist; he said it was great. Zoe said it was her birthday; he Venmoed her $100 and sent a plush toy. Zoe said, “I’m so tired today, Ethan.” He said, “Get some rest, don’t stay up late.” Zoe said, “I miss seeing you.” He replied with “…” and then, “Don’t think about it.” Zoe said, “Ethan, I’m lost.” He said, “Stay there, I’ll call a friend to pick you up, or I’ll come myself.” … These countless messages screamed that boundaries had been crossed. If I hadn’t been holding Ethan’s phone, I would have thought I was reading a romance novel. It turned out that while he was baking me cakes, replying to my texts, and buying me gifts, he was also messaging someone else. Did I make Ethan too comfortable? So comfortable that he never deleted a single message. I couldn’t even lie to myself if I wanted to. That night, I sat on the hotel sofa, looking out at the Chicago River. The water was beautiful under the moonlight, but in the reflection of the glass, I saw a pathetic, tear-streaked Summer. 4 I didn’t know how to face Ethan. So I booked the earliest flight back to D.C. My thesis advisor sent me a pile of research papers, and I buried myself in work. I rejected Ethan’s texts, calls, and requests to meet, using my thesis as an excuse. When he came to my campus, I lied and said I was on a research trip with my professor. I didn’t know why I was being so difficult. It felt like there were two little people in my head. One said: Summer, it’s ten years. Not ten days, not ten months. Ten years. The other said: Summer, he emotionally cheated. They tortured me day and night. Combined with the pressure of my PhD, I barely slept. During that time, I didn’t contact Ethan, and he thought I was genuinely busy, so he didn’t disturb me. One day, after a dinner with my cohort, we discussed research methods. Someone mentioned you could find data on Twitter by searching keywords. I don’t know why, but I searched for Zoe’s handle. One account popped up with the exact same profile picture. She had 1,323 tweets. I read every single one. She was full of energy. She donated to charity monthly, volunteered at animal shelters. She complained about her workload but finished it anyway, then tweeted a “Good job, me!” If she hadn’t intruded into my life, I would have liked her. But she chose to intrude. She even started a thread: My journey chasing the dream guy. Did she not know Ethan had a girlfriend? Ethan’s Facebook cover photo was of us. Or did she just think I wasn’t a threat? I found the answer quickly. That day, while walking to the cafeteria after reading papers, I checked Twitter. She had a new update: Confessed to him after the movies and got rejected. But it’s okay, he likes me. I just need to try harder. There was a screenshot attached. I clicked it. The person with Ethan’s profile pic said: “I’m sorry, I have a girlfriend. She’s been with me for ten years. I need to be responsible for her.” I dropped my tray. Silverware clattered loudly on the floor. A student asked if I was okay. I waved them off calmly. I didn’t cry this time. There was nothing to cry about. I was free. His reason for rejecting her wasn’t that he didn’t like her. It was because he had to be “responsible” for me. Not because he loved me, but because he felt guilty for wasting my years. In other words, Ethan gave her the confidence to compete with me. He made me—someone who was agonizing over whether to give him a chance to explain—look like a joke. I was the obstacle in the way of his true love. The villain in a soap opera. Funny. That girl had only been in the picture for a few months, yet she outweighed our ten years.

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The night before I was set to sign the marriage license, the sales associate at Veridia told me my fiancée had purchased a limited-edition ‘Midnight Reindeer’ holiday lingerie set. I froze for a few seconds, then my heart hammered against my ribs. I thought, foolishly, that she was finally touched by my ten-year pursuit—that this was a special wedding surprise just for me. But on the day of the wedding, I waited until the last guest had left and she still hadn’t appeared. The only thing I saw was a celebratory post on her intern’s social media: “My CEO Queen said she refuses to let an old, linked-up dude take her first kill, lol, so I got to put my stamp on it first.” “Who cares if someone used their family name to force a ten-year engagement? One tear from me, and she ditched the entire wedding.” “And she promised me that for every time she has to sleep with the old man in the future, she’ll compensate me twice with me~” The accompanying photo showed him, Spencer Reed, with a light, mocking finger hooked through the lacy strap of the lingerie set she had bought with my money. The hickey-covered skin visible on Genevieve’s chest in his arms felt like a physical chill spreading through me. Everyone was betting on what I’d do: Would I retaliate against the intern, or would I swallow the humiliation for the sake of Genevieve Sinclair? No one expected that I, Ashton Pierce, who had chased her for a decade and never considered giving up, would go straight to the official media to announce: Engagement voided. Genevieve’s call immediately came through, her tone icy: “Ashton, why are you starting a fight with a kid like Spencer? He doesn’t have any experience with… you know, relationship stuff. I was just worried he’d be at a disadvantage later, so I put it on as a demonstration. It wasn’t like we actually did anything! The social media post was just a penalty for losing a round of Truth or Dare!” “Besides, that outfit didn’t show a single scandalous thing. Do you really need to make such a big spectacle? No wonder Spencer calls you an archaic Puritan!” “Delete that post immediately before my parents see it! Do you have any idea how much capital is involved in our families’ joint ventures? We’re talking hundreds of millions; you can’t just joke about that!” “After you apologize to Spencer and get his forgiveness, we can reschedule the wedding and go to the courthouse.” I held the phone, my voice flat. “It makes no difference.” “You’re not the only alliance available to Pierce Holdings.” 1 Genevieve clearly paused, the sheer annoyance in her voice practically spilling out of the receiver. “Ashton Pierce, are you seriously making a federal case out of this?” “Spencer and I drank too much at the bachelorette party last night and slept in; it’s not like I deliberately stood you up. We can just have the wedding another day, can’t we?” “The alliance was settled by our parents years ago. Trying to leverage a non-existent slight like this, just to play the victim… how childish are you?” Listening to her, I felt a burning rush of blood to my head, and I nearly shouted into the phone: “A ‘non-existent slight?’ You call ditching the wedding a ‘non-existent slight?’ Our parents, the entire upper echelon of Westfield’s business partners, and all our friends were waiting there, dressed up, for hours! You call that a ‘non-existent slight?’ Or how about the fact that you, a woman set to be married tomorrow, took pictures like that with Spencer Reed and posted them online? You call that a ‘non-existent slight?’” I inhaled deeply, forcing down the lump in my throat, the words catching as I demanded: “Genevieve, what exactly counts as a big deal to you?” Maybe Spencer Reed’s slightest frown was the biggest deal in the world to her. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have abandoned a few hundred people at the wedding venue just because of one of his crocodile tears. I didn’t give her a chance to argue, immediately hanging up. My mother stood beside me, her eyes red, waiting for an answer. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, my voice was as calm as frozen water: “Mom, please contact the other potential alliances.” “But you waited for Gen for ten years, maybe if you just wait for the next…” “I’m done waiting,” I cut her off, wiping away the last hint of dampness from my eye. “She is not worth it.” I sat down, alone, on the day of my thirtieth Christmas Eve, and for the first time, I took a serious look back at my life. The most golden decade of my life, from twenty to thirty, was spent waiting for Genevieve to turn around. For her sake, I managed Pierce Holdings while constantly bailing out the Sinclair Group’s crises. I once drank so much blocking drinks for her that I landed in the emergency room with a bleeding ulcer; I stayed up all night rewriting proposals, treating liver supplements like meals; and when her father fell critically ill, I stepped in to manage their operations. I even personally led the team that took the Sinclair Group’s overseas division public over three grueling years. I worked so hard that some people suspected I was trying to stage a corporate takeover. Only I knew the truth: I just wanted her to finally see me. That I was worthy of her, and strong enough to support her entire world. A month ago, after the overseas division’s successful IPO, she finally accepted my proposal, scheduling the high-profile Christmas wedding everyone in the city was talking about. I was ecstatic. I thought she had finally recognized my efforts. I oversaw every detail of the wedding myself and even rented all the city’s outdoor billboards to broadcast the ceremony live. I wanted the entire city to witness that I had finally won. But in the end, the guests left, and my parents were humiliated. Calls to Genevieve’s parents went unanswered until the phones were practically melting. I got nothing but a social media post from Spencer Reed, who displayed their intimate photos and scornfully mocked my ten years of waiting. The moment I saw that photo, I expected to collapse, to go mad, or, as in the past, to make excuses for her, to live in denial. But there was nothing. Only an empty, desolate void in my heart. The truth was, not all waiting yields a result. Some people will simply never turn back. My phone vibrated again. I assumed it was Genevieve, still relentless, and was about to turn it off. But the text I saw made my eyes snap wide open. 2 Genevieve didn’t stoop to a petty, private spat like blocking me. She sent a formal letter directly to Pierce Holdings, unilaterally announcing the termination of all joint ventures. This was immediately followed by an Equity Redemption Notice. The basis was an agreement I had signed years ago to give her peace of mind: I agreed that the Sinclair Group could, at any time, buy back the shares I held as collateral—shares I had acquired when the company faced a cash-flow crisis—at 30% below market price. I had liquidated all my personal assets to keep the Sinclair Group afloat during her father’s illness; the value of those shares had now multiplied several times over. I never intended to profit from them. That agreement was meant as a promise to her: Look, I will never use your vulnerability against you. Now, it had become the knife she used to stab me. “Ashton Pierce, you asked what a big deal was? Now you know,” the text read. “This is the price of your impulse. Enjoy it.” I stood blankly, my eyes blurring with tears. Suddenly, I was transported back to that late night many years ago. Her father had collapsed, and she, new to the corporate world, was terrified and called me, crying, completely out of her depth. I postponed three vital meetings during my business trip and took a redeye flight to pick her up. She was curled up in the passenger seat, eyes swollen, quietly asking: “Ashton, will you always be this good to me?” I said, “Yes.” She buried her face in her knees, her voice muffled: “Then you can’t ever leave me.” But the one who always left first had been her. That promise… I refused to keep it any longer. 3 I left the empty ballroom, needing to rush back to the office to deal with the inevitable fallout from her legal actions. I looked up and froze. The city’s massive outdoor screens, the ones that were supposed to be broadcasting our wedding, were now showing Spencer Reed’s face, a look of profound “regret” plastered on it. Genevieve had handed the live broadcast rights of our wedding over to him. I dug my fingertips into my palm, the cold metal edges of my car key pressing painfully into my skin. I could almost hear the sound of my blood running cold. On screen, Spencer’s face was appropriately contrite. He managed a smile that suggested he was bearing the weight of the world’s misunderstanding. “Mr. Pierce, I couldn’t get a hold of you, and I was genuinely worried that the misunderstanding was deepening… I had no choice but to use this public platform to explain.” “Last night’s bachelorette party was certainly my oversight. I shouldn’t have pressured Gen to drink so much, but it was just harmless fun between young people, nothing scandalous. I had no ill intention, I truly didn’t think you would be so upset that you would cancel the engagement… isn’t that a bit rash?” “You’ve pursued Gen for so many years, but hasn’t she also remained unmarried for ten years? She finally decided to trust you, and you make such a massive scene.” He sighed, his gaze sincere and worried: “In a relationship, there’s more than just right and wrong; there should be understanding and compassion, don’t you think? I know I’m saying too much, but I’m just concerned for Gen. She carries the weight of a massive company on her shoulders, and now even her marriage can’t give her peace…” Just then, Genevieve’s figure strode into the frame, pulling Spencer behind her. Her makeup was flawless, but her eyes were sharp and cold, as if they could pierce the screen and pin me in place. “Why are you apologizing to him?” Her voice was clear, laced with unconcealed disdain. “Ashton Pierce is just a prude; he really thought he could control me, didn’t he?” “Let me make this perfectly clear. The fact that you caused a spectacle over a single piece of sexy lingerie only proves how twisted your mind is! I don’t need you begging me to marry you!” “Listen up: I’m sending my assistant to buy two thousand of Veridia’s holiday limited-edition sets right now and pile them up outside the Sinclair Group headquarters! They’ll be free to take until the last one is gone! The moment the final piece is taken, Spencer and I are getting married! And every person who takes a piece of lingerie is invited to my wedding!” The live feed abruptly cut out. Almost simultaneously, my phone buzzed, pushing the breaking news story that the live broadcast had ignited. “Spencer is so classy, doing a city-wide broadcast to explain, but Ashton Pierce shutting off his phone is just dramatic…” “Ashton is definitely being a sore loser. It was just a game between young people, why is he so triggered by a single piece of lingerie?” “Gen is such a boss! She looks incredible in Veridia! The old man really doesn’t deserve her! So, where exactly are they handing out the free lingerie at Sinclair HQ? Asking for a friend!” “He put up with ten years of everything, but one piece of lingerie breaks him? Why wait so long? Is he planning something sneaky?” “LOL, who else would marry a relic like Ashton Pierce if it weren’t for the Sinclair alliance? Get a grip, old timer!” … I sat in my car, my expression numb. I remembered when Spencer Reed first interned at the Sinclair Group; Genevieve had been dismissive of him, finding his smile too ingratiating. I, recalling that they were from the same business school, covered for Spencer several times and even genuinely taught him a few things, hoping he would become an asset to Genevieve. When did things change? Perhaps it was when he “casually” mentioned the fragility of growing up in a single-parent home. Or the lonely, deep-fried wisdom he “just happened” to post on social media after a late night at work. Or maybe when Genevieve was drowning in a project, and he “just happened” to show up with her favorite coffee at the perfect temperature, accompanied by a few words of carefully targeted “admiration.” Later, when I felt uncomfortable with his little schemes and gently suggested Genevieve keep her distance, she shot back: “Spencer is just young and eager to prove himself. Can’t you stop being so petty?” “Besides, what kind of relationship do we even have that gives you the right to be jealous? Stop being so nitpicky, you’re a grown man.” Yes, nitpicky. As if their total disregard for my feelings could be excused by their “openness,” and any discomfort I felt could be simply dismissed as “petty.” Just like today, they had conspired to destroy my ten years of hope, our families’ reputation, and a city-wide celebrated wedding. And my response—canceling the engagement—was small-minded, a display of archaic puritanism. The familiar ache started in my chest, but it was light, almost a phantom pain. I took a deep breath, merging the car into the flow of traffic. Worrying about whether a woman who never loved me felt any remorse was futile. Getting to the office to manage the fallout from this absurd spectacle was clearly more important. 4 The lights in the Pierce Holdings penthouse office were blazing. The team was supposed to be finalizing plans for a lucrative post-alliance partnership. Instead, they were tackling the public relations disaster caused by Spencer Reed’s “City-Wide Apology.” My secretary, Martha, looked at me with open sympathy. “Ms. Sinclair might just be acting out of anger, Mr. Pierce. Perhaps if you speak to her first…” “No need.” My voice was so calm it surprised even me. “I appreciate your concern, Martha, but the partnership is beyond saving.” “Her secretary informed me that she is already processing the paperwork to transfer the Sinclair shares she bought back from me… directly to Spencer Reed.” Martha’s face fell, and she clearly wanted to say more. I shifted the conversation back to the crisis at hand. I looked up later, and the night outside was thick and black. My phone rang in the silence, the flashing number so familiar it was a searing pain. I watched it ring for a long time, picking up at the very last second. The voice that came through was not the cold mockery I expected. It was Genevieve, slurring, with a thick, drunken sob. “Ashton Pierce, you’ve got… you’ve got nerve. I waited for your call all night…” She cried intermittently, her voice laced with a drunken vulnerability I had never heard before. My heart softened automatically, but then she continued: “You… you need to come and get me… we’re going home… to that penthouse you bought for us… Spencer said… he loves the rooftop infinity pool and the view… Will you just sign the deed over to him? As… as your apology gift… and then we can call it even…” Every word was a bullet, precisely hitting the last nerve in my body. That penthouse was a custom design I had sketched out myself, taking a full year to build. It was exactly what she had once said she wanted: a home with a view of the entire city’s lights and the stars above. And now, she was casually demanding I sign it over to Spencer Reed as my “apology?” My fingers were ice-cold as I gripped the phone; I could taste rust in my throat. “Genevieve, that apartment was prepared for my future wife. It has absolutely nothing to do with you or Spencer Reed. You have no right to ask, and certainly no right to demand its disposal.” Without waiting for another word from her, I hung up and immediately blocked the number. A text from my mother arrived promptly: “Ashton, Alexandra Albright, the daughter of the Albright Industries family in North City, just returned from overseas. She mentioned wanting to meet you, said you two knew each other from before? What do you think… about that?” I didn’t hesitate: “Yes, Mom. Please arrange it.” “Wonderful, I’ll have Lexi text you directly.” Alexandra Albright. We had met at a project competition during graduate school. Her presentation was flawlessly logical, and her business acumen was astonishing. The Albright family had subtly expressed an interest in an alliance afterward. But at the time, Genevieve was all I could see. I was entirely focused on helping her stabilize the Sinclair Group. Though Albright Industries offered much more assistance, I had politely declined the offer then. Now, a decade of deep affection felt like a long, painful dream. It was time for me to start living for myself again. 5 Meanwhile, Genevieve and Spencer Reed’s relationship began to dominate media coverage. She went with him to ride the city’s highest rollercoaster, something she had refused to do with me countless times, citing a fear of heights. She wore revealing dresses and shorts, styles completely opposite to her usual elegant attire, and partied with Spencer in nightclub dance halls. She even hosted a lavish ceremony for the transfer of the Sinclair Group’s overseas shares, introducing Spencer to the entire upper circle. The things she had once told me were “too immature” or “unbefitting of her status.” Now, she did them for another person, clearly finding pleasure in every moment. I knew these updates were deliberately pushed into my feed. Including the massive Christmas tree outside the Sinclair Group building, which was tracking the lingerie giveaway. A giant LED screen displayed the remaining quantity: 1998. 1523. 876. 332. I knew Genevieve wanted me to watch, to force me to regret, to make me grovel. But this time, I only felt a calm, mocking amusement. I occasionally scrolled through the comments on the news articles, a sea of schadenfreude: “Countdown to 100 sets! Is Ashton Pierce crawling to Gen to beg for forgiveness yet, LMAO?” “Waiting for Gen and Spencer’s wedding of the century! Live slap in the face for the old man!” “Ashton must be crying under his duvet right now, right? Ten years as a loyal lapdog and now he has nothing, serve him right!” I pressed the screen of my phone, which had lit up again with an alert showing a new intimate photo of them, and turned it off. I picked up my teacup and nodded to Lexi Albright across the table. “Please thank your mother for me. The tea is excellent.” Her smile was serene, yet there was a sparkling light in her eyes as she looked at me. “You’re welcome. If you like it, come by my place next time. I have something even better.” Her direct gaze made my cheeks heat up. My ears were still hot when she drove me back to my villa. However, the moment of relief was abruptly extinguished when I unlocked my front door. A bucket of ice water was dumped over my head. “Are you awake now, Ashton Pierce?” Genevieve’s voice was frigid. “I left you alone for all this time to reflect, and you got a little too big for your britches, didn’t you, coming back so late!” I wiped the foul-smelling water from my face. “Who let you in?” My attitude seemed to infuriate her; she slammed the bucket onto the hardwood floor with a deafening clatter. “Didn’t you say this house was bought for your wife? That would be me! I’ll come in whenever I want!” She lifted her chin. “The password is still the date of our first meeting. Ashton Pierce, is that all you’ve got?” I clenched my fist, annoyed at myself for forgetting to change the code. She pulled a tablet from her designer bag and violently threw it at me. The screen lit up, showing a live stream. The background was the lingerie Christmas tree outside the Sinclair Group, the camera focused on the remaining few items. “Do I need to remind you? They’ve taken 1,990 of those sets downstairs already!” “Only ten sets are left.” Her voice was sharp with excitement. “Ashton, don’t you get it? You’re the one looking at things through a filthy lens! It’s the 21st century; absolutely no one thinks this kind of clothing is scandalous anymore!” I looked down at the face I had loved for ten years, now twisted by rage and triumph, a stranger to me. “I’ll give you one last chance. Give up the deed to this house today, and get down on your knees and apologize to Spencer! I want you to stream the apology so the whole city can watch!” Every word was a poisoned needle. “Otherwise, when the last piece of lingerie is gone, I will marry him!” The live stream on the tablet continued. The excited voice of the host blared through the speaker: “Down to the last five sets! Folks! We are moments away from history!” The comments section was a frenzy: “Where’s Ashton Pierce?! Why hasn’t he shown up?!” “He’s probably on his way to beg! His wife is about to be gone!” “Waiting to see Mr. Pierce on his knees!” “CEO Gen is amazing! This is how you handle an old prude!” Genevieve shoved the tablet closer to my face, her finger practically touching the screen: “Do you see? Everyone is waiting for you to admit your mistake! If you go apologize to Spencer now, and give me ten percent of Pierce Holdings’ shares, we can still have our wedding…” I looked calmly at her face, which was contorted into a smug mask of victory. Then, softly, almost absurdly, I chuckled. That small sound completely enraged her. On the tablet, the host was excitedly counting down. “Three sets remaining!” “Two sets!” “Only one left!!!” With every number, Genevieve’s smile widened. When the last set remained, no one stepped forward. At that moment, I pushed her hand away with a neutral expression and slowly walked toward the door. Genevieve’s triumphant smile spread across her face. “What’s the matter, finally admitting defeat?” “Spencer is at the bar we were at that night. You better hurry! If that last set is taken by someone else, not even kneeling will change my mind!” She watched smugly as I sped out of the parking garage like a shot arrow. She was just about to text Spencer that he should have the journalists on standby to capture my groveling from every angle. But the next second, the host’s excited and then terrified shout came through her phone’s speaker. “The Christmas tree is empty!!” “The two-thousandth piece of lingerie has been claimed!” “Let’s congratulate the lucky… Ashton Pierce! Wait, it’s you!”

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The phone call from Lily’s teacher came the moment I pulled out of the daycare parking lot. “Ms. Thorne, you need to get to the hospital. Lily… she injured a classmate.” By the time I rushed to Crestwood Metropolitan, my vision tunneled on a sight that froze the blood in my veins: my five-year-old, Lily, lying on a gurney with a knife—a simple, nasty kitchen paring knife—sticking out of her small abdomen, the floor slick with her blood. The other kid, a boy named Preston, had only a scrape on his finger, already clotting. I grabbed the nearest teacher, demanding an explanation. She stammered, avoiding my eyes. It wasn’t until I fought my way into the school surveillance room that I got the truth. He had called Lily a “street trash mongrel, raised by sluts.” When she fought back, he pulled out the knife and stabbed her. With the footage in hand, I faced his parents. The mother, Tiffany Wells, met my gaze with a sneer. “Trash raised by trash,” she spat, her voice dripping with venom. “If she dies, she dies. Her life isn’t worth a single hair on my Preston’s head.” “Every hospital in this city has Wells Group money in it. She dared touch my son, and now she doesn’t leave here alive.” She didn’t know who Lily was. Lily’s mom and dad were the dearest souls in our entire battalion. After they fell, she became the daughter of the whole unit—the treasured niece, the little sister, the light of the women’s barracks. Everyone fought for a holiday rotation with her. Even General Marcus, our retired Commander, spoiled her like his own grandchild. Now, someone had called her a mongrel? A tramp’s kid? I turned away from the entitled woman, pulled my phone from my pocket, and dialed the emergency internal line for the 1st Battalion. “Lily’s been stabbed. They called her a low-class tramp’s kid. Leave is canceled. I want every available sister at Crestwood Hospital now.” 1 The phone was violently snatched from my ear and slammed to the ground. Tiffany Wells, the alleged wife of a CEO, laughed—a harsh, entitled sound. She looked at me like I was something she’d scraped off her designer shoe. “What, you hear ‘Wells’ and you call all your little… chicken sisters for backup? Ha! Birds of a feather, I suppose.” “Bottom-feeders who hook up with any man they can find, raise little runts who are just as out of control. Probably trying to hook her claws into my son, too.” The rage in my chest was a bomb about to detonate. I started to rise, but a faint, trembling whisper stopped me. “Momma… Momma’s not a… chicken…” Lily’s face was bloodless, her eyes squeezed shut, her whole body shaking. “My momma… she’s a hero.…” My heart clenched. I immediately knelt and grasped her tiny, ice-cold hand. “I’m right here, sweetheart. Don’t be afraid. Lily’s mother is a hero who protected people. She’s—” “She’s lying!” Preston Wells, Tiffany’s son, shrieked, cutting me off. “Different women drop her off every day. How can one person have so many moms?” “She’s just a wild kid raised in a trash heap by someone nobody knows! Her mother is not a hero!” Preston’s face, puffy and pale with baby fat, was contorted with a viciousness that belied his age. “She lies all the time and she doesn’t listen to me! Low-class people deserve to be punished!” “My mom said our family runs this city. Even if she dies, someone will clean it up for me!” I stared at the five-year-old boy, stunned by the sheer malice in his words and his actions. I looked back at Tiffany. “Is this how you teach your child?” She wore it like a badge of honor, tilting her chin up. “Is it not the truth? Did I say anything wrong?” “A child shuffled between different women every day? What else would you call it but a hovel?” “I’m teaching my son the truth about the garbage at the bottom of the social ladder. What’s wrong with that?” She took a step, pointing a sharp, manicured finger almost into my face. “I’m telling you, in Evergreen City, the Wells family says what goes!” “My son punishing her was an honor! She dared to fight back and injure him, so she deserves whatever she gets!” “The lives of people like you—all of them combined—aren’t worth a single strand of my son’s hair!” I balled my fists, wanting nothing more than to wipe that smug look off her face. Lily’s parents, both decorated service members, fell in the line of duty a year apart. Our two families, generations of military service, had only her left. We couldn’t send her to a state facility, so we raised her in the battalion. The reason different women dropped her off was simple: we all loved her, and every single one of us on leave fought over who got to have her that day. It was my turn today, and now this. If anything happened to Lily, I wouldn’t know how to face the sisters or the General. Reason, however, had to win over pure, visceral fury. I was a soldier. I had to remember who I was, who I represented. Knowing that anything I said to this woman would be useless, I took a deliberate step back and looked at her, my eyes cold. “The Wells family, you say?” Fine. I’d remember. Some scores take time to settle. For now, Lily was all that mattered. 2 The nurse had mentioned a massive pile-up on the highway, flooding the hospital with trauma victims. Personnel were stretched thin. I had given Lily the emergency trauma powder I carried—a military-grade clotting agent—which should stabilize her for a short time, but time was a weapon now. I was about to scoop her up and race to the next facility when a doctor in scrubs sprinted toward us. “Where is the injured child? Status?” I stepped aside instantly. The nurse quickly reported. “Five years old, abdominal stab wound. Depth unknown. Still conscious, but severe blood loss.” The doctor swiftly and carefully checked the wound, using a penlight to examine Lily’s pupils and complexion. “Thank God. Preliminarily, no major organ damage, but the blood loss is critical. We need immediate cleaning, suturing, and hemostasis.” He frowned. “All operating rooms are full with the I-5 crash victims. We can’t wait. We have to perform emergency closure here to stabilize her vitals.” He whirled toward the nurse. “Prep the sterile suture kit, anesthesia, and get the emergency blood unit ready!” The nurse started to run but was yanked back by Tiffany Wells. “Hold it!” Tiffany roughly shoved Preston in front of the doctor. “You treat my son first! His finger is broken and he’s bled so much!” The doctor glanced at Preston’s index finger—a small abrasion where the blood had already dried. His brow furrowed deeper, his expression turning stern. “Madam, please! You need to stop this nonsense!” “Your son has a minor surface injury. He doesn’t even need stitches. Have a nurse swab it with iodine. Step aside! Hospital resources are critically low. We prioritize major trauma. That’s the basic principle!” Tiffany was outraged that a doctor would dare contradict her. She raised her hand and delivered a stinging slap across the doctor’s face. “Principle? I am the principle here!” Everyone was stunned by the sudden violence. She pointed a furious finger at the dazed doctor. “A staff physician, yelling at me? Do you know who we are?!” “I am the daughter-in-law of the Wells family! This is their grandson! Your own CEO bows to me! You talk to me like that?!” “My son’s finger touched that low-class brat’s blood. He might get some disease! I demand that you, now, immediately, perform a full-body scan on my son! Head to toe, don’t miss a single thing! Otherwise, I will have you fired from this hospital today, and you will never work in this city again!” The doctor, Dr. Alpert, clutched his cheek, his eyes wide with humiliation and disbelief. “You can’t…” The small crowd gathered began murmuring their outrage, but Tiffany ignored them. She pointed at her bodyguards. “Take him! Take him to my son for the full checkup! A doctor’s job is to save important people, not the rats from the gutter!” Two dark-suited men immediately grabbed Dr. Alpert, covering his mouth as he tried to protest, and forcefully dragged him away. Tiffany turned to me, a smirk of triumph and malice twisting her lips. Furious, I started to charge, but the nurse beside me desperately gripped my arm. She whispered urgently, “Mom, please, calm down! We can’t fight people this powerful. It’s Lily who will suffer! We have to save her!” My eyes were stinging with frustrated tears. “They just kidnapped the only doctor! Who is going to save my child? Do money and power make you untouchable?!” I took a huge, shuddering breath, forcing my heart rate down. The nurse was right. Lily’s life was paramount. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t for you.” “Where is the nearest hospital? We’re transferring her now!” I bent to pick Lily up, but the nurse stopped me again. “The highway crash has swamped every major hospital in the city. A transfer will mean waiting in line again, and she’s too fragile!” “She’s lost too much blood. She needs a transfusion immediately. Our blood bank is almost certainly depleted. You need to find a donor now. If we can get a bag of blood in her, we can stabilize her vitals.” 3 My heart plummeted, but I didn’t hesitate. I shoved my arm out. “Draw mine! We’re both B-positive!” The nurse shook her head. “Direct transfusion from a close relative is highly dangerous. It can cause Graft-versus-Host Disease.” “I’m not her biological mother!” I practically roared it, my voice raw with desperation and the beginning of a breakdown. “She’s a Gold Star Kid! Her parents died for this country! I’m begging you, you have to save her! Take my blood!” Shocked by the revelation of Lily’s status, the nurse immediately grabbed a sterile kit. In the small collection room, I watched my dark red blood snake down the tube into the bag. Time stretched out, each second a year, with Lily struggling on the edge of the abyss. My shattered phone was buzzing in my other hand, the internal group chat exploding with messages. “What happened? Why is she hurt? On my way!” “How is Lily? We’re bringing Major Thompson’s medic with us!” “Tell her the 2nd Guard Dads are coming too! Ten minutes out!” The knowledge that my sisters and brothers were coming with their own medical team was the only thing keeping me standing. I’d just finished the 400cc draw when the nurse pulled the needle and prepared to rush the life-saving blood to processing. Suddenly, a hand with bright red, aggressively long nails shot out and snatched the bag. “There! You said you had no blood! You lied!” “Give this to my son immediately! He’s shocked and his sugar is low! He needs nutrition!” Fighting the sudden vertigo from the blood loss, I stood up, my eyes locked on her. “Put the blood down.” Tiffany Wells was momentarily startled by the intensity of my gaze, but quickly recovered her arrogance. “You… you think you scare me? This blood belongs to the hospital now. I can do whatever I want with it!” The nurse, gathering her courage, stepped forward to appeal to her. “Mrs. Wells, please. That little girl is a Gold Star Kid. Her parents sacrificed everything for our country. She has no one else…” “Please, just think of it as a good deed. Give us the blood. Save her life.” Tiffany didn’t just ignore her; she shoved the nurse hard. “A martyr? Ha! More pity party lies, I bet.” “Who knows if it’s true? Even if it is, I don’t care! My son’s health is the only priority!” I didn’t waste another word. With a clean, lightning-fast movement, I executed a reverse wrist lock. Tiffany let out a yelp of pain, her fingers involuntarily splaying open. The bag of warm blood fell perfectly into my waiting hand. “You hit me?!” She screamed, scrambling back. “You heard that, you incompetents? Teach her a lesson!” The two remaining bodyguards closed in. They moved with heavy, trained steps. They wanted a fight? I felt the dam of my suppressed rage and helplessness finally give way. “Guard this.” I placed the blood bag carefully into the trembling nurse’s hands. In the same breath, I dropped my center of gravity, pivoting just as the first bodyguard threw a clumsy punch. My right leg became a piston—a sharp, brutal side-kick to his diaphragm. “Gah!” The man folded over, his size irrelevant to the sheer force, and he flew back, crashing into the wall. The second guard, seeing his partner drop, lunged, attempting to lock my neck from behind. I ducked low, avoiding his arm, then planted my left foot and drove my right heel up in a blindingly fast reverse spinning hook kick right under his chin. His eyes rolled back. He dropped like a stone, unconscious. The hallway was silent. The whole exchange took less than three seconds. I slowly turned, taking a step toward Tiffany Wells, who was now frozen, fear leaching the color from her face. She stammered, backing away. “Wha—what do you want? Don’t… don’t think a few moves scare me!” “I’m warning you! I am Grant Wells’s wife! You touch a single hair on my head, and the Wells family will destroy you! You won’t get away with this!” I stood over her, staring down into her terrified, contorted face, and clamped my fingers around her throat. 4 “Cough… L-let go!” I leaned in close, my eyes burning into hers. “You should thank your stars you’re in peacetime, protected by a flimsy piece of paper called the law.” “Otherwise…” I tightened my grip, just enough to make my point undeniable. “Based on what you just tried to do, I would beat you until you couldn’t speak or stand.” The raw, murderous intent in my eyes made her shudder, her fight draining away completely. Then, Preston’s voice cut through the silence, eerily calm. “Let go of my mom. Or you will regret it.” I spun around, and my blood ran cold. Preston, with the help of the two bodyguards who had recovered and returned, had forcibly dragged Lily from the gurney. She was being hauled by her arm across the rough floor like a rag doll, leaving a streak of angry red blood behind her. The simple gauze bandaging on her abdomen was soaked. Her small face was contorted in pain, a weak moan escaping her lips. “Momma… it hurts…” My heart was pierced a thousand times. Preston was five! How could he possibly be this cruel? Was he a monster? “You little bastard! Let go of her!” I screamed, a guttural cry of pure anguish. As I lunged, Tiffany, released from my grip, grabbed a handful of my hair from behind and yanked. In the split second I flinched, she scrambled back to her son. She looked at Lily, crumpled and bleeding on the floor, and her eyes flashed with a hideous mix of triumph and indulgence. “See that? This is what happens when you cross us! My son is destined for great things!” Preston swelled with pride at his mother’s praise, a terrifying, warped smile on his face. He even kicked Lily once more with his small foot. Tiffany pointed a demanding finger at me. “Now, you will get on your knees and apologize! If my son ‘accidentally’ causes any more damage to the little brat, it’s all on you!” The sight was unendurable. A depraved, entitled mother. A cruel, demonic child. They were using a critically wounded girl as leverage. I clenched my hands, my nails digging deep into my palms. Lily was in their grasp. I had no choice. Every fiber of my pride, every ounce of my military dignity, crumbled before the life of that child. I slowly dropped to my knees. “I’m sorry. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have used force.” “Please, I beg you. Let go of the child. She will die if you don’t. Please.” Tiffany’s face lit up with a sickening rush of pleasure at my defeat. “Ha! Now you’re sorry? Too late!” She ordered a bodyguard to snatch the blood bag from the nurse’s hand, then took it herself and tossed it onto the ground… “So proud! You fought me for this trash?” She brought her stiletto heel down on the bag, crushing it. “No!” The nurse and I cried out simultaneously. Tiffany watched the dark red liquid splatter across the pristine floor, her grin widening into a mask of pure evil. “You want me to let go of this little mongrel? Fine.” “You will strip down right here, right now! Take off that ugly uniform! Let everyone see the cheap, trashy whore you really are beneath the clothes!” She saw me glance toward the entrance. “What? Waiting for your other little chicken sisters to rescue you? They show up, they strip, too!” “You don’t want to? Fine. I’ll just help the little mongrel loosen up her ground a little!” With a grotesque laugh, her hand slowly reached for the handle of the knife still buried in Lily’s abdomen. Without a doctor’s intervention, pulling that knife out would cause instant, massive hemorrhage. Lily would die in seconds. “Stop! Don’t you dare!” I shrieked, all composure gone. “I’ll strip! I’ll strip! Just don’t touch her!” Just as my fingers touched the first button of my shirt, Tiffany’s wrist was struck by a sharp projectile. The impact made her yelp and clutch her arm, stumbling backward. At the end of the hallway, a voice boomed—a thunderous, commanding shout. “I’d like to see who has the guts to touch them!”

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I am the sole heiress of the Sterling family empire, but my gender is considered a flaw. Everyone said the three foster sons my father groomed were the true heirs, while I was just a placeholder. They never spared me a glance. I courted Liam Sterling hundreds of times, only to receive his countless looks of disdain. I thought he treated all women with such cold indifference, until I saw him kneel before Lily Blackwood, the chauffeur’s daughter, swearing an oath: “I only agreed to marry her to repay the Sterling family for raising me. Once I take control of the Sterling empire, I will marry you with the grandeur you deserve. As long as Seraphina Sterling doesn’t hurt you, I can give her a few million to live out her days abroad.” “You are the only wife in my heart.” On the eve of the shareholders’ meeting, my father asked me who I would choose. I recalled the evasive gazes of those three men and smiled: “After all, I am the Sterling heiress. Marriage should maximize benefits.” “I choose Alexander Thorne of the capital.” My father frowned: “Alexander was paralyzed in a car accident five years ago. He’s not only wheelchair-bound but also impotent. Are you sure?” Chapter 1 My voice was soft but firm. “In our class, true love is a myth. Since it’s all about profit, naturally, I choose the Thorne family, which offers the greatest benefit.” My father’s expression was grave. “That may be so, but of the three boys I raised for you, did none of them catch your eye?” My father loved my mother deeply, but she died of a sudden brain hemorrhage the year I was born. He couldn’t bear to remarry, yet he couldn’t rest easy leaving the vast Sterling empire solely in the hands of a woman. Following a friend’s advice, my father adopted three orphaned boys. He wrote his will early on: whichever one I chose would help me run the company and suppress the other board members. My father loved me, but that didn’t conflict with his belief that a woman couldn’t hold up the enormous Sterling Corporation alone. I looked at my father. “Although Alexander is paralyzed and impotent, I can use IVF to have his child. He is also the sole heir of the Thorne family. Rather than choosing an orphan to support the Sterling family, it’s better to choose a powerful ally.” My father nodded. “Since the three of them didn’t have the ability to win your heart, there’s no need for them to stay in the Sterling Corporation.” If I merely said it was because Liam didn’t love me and I didn’t want to force him, my father would surely make Liam kneel before me and question what right a foster son had to refuse. I didn’t want my father to use years of kindness to blackmail Liam, nor did I want to force Liam to marry me, creating a resentful couple. Moreover, the words Liam had spoken had thoroughly chilled my heart. Parting ways amicably was already my greatest mercy. As he walked out of the office, my father glanced sideways at Liam. After obediently seeing my father off, Liam turned and frowned at me: “What did you tattle about this time?” His eyes were full of disgust and impatience, as if I had committed some heinous crime. Before I could speak, Chase next to him sneered: “Isn’t it obvious?” “Probably complaining that we three didn’t include her or pamper her.” The remaining one, Noah, also looked disdainful. “I say, Miss Sterling, the old days are gone. Do you still think having some money makes you a princess everyone must revolve around?” The three of them united against a common enemy, using sharp words to sting me. I was baffled. “If none of you want to marry me, why did no one ever tell my father?” Although my father intended to groom them as potential husbands, he never forced it. As long as they said no, my father would immediately prepare a sum of money to send them abroad to live freely. In the end, they just couldn’t let go of the wealth behind the Sterling name. Noah, the most hot-tempered one, clicked his tongue impatiently: “That sounds nice, but you know we’re living under your roof. We’re just dogs raised by the Sterling family. What right do we have to refuse?” Liam looked at me with a grim expression. “If you want to choose me, then choose me. I just hope you won’t make things difficult for the other two in the future.” Hearing this, Noah and Chase were instantly moved. Seeing Liam’s expression of self-sacrifice, I only felt immense bitterness in my heart. Before I could say anything, Lily suddenly appeared. Seeing me, she acted frightened and hid behind Liam. Liam instinctively blocked Lily. “She didn’t do anything. Just let her go today.” I looked at them in confusion, only to find that the three who were supposed to protect me were all shielding Lily, afraid I would bully her. Chapter 2 Five years ago, when Lily first came to the Sterling estate, she gave me a hair clip. I gifted her a bracelet worth a hundred thousand dollars in return as a welcome gift. Unexpectedly, just as I opened the pastry box, Liam snatched it away. He scolded angrily, “You want to snatch the keepsake Lily’s mother left her too?” I looked at Lily in confusion, wanting her to explain that she gave it to me voluntarily. But Lily suddenly knelt down, weeping like a pear blossom bathed in rain. “It wasn’t the Young Miss who snatched it; I gave it to her voluntarily.” “The Young Miss is very good to me. She even gave me a bracelet. I really don’t feel wronged.” She kowtowed to me repeatedly. This scene made the three boys red-eyed, reminding them of their own foster status. They questioned me righteously: “Even if you are the Sterling family heiress, you have no right to force someone to give you their mother’s keepsake, right?” “Although the hair clip isn’t worth much money, its meaning is far beyond this bracelet worth a few tens of thousands. Give the hair clip back to Lily immediately!” “Truly as domineering as ever, only caring about your own happiness regardless of others’ lives.” My face changed instantly, but thinking there might be a misunderstanding, I thought clearing it up would be fine. Suppressing my anger, I handed the hair clip to Lily, but she didn’t catch it firmly. The hair clip shattered instantly. She bit her lip and shouted at me: “Since the Young Miss would rather destroy it than return it to me, why put on an act?” Liam, who always hated seeing the poor bullied, immediately threatened with a cold face: “Apologize to Lily right now, or don’t blame me for breaking the engagement!” At that time, I had already confessed to Liam, saying I wouldn’t marry anyone but him. Liam used this as leverage to force me to bow to Lily. I was too young then and dared not risk losing my beloved to defend myself. I could only lower my head and apologize with red eyes. But this apology lasted for a full five years. Since then, whenever Lily saw me, it was like a mouse seeing a cat. She would either suddenly kneel or burst into tears. But I did nothing… I looked at Liam coldly: “If you’re really afraid I’ll bully Lily, just tie her to your belt at all times.” It was clearly a sarcastic remark, but Liam frowned and said: “Are you threatening me? What do you want to do to Lily?” Noah clapped his hands and pointed at me. “Is it because we three gave the ‘Ocean of Stars’ to Lily, and you’re planning to use that as an excuse to bully her?” Chase looked at me with cold eyes. “You have everything, but no one ever celebrated Lily’s birthday. It’s just an ‘Ocean of Stars.’ Is it necessary to hold onto it?” My eyes turned cold. “‘Ocean of Stars’?” The “Ocean of Stars” was an underground aquarium that had been under construction since my birth. In the southeast, there was a piece of top-tier imperial green jade. Through the shimmering seawater, it refracted beauty like a cosmic galaxy. It was nearing completion half a year ago. My father entrusted the finishing work to Liam, making him responsible for presenting the “Ocean of Stars” to me at my birthday party in a month. But now, this gift that belonged to me had become Lily’s. My gaze fell on Liam. He was in charge of the final stages of this project. Without his approval, no one could enter the unopened aquarium. Liam looked a bit guilty under my gaze and turned his head angrily: “Lily has always lived in the countryside, busy making a living, and never properly seen the stars. I just wanted to fulfill one of her wishes. Besides, doesn’t the ownership of the aquarium still belong to you?” “Stop being unreasonable. At worst, I’ll announce our engagement at your birthday party in a month. Are you satisfied now?” Seeing Liam’s charitable expression, I almost thought I was the adopted one. But no one present realized anything was wrong. Instead, they all felt it was unworthy for Liam. “Why make such a big sacrifice? Seraphina is willful, capricious, and vicious. Marrying her is worse than becoming a monk.” “I’m afraid Seraphina will be so happy she won’t know north from south. Her long-cherished wish is finally coming true.” “Boohoo, Brother Liam, please don’t ruin your life’s happiness for me. I’ll kneel and kowtow to Sister Seraphina. I’ll be her slave; I’ll do anything…” My throat was dry as I spat out a sentence: “I won’t marry you.” Liam raised an eyebrow in surprise and suspicion. Noah and Chase looked at each other, terrified I would say I wanted to marry them. Being so despised by the three I grew up with, I was afraid I would cry if I didn’t leave immediately. I turned to leave but was grabbed by the wrist by Lily. Her eyes were red, and she knelt to me again: “Please don’t make things difficult for Brother Liam. The three of them were adopted by your Sterling family and are inherently inferior. If you are angry because they gave the ‘Ocean of Stars’ to me and want to complain to Uncle Sterling, I am willing to apologize to you with my forehead.” She started kowtowing bang bang bang, and soon her forehead was red and bleeding. Liam helped her up from the ground with heartache, turning to glare at me: “You say you won’t marry me, then have the guts not to choose me when the time comes! What kind of skill is it to retreat in order to advance and make things difficult for Lily?!” “Don’t you just want to take the opportunity to complain and force Lily away?” I looked at Liam coldly. “I don’t understand what you’re saying, but rest assured, I will absolutely not choose you as my husband.” I thought Liam would let it go at that, but unexpectedly, he grabbed my hand: “If you don’t choose me, who will you choose? Chase or Noah?” “Noah loves art and wants to go abroad for further studies. Chase yearns for freedom. Is harming one of me not enough? Do you want to attack them too?” Liam took a deep breath. “As long as you promise not to make things difficult for Lily from now on, I can marry you. Stop making a fuss, okay?” His eyes were full of exhaustion, as if he had been tortured by me for a long time. I looked deeply at Liam. “Everything will be as you wish.” He was afraid I would bully Lily, and even more unwilling to marry me. When I married Alexander Thorne, all his worries would be solved. Chapter 3 I hadn’t sought out Liam for a while, until the day of the birthday party, when he appeared with a cold face. Chase and Noah followed behind him, looking unhappy. I frowned at my assistant. I had clearly said the engagement partner to be announced today wasn’t them, so there was no need to invite them. But the assistant shook her head frantically, with a look that said, “I didn’t know; they came on their own.” I sighed helplessly, preparing to pretend I hadn’t seen anything. The guests below were warmer than me, greeting the three of them one after another. “Young Master Liam is truly young and promising. The project you secured last month must have generated millions in revenue, right? No wonder Miss Sterling is devoted only to you.” But I was the one who negotiated that project; Liam just went to sign. “Young Master Noah has a bad temper but hates evil as if it were his enemy. Miss Sterling surely won’t be wronged following you.” I sneered inwardly. The one who bullied me the most happened to be Noah. He viewed me as a viper, wishing he could execute me on the spot. “Young Master Chase is also a handsome talent. Miss Sterling choosing you isn’t wrong either. Anyway, please take care of us in the future.” The three of them were like fish in water at my birthday party, acting like the hosts. I frowned, wanting to stop this farce, but the three of them looked down at their phones simultaneously. Before I could react, Noah’s face changed first. He rushed to me in a few steps and slapped me. My head spun from the hit, and I almost fell to the ground. Everyone was frightened by this scene, dodging away, afraid to cause trouble. Liam clenched his hands into fists, stopped Noah who wanted to strike again, and turned to look at me with gritted teeth: “We have already come here like goods for you to choose from. What are you still dissatisfied with?” “Do you have to drive Lily to death?” I was baffled. Seeing my expression, Chase felt even more disdain in his heart. “You took advantage of our absence from Lily’s side and dared to hire someone to kidnap her. I tell you, you won’t get your way!” As soon as this sentence came out, I immediately understood that Lily was playing tricks again. The guests present were either my father’s friends or business partners. I was slapped in front of them, yet no one stopped it. My heart sank. Presumably, they believed the Sterling family wouldn’t fall into my hands, so they dared not easily offend the three of them. I covered my face and looked at Noah with cold eyes. “Apologize!” Noah glanced at my red eyes and spoke sarcastically: “Lily almost lost her purity. What do you have to feel aggrieved about just being slapped?” “Boohoo~” Lily ran in crying, her dress tattered, making people suspect if she had encountered something. Liam quickly took off his suit jacket and draped it over Lily, turning to look at me with disgust: “You truly are as scheming as ever. I will absolutely not marry a woman like you!” Chase, who was usually quiet, stood in front of Lily with a cold face: “Your mother couldn’t give birth to a boy to inherit the family business, so she tried every means to bring us three back as tools. We have accepted our fate, but I didn’t expect you to be insatiable.” “Since that’s the case, there’s no need to maintain this superficial peace.” He turned and left, not caring about the Sterling family’s face at all. Before leaving, Liam arrogantly dropped a sentence: “I will marry you, but you will just be a decoration in the future. If you want me to protect the Sterling family’s assets, you must behave yourself.” I laughed. Had they forgotten? Without me, the Sterling family wouldn’t have adopted them. Seeing the three of them about to leave, someone finally wanted to stop them. But I shouted with a cold face: “Let them go!” Lily glared at me provocatively, as if she had won the whole world. I stood there without saying a word until the assistant said anxiously: “What should we do? All three of them left. Who should you choose?” Other guests also frowned. “As a woman, she has to marry sooner or later. If the three foster husbands who know her well don’t want her, who else can she marry?” I wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes, smiling as I raised my red wine glass to toast everyone: “Guests, presumably everyone knows that today, besides being my birthday party, is also my engagement party.” A cold, handsome face appeared on the huge projection screen. Everyone gasped. “Isn’t that Alexander Thorne of the Thorne family in the capital?!”

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Dickie Duncan had a mistress. And she’d given him twins. He hid them well. But not well enough. So I took the children. Dickie’s retaliation was swift and savage. In the biting, twenty-three-degree cold, he tied our son, Leo, to a flagpole on a golf course and left him there for four hours. When I found him, his skin was a mottled, terrifying blue, his lips purpled. His breaths were faint, ghostly little puffs of air I had to press my ear to his chest to hear. “Dickie!” I screamed until my throat was raw, the taste of blood on my tongue. “Isn’t Leo your son, too?!” “And what about Seraphina’s children? Aren’t they mine?!” he roared back, his eyes bloodshot, manic. He swung the golf club in his hand, bringing it down hard on Leo’s small back. I heard the sickening thud, a muffled crack of bone. My son’s cries faded into a weak whimper. “If you don’t bring my children back today,” Dickie snarled, his voice a low growl, “I’ll make you watch him die.” My legs gave out from under me. I crumpled to the frozen ground, my teeth chattering so hard I bit my lip, drawing blood. “…Northwood,” I choked out. “The lodge.” He dropped the club and left without a backward glance. By the time he returned, my son, our Leo, had succumbed to severe hypothermia. He had closed his eyes forever. … I rushed into the hospital, cradling my son’s unconscious body. The hallway outside the ER was sterile and cold, chilling me to the bone. When the doctor finally emerged, he pulled down his mask and shook his head, his expression heavy. “Severe pulmonary infection, leading to multiple organ failure. He was brought in too late. We did everything we could.” I collapsed onto the floor, the air stolen from my lungs. Just yesterday, he had his arms wrapped around my neck, whispering, “Mommy, I won the chess tournament!” How could he be a cold, lifeless body today? All I’d wanted was to use those twins to shock Dickie back to me, to make him see what he was losing. I never imagined the price would be Leo. A tidal wave of regret crashed over me, pulling me under. After arranging for my son’s funeral, I was a ghost in my own home. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t drink, just lay in the darkened room, a hollowed-out shell. On the evening of the fourth day, Dickie finally came home. He saw me in bed and strode over, his voice hard as stone. “Chloe, because of your little stunt, the twins had an asthma attack. They’ve been in the hospital for four days! They’re only four years old, how could you put them through that?” Four? My Leo… he was only seven. How was he supposed to endure what you did to him? My chest heaved, but my throat was so raw from screaming and crying that I couldn’t make a sound. I could only stare at him, my eyes burning with a hatred so deep it felt black. “Luckily, Seraphina is understanding. She’s willing to let it go this time. In the future, try not to be so petty.” He paused, then pulled a velvet box from his briefcase and set it on the nightstand. His tone softened slightly. “Leo’s at that winter camp, right? I had to do what I did the other day. I just wanted to scare you, I never meant to actually hurt him. He’s a boy. A little cold builds character.” “I bought this for him. It’s a limited-edition model kit. Give it to him when he gets back. I have to go be with Seraphina and the kids. I won’t be home tonight.” He turned and walked away. I stared at the box, my heart feeling like it was being sawed apart with a dull blade. He didn’t know. He didn’t know our son was never coming back. With a surge of strength I didn’t know I possessed, I scrambled out of bed, a wild scream tearing from my throat, and snatched the velvet box. I hurled it against the wall. It exploded, showering the floor in a rain of plastic and splintered parts. … A week passed before I could manage to get out of bed and sip a few spoonfuls of broth. As I held onto the banister, making my way unsteadily down to the living room, I saw him. Dickie, who I hadn’t seen all week, was walking through the front door. With him were Seraphina and their twins. He met my dead-eyed stare without flinching. “Since the secret’s out, we might as well be open about it.” “I’ve decided to have Seraphina and the children move in. It’ll be easier for me to take care of everyone.” “From now on, you and Leo will have to get along with them. I want to enjoy having all my children under one roof.” The words were so absurd I wanted to laugh, but the tears had long since run dry. My son’s body was barely cold, and all he could think about was playing happy families with his illegitimate children. The incandescent rage cooled into something utterly frigid. “Dickie,” I said, my voice a dry rasp. “I want a divorce.” His face darkened instantly. “Chloe, what the hell are you on about now?” What was I on about? Yes, when I first discovered his other family, I had been hysterical. I couldn’t accept that the man who had once knelt in the snow and sworn he would love only me for the rest of his life had broken that promise just five years into our marriage. I cried. I begged. I even kidnapped his other children. And I paid for it with my own son’s life. Never again. My cracked lips moved, the sound like gravel scraping stone. “Dickie, since you have a perfect family with Seraphina now, I’ll get out of your way.” “Chloe!” he roared, his eyes stormy. “Who in my circle doesn’t have a woman on the side? All I did was have another family, why do you have to be so damn dramatic about it?” “Even with them living here, you will always be my lawfully wedded wife. Leo will always be the eldest son of the Duncan family, the primary heir. Nothing can change that! You should be grateful!” Grateful? The word struck me as so utterly insane that I felt a dizzying sense of disconnect. I remembered years ago, Dickie and I in law school. He’d pursued me relentlessly for three years, winning me over with countless handwritten letters and breakfast delivered to my door every morning. When he proposed, in a chapel filled with roses, he swore I was the only love of his life, that he would never betray me. Now, those vows were a punchline. Our love was ash. And our only son was dead by his hand. And he wanted me to be grateful? How could I possibly be grateful? Sensing the tension, Seraphina spoke up, her voice a soft, gentle murmur. “Dickie, honey, if Chloe can’t stand having us here, maybe I should just take the children and go. I don’t want to upset her…” “Don’t you move, Sera,” Dickie snapped, pulling her close. His gentle tone with her was like a knife in my ear. “You and the children are staying right here. I bought this house. No one is kicking you out without my permission.” He shot a cold glare in my direction. I looked away, my gaze landing on the mantelpiece. The twins were on their tiptoes, reaching for the three crystal snow globes displayed there. A vise gripped my heart. “Don’t touch that!” I shrieked. Startled, the children jumped back. The snow globes tumbled from the ledge, shattering on the hearth in a cascade of glittering fragments. The twins burst into loud, wailing sobs. Seraphina’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “Chloe,” she accused, her voice trembling, “if you hate me, take it out on me! Why do you have to scare the children? What have they ever done to you that makes you hurt them again and again?” Dickie was livid. He stormed over and slapped me, hard, across the face. “Chloe, have you lost your goddamn mind? These two have health issues! You already scared them into an asthma attack once. If anything else happens to them, how will you pay for it?” But I couldn’t hear them anymore. All I could see were the three broken snow globes. I lunged forward, not caring about the sharp edges, gathering the glittering shards in my hands. The glass sliced into my palms, blood welling up, but I felt nothing. We had made these. Leo was five. The three of us, on a trip to Switzerland, had blown the glass ourselves. My son had said that every snowflake was unique, just like our family. The perfect combination. Now, my son was gone. The snowflakes were shattered. My world had collapsed. The grief I had suppressed for days finally broke through. I clutched the cold, sharp pieces to my chest and let out a raw, keening wail. Dickie’s brow was furrowed in annoyance. “What is it now, Chloe?” Seraphina feigned concern. “Chloe, dear, are you… remembering something sad?” “Just leave her,” Dickie said, his voice ice as he wrapped an arm around Seraphina’s shoulders. “If she wants to cry, let her cry it out.” They took the children and went upstairs. I stared at the broken glass in my hands, my heart a dead, empty cavern. After a long time, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. “Yes, police? I’d like to report a crime.” … After hanging up, I looked around the opulent mansion. This wasn’t my home anymore. I wanted to leave immediately, but a wave of dizziness washed over me, and I had to go back to my room to rest. Half an hour later, I had packed a small suitcase with my things and Leo’s most precious belongings. I was dragging it out of the room when I ran into Seraphina in the hallway. With Dickie gone, her mask was off. She blocked my path, a smirk playing on her lips. “Running away from home, are we? There’s really no need. I’ll be the lady of the house soon, but you could always stay on as one of the maids.” “Get out of my way,” I said, pushing her hand aside. I didn’t use much force, but she let out a sharp cry and stumbled backward, crashing into a decorative cabinet with a loud thud. An enraged roar echoed from behind me. “Chloe, what the hell are you doing?!” Dickie strode toward us, his face a thundercloud. Seraphina immediately scrambled up and limped into his arms, tears streaming down her face. “Dickie, it’s not her fault… I just lost my footing and twisted my ankle…” But Dickie wasn’t listening. His eyes were like chips of ice as he glared at me. “You just can’t leave her alone, can you? Are you not happy unless you’re hurting Seraphina and the children?” At this point, I had no energy left to argue. I picked up my suitcase to leave. Dickie blocked me. “Where do you think you’re going?” I took a deep breath, my voice as cold as my heart. “I’m moving out. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your perfect family reunion.” His expression turned venomous. “You have to make this ugly, don’t you? What successful man doesn’t have a few women? If you walk out like this, what’s to stop me from tying your son to a flagpole in the freezing cold again?” A violent tremor ran through me. My son… how dare he mention my son. I stared at him, rage burning in my chest. He seemed to remember something. “Speaking of which, where is Leo? Winter camp should be over by now. Where did you hide him? First you hide other people’s kids, now you’re hiding your own?” Leo. He finally remembered Leo. But he didn’t know. He would never see Leo again. The thought of my son was a physical pain, so sharp it stole my breath. Tears streamed down my face. “Leo… he…” I clutched my chest, sobbing uncontrollably. “Leo’s dead! You froze him to death!” “That’s bullshit!” Dickie’s face was contorted with fury. “No one dies from being out in the cold for a bit! Get your story straight before you lie, Chloe! Cursing your own son… you’re one sick mother.” I was drowning in tears, with no will to argue anymore. I pushed past him, determined to leave. But he snatched my suitcase. As we struggled, a piece of paper slipped out of my bag and fluttered to the floor. “What’s this?” Seraphina picked it up, her voice laced with curiosity. She read it aloud. “Deed of Purchase… Cemetery Plot… for Leo Duncan…” The color drained from Dickie’s face. He ripped the paper from her hand. His eyes scanned the document, and a murderous rage filled them. “Chloe, you’d forge something like this just to get back at me?” he roared, slapping the paper against my cheek. “I’m telling you, my patience has a limit! You keep this up, and Seraphina will be Mrs. Duncan before you know it! And the Duncan Corporation will go to her sons!” The edge of the paper cut my skin, leaving a thin line of blood. I wiped it away, my heart completely empty. “Do whatever you want. I don’t care anymore.” “Chloe, when are you going to stop this madness?!” Compared to his fury, I was eerily calm. “I’m not being mad. I just want to leave.” Dickie’s eyes glinted. He ground his teeth. “You are my wife. And you’re not going anywhere without my permission.” I tried to push past him again. Suddenly, he moved. A sharp, brutal chop to the back of my neck. The world went black. … I came to twenty minutes later, sputtering as a glass of ice water was thrown in my face. I opened my eyes to find myself tied to a sofa in the bedroom, unable to move. “Awake?” Seraphina stood over me, her face a mask of scorn. “Look at you, Chloe. Empty eyes, blank expression… you’re like the living dead. No wonder Dickie fell for me.” “Let me tell you a little secret,” she cooed. “We were together even before you got married. Dickie always said you were too uptight, like a board in bed. So boring. Not an ounce of the passion I have.” Her words didn’t touch me. Who Dickie loved was irrelevant now. She crossed her arms, a triumphant smile spreading across her face. “Oh, and by the way, your son really is dead, isn’t he? I was the one who told Dickie to tie him up and teach him a lesson. I didn’t think he’d be so fragile. Just like his mother. Useless.” “Soon, I’ll be Mrs. Duncan. Everything this family has will belong to my children. And you, Chloe, you will have nothing! Hahaha…” Hearing that, the last of my composure shattered. I glared at her, my voice shaking with rage. “Seraphina, you will pay for this.” “Pay for it?” She laughed. “Let’s see who pays first.” With that, she bit down hard on her own lip, drawing blood. Then she grabbed a heavy glass ashtray from the table, smashed it against her own forehead, and let out a bloodcurdling scream. “Ahhh—!” The door was kicked open. Dickie rushed in. “Sera, what happened?” She threw herself into his arms, sobbing. “Dickie, I was just trying to bring Chloe some water… she knocked it over and… and she hit me with the ashtray! Look, I’m bleeding, it hurts so much…” “Chloe!” Dickie roared, his eyes blazing with a cold, murderous fury. “I’ve been too lenient with you! You’re not going to learn until you’re staring at your own coffin!” He raised his hand to strike me again. Just then, the sound of urgent footsteps and a sharp, authoritative command cut through the air. Several uniformed police officers burst into the room… “Dickie Duncan, you’re being investigated for the death of your son. Please come with us.”

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1 I once saved lives by extracting venom for antivenom. I was rewarded with a life sentence for selling counterfeit medicine that killed a patient. In truth, my adoptive brother, Julian, diluted my serum for profit. When it failed, my parents forced me to sign a confession to protect him. My fiancée, Jessica, threw acid in my face, destroying it forever. I spent twelve years in prison, released early for good behavior. Now I shovel pig manure on a remote farm. Julian, in a publicity stunt, was bitten by a coral snake during a livestream. Now he’s dying. My family hunted me down. My parents knelt in the mud, crying, “You have to give him a transfusion! He’s your brother!” My sister, Ava, held a knife to my throat. “Save him, or I’ll send you back to prison for life.” My fingers traced the scars on my face. I smiled bitterly. They’d forgotten: years ago, to ensure my silence, they injected me with a sedative. A drug that permanently destroyed my ability to produce new blood. … “Jim, are you really planning to rot in this shithole for the rest of your life?” My sister, Ava, stepped out of the car, immaculate in a designer suit. The stench of the pig farm hit her like a physical blow, and her face turned a sickly shade of green. She pinched her nose, her brow furrowed in disgust. There was no warmth of a reunion in her eyes, only contempt. I stopped the rhythmic swing of my shovel and wiped a smear of stinking grime from my forehead. I didn’t say a word. I just watched them. Twelve years. I survived twelve years in that sunless cage. For the six months since my release, I’ve lived like a stray dog. They never once came to see me. No one would hire an ex-con, a “counterfeit drug dealer,” except for this pig farm at the edge of the world. And now, here they were, the whole family, rolling up in their luxury cars, storming this forgotten corner of the country. Had they finally remembered they had another son wasting away out here? “Jim, are you deaf? Can’t you even greet your own parents and sister?” my father, Richard, demanded. His voice was laced with its usual authority, but I could hear the sharp edge of desperation straining beneath it. “Let the past be the past,” he continued, softening his tone. “We’re family. Blood is thicker than water. Just swallow your pride, and the doors to our home will always be open for you.” I stared at his face, a mask of false generosity, and felt bile rise in my throat. Had they ever, for a single moment, considered me family? Slap! Before I could answer, Ava stepped forward, intending to wipe my face clean. But when I pulled down my mask, revealing the melted, grotesque ruin beneath, her hand froze mid-air. The sterile wipe fell from her trembling fingers and landed in the muck. Her eyes darkened for a fraction of a second. “How did it get this bad… If you had just listened back then, if you hadn’t been so greedy and sold that fake medicine, Jessica wouldn’t have… lost her temper like that.” Ava sighed, her voice dripping with pity. “Never mind. What matters now is saving a life. Julian is in trouble.” “He was trying to educate his followers, got bitten by a coral snake during a livestream. The venom is shutting down his organs, and the hospital’s blood bank doesn’t have a matching antivenom.” “You did the research. Your body has the antibodies.” “Come with us. Save Julian, and we’ll let everything you did in the past go. Mom and Dad will forgive you.” In their eyes, I had served twelve years for a crime I didn’t commit, had my face melted off, my body broken, and in the end, I was supposed to be grateful for their forgiveness. I twisted my lips into a sneer. The scarred tissue on my cheek pulled tight, a familiar, searing pain. “He got bit because he’s a greedy, stupid fool.” My voice was a dry rasp, like sandpaper on stone. “You bastard!” Richard’s face darkened. He raised a hand to strike me, but my mother, Eleanor, caught his arm. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her perfectly maintained face etched with exhaustion. She ignored the filth on the ground and rushed to my side, grabbing my hands, her manicured nails digging into my manure-caked skin. “Jim! I know you’ve been wronged! I know you’re angry!” Eleanor’s voice trembled. “But Julian is your brother!” “He’s always been so fragile. Not like you. You grew up tough in the orphanage, you’re strong. Giving a little blood won’t hurt you, right?” “I’m begging you, son. Do it for me. Please, save him! If you save him, I promise you, you’ll get ten percent of the family fortune! How does that sound?” I looked at this weeping woman. This was my mother. To her, Julian’s life was a precious treasure. Mine was just a resource to keep him alive. Because I was “tough,” because my life was cheap, I was the one who had to be sacrificed. I was about to wrench my hands away when a blinding flash went off. I turned my head and saw her. Jessica. The woman who had once sworn she would marry no one but me, and then personally destroyed my face. She was holding her phone, the camera pointed directly at me, live-streaming. Her eyes were filled with tears as she spoke to her audience, her voice breaking. “Everyone, this is Jim.” “Even though he made a terrible mistake, even though his actions cost someone their life and ruined my future…” “At this critical moment, I still hope he can find it in his heart to remember the bond of brotherhood and save Julian.” “Jim, I know you hate me for what I did. But I only did it because I loved you so much! You drove me crazy with what you’d done!” “If you’ll just save him, I’ll get on my knees and apologize to you right now! Please, I’m begging you, don’t be so heartless!” The chat exploded. Comments scrolled past in a blur. [OMG, Jessica is a saint! This killer should just die, and she’s still begging him!] [Is Jim even human? His own mother is crying like that and he’s just standing there?] [Cold-blooded animal. He deserves to shovel shit for a living!] Jessica’s mastery of emotional manipulation was flawless. I stared at her perfect, beautiful face, then pointed to the centipede-like scars that covered my own. “This is what you call ‘loving me too much,’ Jessica? This is how you show your love?” Her gaze flickered away for a second. “Can’t you just let the past go?” she shot back, her voice rising. “Julian is dying in the ICU right now! Why do you always have to be so selfish? Why can you only think about your own damn pain?” I looked at this collection of people I was supposed to call my family. Suddenly, the cesspool I was standing in felt cleaner than their hearts. “I’m not going.” “My blood is filthy. It’s not worthy of your precious Julian.” I dusted the grime from my clothes and turned to leave. “Jim, I didn’t want it to come to this. You’re forcing my hand.” Ava’s face turned to ice. With a flick of her wrist, four massive men emerged from the second car. They grabbed me like I was one of the pigs, slamming me down onto the concrete ground slick with wastewater and dung. My knee hit the ground hard. I felt a crack radiate through the bone. I struggled, but it only made things worse. The foul liquid flooded my nose and mouth, and I choked, unable to breathe. Seeing me subdued, Richard switched tactics, playing the good cop. He pulled a check from his jacket and shoved it into my pocket. “One million dollars. For your blood.” “Jim, I’m not forcing you. I’m teaching you how to be a man.” “Look at yourself. You’ll never make this much money in your entire life. With this, you can leave this place. You could even get plastic surgery.” “This is for your own good!” I struggled to lift my head, my eyes locking on the check. It was just like twelve years ago. Julian had switched out my serum with a diluted counterfeit, selling it to patients and causing three deaths. When the scandal broke, they had stood over me with that same condescending charity. “Jim, Julian is too fragile for prison.” “You’re the older brother. You take the blame for a few years. When you get out, everything the family has will be yours.” I refused. And then came the sedative, injected against my will, followed by twelve years in hell. “I can’t… sell it… My blood… it’s… bad…” I gasped, trying to explain. But Richard wasn’t listening. “So it’s not enough money, is that it? You just want to get back at Julian?” “Jim, don’t be so greedy!” Just then, Eleanor rushed forward and fell to her knees in the mud with a sickening thud. She didn’t care about her expensive clothes. She grabbed my filthy hands, her sobs tearing through the air. “Jim! Please! I’m on my knees, I’m begging you!” “Julian is dying! Only your antibodies can save him! He’s your brother!” “Just take pity on your mother, please, save him!” For a fleeting moment, my heart clenched. This was, after all, the woman who gave birth to me. Seeing her kneeling before me, a sliver of hesitation pierced my resolve. I opened my mouth, about to say something. But her next words plunged me into an abyss of ice. “Your life is already ruined!” “You have a criminal record. You’re an ex-con. Your face is destroyed. This is all you’ll ever be! You’re worthless!” “But Julian is different! He’s a huge influencer, a star! He’s going to inherit the family business! He has a brilliant future ahead of him!” “Jim, just think of it as… a final contribution! Give your useless blood to Julian. It’s the last useful thing you can do for your brother!” “I’m begging you!” That tiny flicker of hope that had ignited within me was instantly extinguished, shattered into dust. I stared at the weeping woman, and the absurdity of it all was suffocating. “Enough of this bullshit!” Ava had lost all her patience. She pulled a small fruit knife from her purse, its sharp point pressing against my carotid artery. “You’re still on parole, aren’t you, Jim?” “What do you think would happen if, during that period, someone reported you for attempting to manufacture illegal drugs again? Or perhaps… for stealing from the pig farm?” “I’m one of the best lawyers in the state. If I want to, I have countless legal ways to make sure you rot in that cell until you die.” “So, what’s it going to be? Are you going to walk in there, give your blood, and take the money? Or are you going to go back to prison right now and die inside?” The sharp sting on my neck brought everything into focus. I wasn’t afraid of going back to prison. I was just disgusted. This was my sister. A celebrated attorney. Using all her knowledge of the law to destroy her own brother. I didn’t feel fear. I was long past that emotion. I just felt tired. So incredibly tired. If you want my blood this badly, then take it. I closed my eyes and stopped fighting.

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