Category: English

1 For my twenty-ninth birthday, my husband gave me a bottle of perfume. I sprayed it on without a second thought and went into anaphylactic shock. When I finally came to in the hospital, Liam was there, a bouquet in hand, with his childhood friend, Chloe, hovering by his side. I calmly asked for a divorce. Chloe immediately rushed to his defense, her voice choked with tears. “Ava, please don’t blame Liam! The perfume was my idea. I just thought the scent would be perfect for you.” Liam wrapped an arm around her, comforting her, then turned to me with an impatient glare. “You’ll regret this.” The next time I saw Liam was a month later. After being discharged, I’d spent some time recovering at my old apartment before finally returning to our villa. The housekeeper informed me that Liam had only come back once, right after I was hospitalized, and hadn’t been seen since. I wasn’t surprised. This wasn’t his only home. He had another one with Chloe. I took a USB drive to the study and printed out the divorce papers. Two copies. I signed my name and then called him. He arrived late that night, a gift bag dangling from his hand. Seeing me on the sofa, he casually issued his usual command. “Make me some soup. I was out with Mr. Harrison and the board. Drank too much. My stomach is killing me.” He tossed the bag onto the couch and went upstairs to the master bedroom. He showered, changed into his pajamas, and then came back down. He noticed I hadn’t touched the bag and pushed it toward me. “A replacement birthday gift.” I didn’t take it. He placed it on my lap. I stood up and set it aside. “Aren’t you going to see what it is?” I tried to smile, but couldn’t. I looked up at him. Our house was littered with identical gift bags. I already knew what was inside. Ever since we’d had our son, he’d put zero thought into my gifts. Skincare sets, handbags, jewelry. The styles were always the same, the brands predictable. It was as if he spent less than three minutes picking them out. He never seemed to notice that sometimes, his gifts would sit unopened for months. Only that bottle of perfume had been different. The box was unique. I’d opened it, sprayed it once, and regretted it instantly. It was rose-scented. And I am deathly allergic to roses. Even the scent is enough to trigger a reaction. I picked up the divorce papers from the coffee table and handed them to him. “My lawyer drafted these. Take a look. If there are no issues, just sign.” He froze, his hand hovering over the papers. “The soup… did you make it? I’ll go check.” I let him escape to the kitchen. He was back in a moment, his expression grim. “You didn’t make it.” “I’m tired. I don’t feel like it.” His stomach must have genuinely been hurting. He pressed a hand to his abdomen and sat back down. I pretended not to see. He sidled up next to me, wrapping an arm around my waist, his voice suddenly soft. “Ava, I was wrong. I’ve just been so busy, I asked Chloe to help me pick out your gift. How about this? I’ll book a restaurant, and tomorrow, we can have a proper birthday celebration. Just the two of us.” I looked at him and shook my head, gently removing his hand from my waist and scooting away. His face hardened. “Why? Is it really just because of the perfume?” It wasn’t just the perfume. It was because the author had stopped writing. The sweet romance novel was over. His heart had wandered, and I had developed a mind of my own. We were no longer just characters, forced to be sweet for the sake of the plot. The day after our wedding, my memories had returned. I was the female lead in a cliché romance novel. Beautiful, smart, the campus ice queen with a fatal allergy to roses. Liam was the male lead: the cold, handsome CEO-in-training with a chronic stomachache who would do anything for me. We had a sickeningly sweet college romance. After graduation, one night of passion led to an unexpected pregnancy. I had terrible morning sickness, and Liam, ever the doting partner, insisted I quit my job so he could take care of us. During the difficult months of my pregnancy, he’d scold my belly, telling our unborn son to stop tormenting me or he’d get a spanking when he came out. It was shortly after my memories returned that Chloe came back from studying abroad. She started working at Liam’s family company, becoming his special assistant. That’s when I learned that their families were old friends. After Chloe’s parents died, Liam’s family had taken her in. They were childhood sweethearts, and she had always been in love with him. And I, the supposed love of his life, had never even heard her name. A character who had never appeared in the sweet romance novel had suddenly materialized the moment it ended. But I couldn’t blame Chloe. She had confessed her feelings to Liam long ago. He knew how she felt, yet he kept her by his side. His motives were his own. While I was pregnant, they traveled for business together, drank together, attended high school reunions together. In the beginning, when I’d get jealous, he would just laugh it off. Eventually, I stopped bringing it up. And Chloe silently wedged herself between us, where she remained to this day. And now he was asking if this was all about a bottle of perfume. A wave of pity washed over me. “The perfume was just the final straw.” “Liam, I’ve wanted to divorce you for a very long time.” His brow furrowed, his eyes turning cold. “Ava, are you seeing someone else?” “I forbid it!” Before I could call him insane, he lunged, pinning me to the sofa. “Liam, no!” I struggled, but he was too heavy. When his hand started to slip under my dress, I slapped him. Hard. The sting of it stopped him. His eyes were bloodshot, a cruel glint in them. “Ava, don’t forget you’re still my wife. Am I not even allowed to touch you anymore?” The memory of the D&C I’d had to undergo after the miscarriage flooded my mind, and my whole body began to tremble. “You disgust me.” Our eyes met. I didn’t back down. He finally pushed himself off me, slumping to the floor. A self-deprecating laugh escaped his lips. “So that’s it. No wonder you want a divorce.” “Who is he?” I said nothing. He grabbed his jacket from the sofa and stalked toward the door. “Ava, you can dream on about a divorce!” “You’d better hide him well. Because when I find out who he is, I’ll kill him.” As he reached the door, a sharp pain lanced through my chest. I called out his name. “Liam.” He stopped but didn’t turn around. “Do you love me?” I asked. He was silent. I pressed on. “If you loved me, would you keep a woman who’s been in love with you for years by your side? If you loved me, would you let your mother take our son away from me, to another country?” “Liam, the day you agreed to let her take our son, I started to doubt everything you’ve ever said about love.” He finally turned, his eyes filled with confusion. “I thought we agreed to let Mom take Ethan so we could have some time to ourselves.” “You wanted that. I didn’t.” “He is the child I carried for ten months. I would never send him away for the sake of some ‘alone time.’ I’m not that kind of person.” He shook his head slightly. “But we said we’d have another baby.” A bitter laugh escaped me. “There is no other baby. I went into anaphylactic shock from the perfume. I miscarried.” The expression on his face was beyond grim. “Why didn’t you tell me when I came to the hospital?” he demanded. “I was going to tell you on my birthday. But you never came. You sent Chloe with the perfume instead.” “Liam, what good would it have done to tell you?” He was silent for a long time. “We can have another child,” he said finally, his voice flat. “No, we can’t. Liam, let’s just get a divorce.” “If we don’t, I don’t know what I might do.” I walked over to him with the papers. “Sign them.” He took them. “And you, Ava? Do you still love me?” “I’ve let go.” “Recently? Or a long time ago?” I didn’t answer. He did. “A long time ago. You stopped being clingy. When I went on business trips, you stopped telling me to be safe. When I drank, you stopped telling me to drink less. The longest I was away was that trip to Moscow. I waited ten days, and you never sent me a single message. Just like tonight, with my stomach. You couldn’t care less.” “Ava, you were the one who stopped loving me first.” “I stopped being clingy because Chloe was always with you, leaving no space for me. I stopped asking about your trips because she would post pictures of the two of you together. I stopped telling you to drink less because you were always taking drinks for her. And that trip to Moscow? I didn’t message you because I saw a video of the two of you dancing intimately in a club. I didn’t want to interrupt.” “As for tonight… you’re right. I don’t love you anymore.” “Liam, I’m making way for Chloe. I wish you both the best.” His knuckles were white as he gripped the papers. His eyes, red and furious, watched me as he tore the documents to shreds. Then, he stormed out. I had the housekeeper clean up the mess and went back to the study. I printed ten more copies. An hour later, I saw Chloe’s latest social media post. A selfie of her sitting on the edge of a bed, Liam asleep behind her. The caption read: “The man I love has never learned to love himself. If you don’t love him, why can’t you just let him go? Why do you have to torture him?” I took the ten copies of the divorce papers, got in my car, and drove to Chloe’s house.

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At nineteen, the man I loved drugged me and left me unconscious in an abandoned building during a thunderstorm—my greatest fear. He stole my father’s badge to go undercover, spending five years infiltrating the Black Vulture syndicate to avenge my parents. He returned a decorated hero, but confined to a wheelchair. I found him, made him marry me, and for five years, he rebuilt his life while shielding me from everything. Then I discovered our marriage was a lie—his legal wife wasn’t me. When he begged me to abort our long-awaited child for the sake of his other family, I agreed. Seven days later, I jumped from a skyscraper. And he went mad. 1 My hand instinctively went to my stomach as I fought back the urge to scream, to rip the world apart with my questions. The storm of emotions inside me finally subsided, leaving behind only the bitter taste of ash. I forced the tears back, blinking them away until my vision cleared. I looked up at the man who had once sworn to shield me with his life, and my voice was a hollow echo of itself. “So that’s it, Caleb? You’re not going to explain this marriage certificate? You just want me to get rid of the baby we tried for three years to have… to make way for your little lover?” His eyes instantly reddened. He reached for me, but the dead, empty stillness in my gaze made him flinch back. “Elara… I’m so sorry…” His voice was a raw, ragged whisper. “But I can’t just stand by and watch Seraphina die.” “During my undercover years,” he continued, his words tumbling out in a desperate rush, “she saved my life. Not once, but multiple times. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have been able to avenge your parents. I wouldn’t have even made it back to you alive!” “She’s… damaged because of me. The trauma left her with severe depression, crippling anxiety. She has no one else, Elara! Only me!” His voice cracked with a pleading desperation. “Just let her have her baby first. I swear, after that, my life, everything I have… it’s all yours to make up for this. I’ll spend the rest of my days atoning.” “Atoning?” A sharp, twisting cramp seized my lower belly. “I endured three years of medication, countless injections, of vomiting until I passed out, all for this child. And you want me to kill him?” My voice rose, trembling. “This is a life, Caleb. A living, breathing life. What could possibly compensate for that?” I finally broke. The control I’d been clinging to shattered. “If you try to trade my child’s life for hers,” I shrieked, my voice raw with agony, “I swear to God, I will die right in front of you!” “Elara!” he roared, his face flashing with raw frustration. “You’re going to pressure me too? Why can’t you just understand?” “Seraphina is a… a ‘Player’! It’s complicated, but she’s part of some system. If she doesn’t successfully give birth to this child, the system will erase her! She’ll cease to exist!” “You’re stronger than she is,” he pleaded, his logic a poisoned knife. “You have me, you have everything we’ve built. But she only has me. All she wants is a chance to live. I’m begging you, Elara. Understand. Just this once. Give her a chance to live.” He couldn’t meet my eyes. He spun his wheelchair around with a jerky, panicked motion and fled the room, slamming the door behind him. The sound echoed the splintering of my heart. I collapsed to the floor, my arms wrapped around my stomach, the tears finally flowing in a silent, scalding torrent. How did we get here? How did the man who once held me tight through thunderstorms, the man who would press his face to my belly and whisper, his stubble tickling my skin, “It’s okay, little one, Daddy’s here,” become this stranger who would so easily cast that same life aside for another woman? I don’t know how long I lay there before my phone rang, piercing the silence. Seraphina’s voice, laced with a triumphant, sickly sweetness, stabbed at my eardrums. “Elara, sweetie. As one woman to another, I’ll give you a second of my pity. I’m in such a good mood today, I’ll even let you in on a little secret. Caleb left you to be with me… for my prenatal check-up. You know, he looks incredible when he stands. It’s a shame he never told you he could.” My blood ran cold. “Oh, and sweetie? You’re a smart girl. You must know I’m not some ‘Player’ in a game. And I’m certainly not depressed. That was just a little act.” “I pretended to have a breakdown,” she purred, her voice dripping with venom. “Forced him to choose between your baby or me and mine. A little test, you see, to show you who really matters to him.” “You may have been his childhood sweetheart, but that’s nothing compared to the bond forged in darkness. The woman who stood by his side, who bled for him when he had nothing… that’s a bond you can never break.” “Did you really think your five years of marriage were happy? He never stopped looking for me. We’ve had our own little home on the west side of town for three years now.” “And that marriage certificate? He wanted you to find it. He was hoping you’d just give up, you see. Do us all a favor and set him free.” She paused, her tone hardening into pure malice. “Don’t make him lose that last little bit of affection he has left for you.” The video she sent seconds later shattered the last vestiges of my world. There was Caleb, standing tall and straight, gently, carefully guiding her through the clinic. My hero, the man who had faced down a criminal empire for me… now stood for her. He was a stranger. A nurse smiled at them. “Mr. Hayes, you take such wonderful care of your wife.” He only frowned slightly. He didn’t correct her. That single, tender moment obliterated every fantasy I had ever held. A tidal wave of furious, helpless despair consumed me. I scrambled to my feet and ran to the balcony, fumbling to dial his number. “Elara? What is it? Have you thought things through?” His voice was weary, but underneath it, I could hear the hopeful expectation that I had finally bent to his will. I looked down at the city lights below, a glittering, merciless abyss. My own voice was terrifyingly calm. “Caleb.” The line went quiet. He must have sensed the change in me. “I’m standing on the balcony,” I said softly. “Twenty minutes. I’m giving you twenty minutes.” I took a deep breath, enunciating each word with chilling precision. “If you’re not here,” I said, “I’m going to jump. I’ll take this child you’re so desperate to kill, and I will disappear from your life forever.” 2 A raw, guttural roar of pure terror ripped through the phone. “Elara, don’t you dare! Stay right where you are! Don’t move! I’m coming! I’ll be right there! Do you hear me?!” I ended the call, letting the cold rain soak through my clothes, chilling me to the bone. Less than two minutes later, a text from Seraphina buzzed on my phone, incandescent with rage. You bitch! You actually copied my suicide act? What a pathetic move! You think you’ve won just because you made Caleb leave me alone at the hospital in a storm? I’ll make you pay for this. I swear it. My face was a mask of stone. I screenshotted the messages and sent them to Caleb. I wanted him to see the true face of the “lonely,” “depressed” woman he was sacrificing everything for. On the nineteenth minute, a car screeched to a halt below. Caleb didn’t bother with the wheelchair, didn’t bother with the charade of being disabled. He stumbled out of the car and sprinted into the building, bursting into the apartment a moment later, drenched and wild-eyed. He yanked me back from the ledge, his arms trembling as he crushed me against him. “Elara, I was wrong! We’ll keep the baby! Just don’t do this, I’m begging you, never do this again… I can’t lose you…” I shoved him away with all my strength, wiping the rain and tears from my face. My voice was flat, devoid of all emotion. “I was going to give you divorce papers. But my lawyer informed me that I haven’t been your legal wife for three years.” I watched the color drain from his face as I delivered the final blow. “Caleb, I’m already divorced, so I can’t exactly divorce you again. Let’s just break up.” “Get out. I don’t want you anymore.” “I don’t want to see you again. I don’t want you to… to destroy the image I have left of the nineteen-year-old boy who would have died for me.” My gaze dropped to his legs, straight and strong. “And congratulations. On being able to walk again.” It was as if all the strength had been ripped from his body. Caleb staggered, reaching for me again, his voice thick with anguish and self-loathing. “Elara, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t trying to hide it from you! I wanted… I wanted to wait until I was fully recovered, to surprise you! I never, ever thought about leaving you. I can’t live without you…” There was a time I would have believed every word without question. Now, each syllable was a nauseating lie that crawled under my skin. Seeing my resolve, he grew more frantic. “Don’t listen to anything Seraphina sent you! She’s having a depressive episode, she’s not in control of what she says! I’ll handle her, I promise! I’ll never force you to do anything again.” “I will fix the mess with Seraphina and I’ll make it right with you! Please, just stop this. Don’t leave me…” I was tired. So incredibly tired. I whispered a single word: “Okay.” He reacted as if he’d been granted a divine pardon. He swept me into his arms, carried me to bed, and began gently toweling my hair and skin dry, treating me like a priceless, fragile treasure as he coaxed me to sleep. I closed my eyes, feigning exhaustion and surrender. As I expected, not fifteen minutes later, once he was certain I was “asleep,” he rose from the bed. He moved quietly but quickly, slipping out of the room and closing the door behind him. That desperate, hurried retreat extinguished the last ember of hope in my heart. I got up immediately, threw on a coat, and followed him out. I needed to see it for myself. I needed to see what his idea of “handling it” and “making it right” truly looked like. I followed the red glow of his taillights through the rain. As I was about to hail a cab, a windowless van screeched to a halt beside me. A large hand clamped over my mouth, dragging me violently inside as a sickly chemical smell flooded my senses. Just before my consciousness faded, I saw them. Not far down the road, Caleb was pulling Seraphina, who was huddled and crying in the rain, into a fierce, protective embrace, his eyes filled with nothing but aching tenderness. 3 When I woke again, it was to the cloying stench of rust and mildew in a derelict warehouse. I thrashed wildly, the coarse ropes biting into my wrists, tearing the skin, but it was useless. I heard hushed voices outside and immediately squeezed my eyes shut, pretending to be unconscious. “The boss’s orders. Rough her up good. Teach her a lesson for the missus.” “Just don’t go all the way. And don’t kill her. Anything else is fair game.” The next three days were a descent into hell. They used every method imaginable to torture me, to strip away every shred of my dignity. I curled up on the filthy floor, my arms wrapped protectively around my stomach, begging them over and over. “Money… I have money… I’ll give you anything you want… please, just don’t hurt my baby… Call my husband… he’ll pay the ransom…” They laughed at my naivete, but to my surprise, they actually dialed Caleb’s number and put it on speaker. “We’ve got your wife. Five hundred grand for her and the kid in her belly. Or you get two corpses!” In that moment, a flicker of hope ignited in the abyss of my despair. But the voice that came through the phone was cold, impatient, and utterly dismissive. “Who is this? Some kind of prank call? My wife is perfectly fine at home. Call me again and I’m reporting you to the police.” The line went dead. One of the kidnappers spit on the floor. “Hear that? Your old man doesn’t want you!” I broke down, sobbing and pleading. “No, that’s impossible! Call again! Please! Let him hear my voice!” They dialed again. It went straight to voicemail. That robotic, impersonal voice crushed the last bit of life within me. The torture intensified. Finally, amidst a searing, gut-wrenching agony, I felt a warm gush of liquid between my legs… My child was gone, reduced to a pool of blood on the concrete floor. One of the kidnappers checked my pulse and, assuming I was dead, cursed under his breath before they finally left. I don’t know how much time passed. Running on a single, desperate breath, I dragged my blood-soaked body out of the warehouse and began the agonizing journey back. As I neared our home, I heard the sound of laughter and conversation from inside. I hid in the shadows, peering through the window. I saw Caleb, gently applying ointment to a small cut on Seraphina’s finger. Around him, the men he once called his brothers were talking loudly. “I bet the wife has learned her lesson this time. A little taste of the real world should teach her that a man of Caleb’s status having a few women on the side is normal.” “Exactly. Caleb’s been patient with her for years. It’s just a baby. So what if Seraphina has one first? The girl needed to be put in her place.” “I don’t know, man. She’s not the type to share.” “You know how she is. Can’t stand a single grain of sand in her eye. You really think she’ll tolerate sharing Caleb with another woman?” “And aren’t you guys worried this went too far? This whole thing, Caleb not sending anyone to protect her… it feels like playing with fire.” “What if she finds out this whole kidnapping was his idea? That he did it to get rid of the baby and ‘discipline’ her? You think they have a future after that?” Someone scoffed. “Please. I’ll bet a million bucks she loves him so much she can’t live without him. Even if she knew the truth, she’d forgive him. She’s just throwing a tantrum right now. Give it time, she’ll compromise for love.” Their words were poison-tipped needles, plunging deep into my already ravaged heart. So this was it. The hell I had endured, the loss of my child… it was all his design. A calculated cruelty to make me more “obedient,” to appease Seraphina. Just then, Caleb frowned, cutting them off. “All of you, shut up. Keep a close eye on things. Don’t let anything actually happen to Elara.” He turned to another man. “And the rest of you, get the house on the west side ready. Finalize the arrangements for the cars and the ceremony tomorrow.” “I owe Seraphina this wedding. It has to be perfect.” “And after tomorrow, arrange to have my wife brought home, completely unharmed.” One of them asked, a strange note in his voice, “Caleb… now that you have two wives… do you still love Elara?” He didn’t hesitate. His voice was clear and firm. “Yes. More than my own life. And I will spend the rest of my days making it up to her.” I clamped my hand over my mouth to stifle a sob, scrambling away from that house of horrors, that place of sickening betrayal. The cold rain mixed with my blood and tears as I stumbled through the city, finally collapsing at the foot of my parents’ grave, the last of my strength giving out as I wept until my soul felt hollowed out. 4 I woke in the downpour before my parents’ tombstone, my body frozen, but my heart colder still. With trembling fingers, I pulled out my drenched phone. The screen was shattered, but it still worked. I dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. It was answered on the first ring. A calm, steady voice came through the line. “It’s me. Elara.” My own voice was a hoarse, unrecognizable rasp. “Can you help me…?” There was a moment of silence on the other end, then a single, firm word: “Yes.” Just before he hung up, he added, “Don’t be afraid. I’ll take care of everything.” By the time I made my way, ghost-like, back to the city center, Caleb and Seraphina’s wedding was the only thing anyone was talking about. The news was everywhere, plastering their faces across every screen, gushing about the lavish, billion-dollar fantasy wedding the CEO of Hayes Corp. had created for his beloved bride. I wore the simplest clothes, a specter haunting the celebration from afar. I went to the observation tower across from their wedding venue. The Spire. It was where the city’s elite came to watch the stars, to make grand romantic gestures. It was where Caleb had once proposed to me, where he had sworn his wedding vows to me under a canopy of constellations. I stood at its base and looked up. Through the vast panes of glass, I could see the glittering party, the swirl of expensive gowns and the clinking of champagne glasses. Caleb was there, devastatingly handsome in a tailored suit. And beside him, Seraphina wore the wedding dress he had once designed exclusively for me, the one he said was for “my Elara, who deserves something one-of-a-kind in this world.” But the final, soul-crushing blow was the necklace adorning her throat. The sapphire pendant, the last thing my mother had ever given me. The one he had promised to treasure for me forever. In that instant, my sanity snapped. I ran toward the hotel like a madwoman, driven by a primal need to reclaim what was mine. But before I could even reach the doors, four familiar faces blocked my path—my kidnappers. They clamped a hand over my mouth, grabbing my hair and brutally dragging me away. “Ms. Thorne,” one of them sneered, “Mr. Hayes gave specific orders. No one is to disturb the wedding today. Don’t humiliate yourself any further.” I fought back with the strength of the damned, sinking my teeth into one man’s hand. He cried out in pain, his grip loosening just enough for me to break free. I sprinted back toward the hotel, toward the life that had been stolen from me. But there were too many of them. They surrounded me again, forming a human wall between me and that path of roses, a beautiful shore I could never reach. From a distance, I saw Caleb slide the ring onto Seraphina’s finger. I saw the men who were once my friends raise their glasses in a toast to the “happy couple.” And suddenly, I stopped struggling. I turned around. With the last ounce of my strength, I ran into the tower across the street, all the way to the top. The wind howled around me as I stepped onto the ledge and switched on the massive public address speaker. A low hum echoed across the plaza, turning into a piercing feedback squeal that instantly captured the attention of every guest at the wedding below. I saw Caleb’s head snap up, his triumphant smile freezing on his face, morphing into a mask of pure horror. I leaned into the microphone. My voice, terrifyingly calm, boomed across the wedding venue and beyond. “Caleb Hayes, congratulations on your wedding day.” “I wish you and Seraphina a lifetime of happiness together.” “And I hope you and your brothers never forget today. I hope you remember your little ‘lesson.’ I hope you remember how my unborn child was washed away in a pool of blood.” His face went ashen. He started running toward me, screaming my name, but the wind snatched his words away. “You all bet that I would forgive you, didn’t you?” Facing the wind, I smiled. It was the first time I had smiled in three days, and it was my last. A thing of tragic, desperate beauty. “Well, now I’m making a bet of my own. I’m betting my life that you, Caleb Hayes, will never know a moment of peace for the rest of yours.” And with that, as he watched, his eyes wide with frantic, disbelieving terror, as the crowd below gasped in a collective wave of shock, I took one final step forward and leaped from the top of the world.

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I found it by accident. A password-protected blog linked to my husband’s email, an account I never knew he had. We’d been married for ten years. For ten years, I thought I knew everything about Ethan. The blog was a digital scrapbook, meticulously documenting a love story. Their love story. My fingers trembled as I scrolled to the very last entry, a knot tightening in my stomach. But then, the dates started looking… familiar. **[May 20, 2015]** *He said yes. He put my ring on his finger.* That was the day Ethan proposed to me. **[January 20, 2016]** *Can’t wait to meet the new life we created.* That was the day I found out I was pregnant. Ethan was so ecstatic he lifted me up and spun me around right in front of the hospital entrance. We lost the baby, a heartbreak that haunted us for years, a result of my own health complications. **[May 21, 2016]** No text, just a single photo: a massive bouquet of 999 red roses. That was the surprise Ethan arranged for our first wedding anniversary. My frantic heartbeat began to slow. Relief washed over me. This wasn’t about another woman. This was just Ethan’s private way of chronicling our life together. How sweet. And then, just as I was about to close the laptop, the page refreshed. A new entry appeared, posted seconds ago. **[Tonight]** *Hubby says he’s making his special coconut curry chicken for me and our son.* Before I could even process the words, Ethan’s custom ringtone—a clip from our wedding song—blared from my phone. “Hey, baby,” he said, his voice warm and familiar. “Listen, Mark’s back in the country, just for a night. A few of us are taking him out to celebrate.” “Don’t worry, I won’t drink too much,” he continued, pre-empting my usual concern. “But it’s going to run late. I’ll probably just crash at a hotel downtown so I don’t wake you. Okay?” It was the usual considerate check-in. The usual Ethan. Any other day, I wouldn’t have thought twice. But now, with that blog post burned into my mind, his sudden night away felt like a deliberate deception. Mark was Ethan’s best friend from college, a guy who’d been working in London for years. I immediately called him. The sound of deafening club music blasted through the speaker before I could even say hello. “Mia! Checking up on your man?” Mark yelled over the noise. “Don’t you worry, he’s right here with me!” I forced my voice to sound steady. “Okay. You guys have fun.” I waited up until 2 a.m. As I suspected, the blog updated again. This time, there was a photo. A little boy, maybe eight years old, was beaming next to a homemade cake. The caption read: **Leo is eight! He and Daddy made a cake together today.** In the second photo, a man’s arm was wrapped around the boy. I’d know that arm anywhere. On his wrist was a woven cord bracelet, a one-of-a-kind piece I’d bought for him at a street fair during his “golden birthday” year. I’d tied it on him myself. There was only one in the world. My hands shook so violently the phone nearly slipped from my grasp. My fingertips were white from gripping it so hard. An eight-year-old boy. Calling him Dad. Proposed to on the same day as me. A pregnancy discovered on the same day as mine. Even their anniversary seemed to fall on the same date. The whole thing was so absurd, so utterly insane, I almost laughed. A piercing alarm pulled me from my stupor. I’d been sitting there all night, staring into space. I shut off the alarm—the one I set to remind me to make Ethan a hangover-cure smoothie on mornings like this. After washing the dried tear tracks from my face, I looked at my red, swollen eyes in the mirror and dialed the number for a private investigator. Thirty minutes later, I was parked outside a pristine suburban house not ten miles from our own. “Mrs. Hayes,” the investigator said over the phone, “this is the address Mr. Hayes has visited most frequently over the past decade, aside from your home and his office.” “Last night, he stopped at a bakery supply store, then a supermarket where he bought a fresh chicken and coconut milk. He went into this house and never came out.” Baking. Chicken. Coconut. It all clicked into place. The blood in my veins turned to ice. In the rearview mirror, my face was a ghostly white. The perfect, enviable love story I was so proud of was nothing but a complete and utter fraud. I didn’t have to wait long. Just after 8 a.m., Ethan walked out the front door, dressed for work. A woman, holding a sleepy little boy, came out to see him off. “Bye, Daddy,” the boy mumbled. Ethan bent down and squeezed his cheek affectionately. “Be good for your mom, buddy.” The scene of this perfect little family was a dagger in my eyes. I watched, torturing myself, staring so hard I could taste the metallic tang of blood from biting my lip. “Okay, I’m off,” Ethan said to the woman. “I’ll see you guys next time.” As he turned to leave, the woman dropped the boy’s hand and lunged forward, trying to hug him. Ethan sidestepped her smoothly. I saw a flash of annoyance cross his face before he quickly masked it. “Don’t,” he said, his voice low. The woman froze, her smile faltering. “Right,” she managed, her voice tight. “I promised.” I watched as Ethan got into his car and immediately picked up his phone. A second later, mine rang. His voice was thick with feigned exhaustion and longing, the same performance he gave after every late night out. “Baby, I feel awful. I could really use one of your smoothies right now.” A pause. “It’s been twenty hours since I saw you. I miss you so much.” Ethan had always been demonstrative. He’d declared he would be my boyfriend in front of the entire student body during his valedictorian speech. The day we started dating, he called his parents and announced he’d found their future daughter-in-law. At our wedding, he cried from morning till night, so much that his groomsmen kept their distance. Even my own parents were in awe of him, often asking me, “Are you really that special? How did you land a man who worships you like this?” Until yesterday, I believed it, too. Now, all I felt was a wave of nausea. When I didn’t respond, he must have thought I was mad about him staying out all night. “I promise, I’ll never drink that much again. No old friend is more important than my wife. Please don’t be angry, Mia.” I’m not good at hiding my feelings. His soft, coaxing voice broke through my resolve, and I was about to demand where he’d really been. Just as I opened my mouth, a sharp tap on my car window made me jump. It was her. The woman from the house, holding the little boy by the hand. She had on a full face of makeup, her red lips curved into a smirk. She mouthed the words: “Let’s talk.” I mumbled a quick excuse to Ethan and hung up. I followed her to a nearby coffee shop. “My name is Sarah,” she said, sliding into the booth opposite me. “I’m Ethan’s legal wife.” My hand, hidden under the table, clenched into a fist. The sharp sting of my nails digging into my palm was the only thing keeping me upright. I would not fall apart in front of her. “What a coincidence,” I said, my voice surprisingly level. “Because I also have a marriage license, and a wedding, that says I’m his legal wife.” I expected shock. Anger. Some sign that she was another victim in this. But her expression was calm, almost smug, as if everything was going according to her plan. She pulled a folded document from her purse and laid it on the table. A marriage certificate. The date, the city official—it all matched mine. Except for the photo. Hers was next to Ethan’s. “Look familiar?” Sarah asked with a slight smile. “That’s because Ethan had a perfect, high-quality forgery of this one made just for you.” My throat tightened. “What are you talking about?” “Your marriage certificate,” she said, her voice dripping with condescending pity. “It’s fake.” The words hit me like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. Every part of me ached. Sarah watched me, savoring my reaction. “I’m sure you’ve already had me investigated,” she continued, “and you’ve decided I’m the homewrecker who stole your husband. How are you planning to get rid of me? Money? Your family’s influence?” She picked up her certificate and tucked it back into her purse, her smile turning into a triumphant sneer. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m the legal Mrs. Hayes. You,” she said, leaning in, “are the other woman. The one he keeps in the dark.” I fought to control my breathing, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing me break. The little boy, who had been playing quietly nearby, ran over to our table. He pointed a small finger at me. “Mommy, is that the pretty lady from Daddy’s phone wallpaper?” I knew Ethan kept our wedding photo as his lock screen. But I never imagined he’d be so brazen as to let his own child see it. What shocked me more was Sarah’s reaction—or lack thereof. She clearly knew about me all along. She wanted me to find that blog. She wanted this confrontation. “What do you want?” I whispered. Instead of answering, Sarah pulled another document from her bag. A DNA test. It stated, in clear, clinical black and white, that Ethan Hayes shared no biological relationship with the child, Leo. I sat in that coffee shop until the sky went dark. My dad called, his voice laced with annoyance. “Are you fighting with Ethan again? He’s worried sick, says you’re not answering your phone.” There was a pause. “You’re thirty-two years old, Mia, not a child. When are you going to grow up?” The lecture continued. “Ethan runs the company flawlessly, so your mother and I don’t have to worry about a thing. On top of all that, he has to take care of you. And the second you have a disagreement, you pull a disappearing act. Can’t you be more considerate? Stop being so dramatic. With your inability to do anything practical, who else would put up with you if you manage to run him off?” The mountain of betrayal I was carrying was too heavy to explain. In their eyes, I was the clueless heiress, and Ethan was the perfect son-in-law who held our world together. My entire future depended on him. “But Dad,” I choked out, “what if he doesn’t love me?” “Impossible,” he said, without a hint of doubt. He was right. Everyone could see how much Ethan loved me. Even I had believed it. I pulled myself together, deciding to play along, to pretend I knew nothing. So what if one piece of paper was fake? Our life, our friends, our family—everyone knew me as his wife. And the boy wasn’t his. We could have our own child. When I got home, Ethan rushed to me, wrapping me in a desperate hug. I told him I’d gone to a movie and put my phone on silent. I felt his body relax, a silent sigh of relief against my chest. I dug my nails into my palms again, forcing down the suspicion. Later that night, after my shower, I put on a silk slip I’d bought years ago but had always been too shy to wear. Taking a deep breath, I walked up behind Ethan and wrapped my arms around him. He seemed surprised and pleased by my forwardness, but when I whispered that I wanted to try for a baby again, his whole body went rigid. He was silent for a long moment before gently removing my arms. “Why are you suddenly thinking about that?” he asked. The rejection was so clear it felt like my heart had dropped into my feet. My voice trembled. “You don’t want to?” He looked at me with the kind of patient exasperation one reserves for an unreasonable child. “Mia, you know what the doctors said after the miscarriage. Your body can’t handle another pregnancy. It would be dangerous for you. If something happened to you… what would I do?” My mind flashed back to that day, to the feeling of being alone, bleeding, and helpless. “Besides,” he added softly, “kids are so noisy. They cry all the time, they’d ruin our time together. I don’t like kids, you know that.” He ended up sleeping in the guest room, saying we both needed some space to “cool off.” Every word was a carefully crafted defense, painting me as the one making an impulsive, irrational demand. At 2 a.m., my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. Then another, and another. A dozen videos flooded in. They were all of Ethan with Leo. The first was from October 2016. Ethan was cradling a newborn, pacing back and forth, rocking him gently. That was the same time Ethan told me he had to fly to Europe for three months to handle a crisis at the international branch. Another lie. More videos followed. Every birthday. Ethan holding Leo’s hand at Disneyland, at the aquarium, building a model airplane together. There was even a clip of him at a parent-teacher conference. In every video, Ethan was smiling. A deep, genuine smile of pure happiness. A look I had never seen on his face before. He told me he didn’t like kids. Another lie. But then why… why had he spent so many nights back then, sitting alone on our balcony, silently crying while holding the tiny baby clothes I had bought? It was as if he was trying to make up for something. For the next few weeks, Ethan was a model husband. He left work early and came home on time. He spent every free moment with me, turning down all invitations and pushing all his networking duties onto his assistant. “I need to be home with my wife,” he’d say proudly into his phone. “Yeah, I’m a whipped husband. So what?” Just as I started to think our life was returning to normal, that Sarah and Leo were just a nightmare I’d had, Ethan shattered the illusion himself. The company was on annual leave, and Ethan had planned a surprise trip for us to Iceland to see the Northern Lights—something I’d always dreamed of. We were at the airport, about to check in, when he took a call. The color drained from his face. “It’s an emergency at the office,” he said, avoiding my eyes. “Baby, I’m so sorry. We’ll have to do this another time.” I stared at his face, a mask of practiced regret. I had to know. “Is it really the office, Ethan?” He stopped walking, turning back to me with a flicker of confusion. The old me would have just nodded and accepted it, always putting his work first. “Of course it’s…” My last shred of patience snapped. I held up my phone, showing him the text that had arrived three minutes earlier. It was from Sarah. **[Leo has a 100-degree fever. Let’s see if his daddy will abandon you for him.]** Ethan froze, a look of pure panic and disbelief flashing in his eyes. “Who do you choose?” I asked, my voice flat. He reached for me, but I pulled away. Through his phone, I could hear the faint, pained cries of a child. “Daddy… I don’t feel good… I want you…” Ethan’s hand tightened around his phone. He looked at me, his eyes dark with a conflict I couldn’t decipher. “You don’t have a child, Mia,” he said, his voice strained. “You don’t understand how terrifying it is when they get sick. We can see the Northern Lights anytime. If you really want to go, just go ahead. I’ll fly out and meet you when this is over.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll explain everything later,” he threw over his shoulder. In ten years of marriage, I had seen Ethan run towards me countless times. This was the first time I had ever seen him run away, a desperate, frantic sprint in the opposite direction. An airport attendant offered me a tissue, and I realized my carefully applied makeup was streaming down my face. A dull, constant ache in my chest made it hard to breathe. My phone vibrated again. A text from Sarah. **[I told you. You’re the other woman. Why won’t you just leave him?]** On that day in the coffee shop, after she showed me the DNA test, I had asked her what she wanted. She’d smiled brightly. “To take back my rightful place as Mrs. Hayes, of course.” I turned off my phone, ignoring her taunts, and headed for the airport exit to catch a cab. I absentmindedly pressed the wrong button in the elevator and ended up in the deserted underground parking garage. As I turned to go back, a hand clamped over my mouth from behind, and I was dragged into a windowless van. My hands and feet were bound, my mouth gagged. “You move, you make a sound, and I’ll gut you,” a gruff voice hissed, pressing the cold steel of a knife against my side. I huddled in the corner, trembling, trying not to make a sound. “Call Ethan Hayes,” the man ordered his partner. “Tell him if he doesn’t back off the Southridge deal, he’ll never see his precious wife again.” The Southridge deal. Ethan had told me about them. A rival firm he was trying to acquire, a group that was fighting back tooth and nail. “We’ll just wait them out,” he had said. “Starve them until they give in.” They used my phone. The first call went to voicemail. The second. The tenth. Each unanswered ring felt like a drop of ice water on my heart. “Dammit!” the man yelled. “I thought this guy was obsessed with his wife! Call him again!” This time, he answered. His voice, crackling with suppressed fury, filled the small van. “Mia, what the hell is your problem? Why do you have to take it out on a child?” He didn’t even let me speak. “So you miss one trip, but a little boy is sick! Do you have any compassion at all?” He was practically shouting now. “You know what? You could never be a good mother. Deciding you shouldn’t have our baby was the rightest decision I ever made.” My breath hitched. “What did you just say?”

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1 I was the real heiress, switched at birth. In my past life, I died in a staged car crash. Before losing consciousness, I saw Vivian Forte—the girl who stole my life—watching from a distance. Then I understood the terrible truth. I had endured every insult, believing my birth family would someday accept me. But it was all a one-sided delusion. Reborn, I faced my “parents” again, hearing the same hollow words: “Erica, we’ve come to take you home.” I smiled coldly and slid a ledger across the table. “First, let’s settle the bill: 18 years of expenses—$385,000 owed to my real parents. Cash or transfer?” … The air in our little diner froze. A collective gasp rippled through the neighbors and customers crowded around. My adoptive parents looked like they’d seen a ghost. Mom snatched the ledger from my hands, her own trembling as she waved them off. “No, no, Mr. and Mrs. Forte, please, she’s just a kid, talking nonsense! We never wanted any money, not a single penny!” My dad chimed in, forcing a nervous laugh. “That’s right, that’s our Erica. Always joking around.” As he spoke, he was jabbing me frantically in the ribs behind his back. I ignored him, my gaze fixed on the two people who were supposed to be my real family. William Forte’s face was as dark as thunder. This was clearly not the heartwarming reunion he’d envisioned. As for his wife, Victoria, the flicker of guilt in her eyes had vanished, replaced by a deep, undisguised contempt. “Erica, we know you’ve had a difficult life. We understand you’re resentful,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. She retrieved a platinum credit card from her Hermès bag and placed it on the table with a theatrical sigh. “There’s fifty thousand dollars on this. A little something to compensate you. The PIN is your birthday.” Her eyes narrowed. “Now, stop with these cheap theatrics. Come home with us, and don’t make things difficult for your adoptive parents.” Her words were a slap in the face, a charity handout meant to shut me up. As if my demand was just a pathetic ploy for attention from a girl who’d never seen real money. In my last life, this very card was all it took to buy their way out of eighteen years of gratitude. And I, like a fool, had accepted it with tears in my eyes. This time, I just laughed. I slid the card back across the table. “Mrs. Forte, you’ve misunderstood.” “First,” I began, my voice steady and clear, “my life hasn’t been difficult at all. My parents love me. We may not have much money, but we’re happy.” “Second, this isn’t compensation; it’s a transaction. You want your daughter back? You pay the price. There’s no such thing as a free lunch in this world.” “And third, if you think three hundred eighty-five thousand is too much, that’s fine.” I paused, letting my words hang in the air before delivering the final blow. “You don’t have to acknowledge me at all. I’ve managed for eighteen years without you. I think I’ll be just fine.” My words struck them like a physical blow. The Fortes, William and Victoria, stared at me in disbelief. They had probably never imagined that their immense wealth and status, the very things they used to control the world, would mean absolutely nothing to me. William’s lips trembled with rage. “You… You’re being utterly unreasonable!” Just as the standoff reached its peak, the door of their Bentley opened, and a girl in a white sundress emerged. Vivian. Her face was pale, her eyes red-rimmed as she drifted timidly to Victoria’s side. “Dad, Mom, please don’t pressure her,” she whispered, her voice a fragile, honeyed thing, brimming with manufactured kindness. “It’s all my fault. If it weren’t for me, my sister wouldn’t have suffered so much.” She turned to me, her expression a perfect mask of empathy. “We should be more understanding.” She approached my counter, her eyes wide and pleading. “Sister… my name is Vivian. I know you must hate me right now, but… I’m so, so happy you’re back.” “From now on, I’ll share Mom and Dad’s love with you. I’ll give you half of everything! No, I’ll give it all to you! I’ll treat you like my real sister. Can’t we please be a family?” It was a masterful performance. The onlookers were completely captivated, their expressions softening with sympathy and admiration. Look at her, their faces said. So kind, so generous. A true lady. And then there was me. The cold, calculating monster, shaking down my long-lost family for cash. In my last life, that innocent act had fooled me completely. I’d truly believed she was just a sweet, naive little sister. Now, it just made me sick. I slammed my metal spatula down on the hot griddle. CLANG! Hot oil spat, and Vivian flinched back with a tiny yelp. I met her gaze, my lips twisting into an ice-cold smile. “Let me guess,” I said, my voice low and sharp. “You’re terrified I’m going to come back and take everything from you, aren’t you? Your fiancé, your inheritance, this perfect little life you’ve built. So you came running over here to play the part of the loving sister, just to feel out how much of a threat I am.” The color drained from Vivian’s face. I slapped a menu down on the counter in front of her. “Stop the act. It’s exhausting to watch.” My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “Order something, or get lost. You’re holding up my line.” 2 Tears welled in Vivian’s eyes, spilling over and tracing glittering paths down her cheeks like perfect, practiced pearls. She looked so utterly wounded, you’d think I was the one who had wronged her. “Sister, I… I didn’t…” she choked out, turning a desperate, pleading gaze to William and Victoria. Victoria immediately wrapped a protective arm around her. “Erica, that’s enough!” she snapped, her voice sharp with fury. “Vivian is trying to be kind to you! What is this attitude? Have you no manners at all?” I almost laughed out loud. Manners? In my last life, after they took me “home,” they forced me into etiquette classes I hated and dresses I couldn’t breathe in. They tried to sand down every rough edge, to erase every habit I’d ever learned. If I slipped up, even once, they’d say it: “See? You can take the girl out of the gutter, but you can’t take the gutter out of the girl.” Their idea of “manners” was just another word for a leash. “The only manners I know are the ones my parents taught me,” I shot back, my voice ringing with defiance. “You treat people with respect, and they’ll treat you with respect. You try to screw them over, you get what’s coming to you.” The great family reunion ended right there, with William Forte storming away in a cloud of impotent fury. They dragged the sobbing Vivian with them, leaving a wake of chaos. I thought that would be the end of it. But I had underestimated their need for control. The next day, my dad’s supervisor called him into the office. He was being “temporarily” laid off due to “restructuring.” Soon after, the supermarket where my mom worked let her go, citing “overstaffing.” Then, an anonymous complaint was filed against our diner. A sudden health code violation. We were forced to shut down pending an investigation. In the blink of an eye, every source of income we had was gone. My parents were beside themselves with worry, their faces etched with anxiety. That night, we sat in the suffocating silence of our living room. My dad finally let out a long, weary sigh and slid a credit card across the coffee table toward me. “Erica,” he said, his voice heavy. “This is… from your birth parents. They had someone drop it off. It’s the fifty thousand.” His eyes were a storm of conflicting emotions. “They said… as long as you agree to enroll at Northwood Preparatory Academy, our lives can go back to normal.” Northwood Prep. The most elite private high school in the state. The school where Vivian and her older brother, Ethan Forte, were students. I stared at the card, a bitter cold seeping into my bones. So, this was their game. They never cared about what I wanted. They only cared about forcing me into the life they’d chosen for me, all under the guise of “what’s best.” They thought that by cutting off our livelihood, they could starve me into submission. Force me back into their gilded cage, where I could finally play the part of their obedient, grateful long-lost daughter. In my last life, it worked. My parents, heartbroken but not wanting to hold me back, had tearfully put me in the Fortes’ car. This time, I wouldn’t let them win. I pushed the card back. “Dad, Mom, don’t worry about this,” I said. My heart ached seeing the despair on their faces, but my voice was unwavering. “We can find new jobs. We can move the diner. We can start over.” I looked from one to the other, my resolve hardening. “But if you lose your daughter, she’s gone for good.” “I don’t want to go to Northwood Prep. And I don’t want to go ‘home’ with them. The only place I want to be is right here, with you.” Tears streamed down my mother’s face as she pulled me into a fierce hug, sobbing too hard to speak. My dad’s eyes were red, and he slammed his fist on the table. “That’s right!” he declared, his voice thick with emotion. “We’re not going! To hell with them and their money! I’ll go work construction if I have to! I can still provide for my family!” A profound warmth spread through my chest. Having parents like them was the greatest treasure I could have asked for, in this life or the last. But I knew this wasn’t over. Hiding wouldn’t solve anything. I had to go on the offensive. The next day, I put on my faded public-school uniform, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and walked straight through the gilded gates of Northwood Preparatory Academy. 3 Northwood Prep lived up to its reputation. Even the front gates were gold-plated, gleaming ostentatiously in the morning sun. My worn, slightly-too-small blue and white uniform stood out like a sore thumb in a sea of custom-tailored blazers and luxury cars. Nearly every eye was on me, filled with a mixture of curiosity and undisguised disdain. The Fortes’ network was ruthlessly efficient. Before I’d even set foot on campus, the story of my “legendary” origins had already made the rounds. I was the long-lost heiress from the wrong side of the tracks, the charity case desperate to claw her way into a world she didn’t belong to. I ignored the whispers and stares, heading straight for the administration office. But I was intercepted before I could even round the first corner. A clique of girls blocked my path, with Vivian Forte, of course, at its center. When she saw me, her face lit up with a look of feigned, delighted surprise. “Sister! You really came! This is wonderful!” She rushed forward, reaching to link her arm with mine. I took a sharp step to the side. Her hand froze awkwardly in mid-air. The color drained from her face, and her eyes immediately welled with tears. “Sister… are you still angry with me?” One of her friends instantly stepped forward, jabbing a finger in my direction. “Hey! Who do you think you are? Vivian was just trying to be nice to you. What’s with the attitude?” Another girl chimed in. “Yeah, I heard you were Vivian’s long-lost… sister? She’s the sweetest person here. You better not be planning on bullying her.” Vivian quickly intervened, playing the part of the gracious peacemaker. “Don’t say that! It’s not her fault. My sister… the place where she grew up was… a lot simpler. She’s just not used to this environment. We should be patient with her.” With just a few carefully chosen words, she had painted me as the jealous, uncivilized rube from the sticks, while she remained the kind, benevolent princess, suffering my brutishness with a saintly grace. The crowd of onlookers grew, their whispers turning into a low hum of judgment. “So that’s the real heiress? She looks so… cheap.” “Right? Compared to Vivian, she’s like a different species.” “God, how embarrassing. If I were her, I’d just leave.” I stared at Vivian’s perfectly crafted mask of innocence, feeling nothing but a profound sense of boredom. In my last life, her little games had worked perfectly, isolating me until I became the paranoid, bitter person everyone already believed I was. This time, her high-school theatrics were just pathetic. Just then, the crowd parted, and a tall, handsome boy strode through. He wore the student council uniform, the president’s badge pinned neatly to his chest. His expression was one of innate, casual arrogance. It was her older brother, Ethan Forte. The moment he appeared, Vivian’s tears overflowed. “Ethan…” she whimpered, scurrying to hide behind him like a frightened kitten. Ethan didn’t even glance at me. He just frowned, patting Vivian’s shoulder with practiced concern. Then, his cold eyes finally found mine. “You. Come with me.” He led me to the deserted rooftop. The wind was strong, whipping at the hem of his perfectly pressed blazer. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing to get into Northwood, but you need to understand something,” he said, his voice low and menacing as he looked down at me. “Vivian is the most precious person in this family. She’s pure, kind, and incredibly sensitive. If you do anything to hurt her, I swear, I have a hundred ways to make your life a living hell here.” It was the exact same speech he’d given me in my past life. Word for word. Back then, his threat had terrified me. I’d stammered and tried to explain, but he hadn’t listened. But now… I lifted my chin, meeting his icy gaze without flinching. “Are you done?” I asked calmly. Ethan blinked, thrown off balance. This was clearly not the reaction he’d expected. I took a step closer, closing the distance between us. My voice was quiet, but every word was a shard of ice. “First, I’m not here for you, or for Vivian, or for the Forte family. So you can take your self-important warnings and shove them.” “Second, her being ‘pure and kind’?” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “That’s not kindness. That’s because you’re blind.” “And finally,” I said, watching his face slowly turn crimson with rage, “you need to control your little sister. Tell her to stay away from me.” “Because if she tries anything again, I can’t guarantee that precious, innocent little mask of hers will stay in one piece.” 4 Ethan’s face went from red to a deep, mottled purple. He’d probably never been spoken to like that in his entire privileged life, especially not by someone he considered to be nothing more than trailer trash. He lunged forward, radiating a palpable fury. “Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that?” “Who am I?” I met his rage with unnerving calm. “You’ve already had me thoroughly investigated, haven’t you? I’m Erica Harris. Eighteen years old. Your biological sister. And the single greatest threat to your precious Vivian’s fairy-tale life.” Without another word, I turned and walked away, leaving him seething on the rooftop. I could hear his enraged shout behind me, but I didn’t look back. There was no point in reasoning with people like this. They only understood one thing: power. The only way to make them feel anything was to systematically dismantle everything they held dear, piece by painful piece. In the days that followed, I became the laughingstock of Northwood Prep. Under Ethan’s direction, no one dared to speak to me. My desk was regularly filled with trash, and my homework would mysteriously disappear. Vivian, meanwhile, followed me around with her entourage, constantly putting on a show of sisterly affection that only made me look colder and more ungrateful. I ignored it all. I was just biding my time. Soon, it was time for the school’s annual Arts Festival. The grand finale, as always, was a piano solo by the one and only Vivian Forte. When I saw the program and the title of her piece—a composition she was claiming as her own, retitled “Awakening”—a sharp, familiar pain lanced through my heart. The song’s real name was “Echoes of Home.” My adoptive mother had once been the most promising student at her music conservatory, with dreams of becoming a composer. But she had given it all up. To adopt me, to pay for my childhood medical bills, to give me a chance at a good life, she and my dad had abandoned their stable careers to run a small diner, working themselves to the bone day and night. Her dreams were ground to dust by the harsh realities of life. She never touched a piano again. “Echoes of Home” was the only complete piece she ever wrote—the embodiment of her lost youth, her sacrificed dreams. She had only ever taught it to me, and the hand-written score was the most precious gift she had ever given me. This time, I had locked the score away in a hidden drawer. I never thought Vivian would find it. But she had. She hadn’t just stolen my mother’s dream; she was about to use it to build her own pedestal of fame and glory. I would not let that happen. The night of the festival, the auditorium was packed. William and Victoria Forte sat in the front row, center stage, their faces beaming with pride. Vivian, dressed in a flowing white gown, floated to the Steinway grand piano at the center of the stage. The spotlight followed her, making her look ethereal, almost angelic. She gave a graceful bow, her eyes flickering for a split second in my direction where I stood in the shadows. Then she sat, her slender fingers caressing the keys. The familiar, haunting melody filled the hall. When she finished, the auditorium erupted in thunderous applause. The host rushed onto the stage, breathless with excitement. “That was simply breathtaking! Vivian, I heard that you composed this piece, ‘Awakening,’ yourself. Can you tell us about your inspiration?” Vivian took the microphone, a perfect, practiced smile on her face. She was just about to speak when I emerged from the darkness and walked onto the stage. Every head in the auditorium turned. Every spotlight swung to find me. The smile on Vivian’s face froze. “Sister? What are you—?” I ignored her. I took the microphone from the stunned host’s hand and faced the audience. “A beautiful performance,” I said, my voice ringing out with perfect clarity. I paused, my gaze sweeping over the shifting, uneasy faces of the Fortes before landing squarely on Vivian’s ghostly pale one. “Too bad it’s not original.” “In fact,” I continued, my voice dropping into a deadly calm, “it was stolen. By a thief. From my home.” A shocked gasp swept through the crowd. Before anyone could react, I pulled a folded document from my pocket and held it up for the stage cameras to capture. “This song’s real name is ‘Echoes of Home.’ And its copyright,” I announced, letting the words sink in, “was officially registered three days ago. By me, Erica Harris.” I brandished the copyright certificate, my voice sharp and clear. “Vivian Forte, what you’ve just committed is not just plagiarism. It’s breaking and entering, theft, and copyright infringement.” My eyes locked onto hers. “So, what will it be? Shall we settle this privately… or should we see each other in court?”

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Late one night, someone tagged me in the company’s after-hours group chat. “@LilyLin-Design, that Hermès bag of yours, is it the global limited edition?” “I have a major gala next weekend and I’m in desperate need of a bag. Yours is just sitting there anyway, so lend it to me. I need to make an impression.” The sender was Mandy Wang, the star saleswoman. She had a habit of talking to people like she owned them. I typed back a simple reply: “No.” A string of voice messages immediately followed, her tone sharp and acidic. “Aren’t you a petty little thing? We’re colleagues, what’s the big deal with helping me out? Don’t worry, I won’t use it for free. I’ll give you fifty bucks for a rental fee. That’s more than generous, isn’t it?” I had to laugh. Fifty dollars to rent a bag worth tens of thousands? 1 It was ten o’clock at night when “The Water Cooler,” our company’s unofficial group chat, lit up. A message tagged me directly. “@LilyLin-Design, that Hermès bag of yours, isn’t it a limited edition?” The sender’s profile picture was a polished corporate headshot, her name listed as “Mandy Wang – Sales.” She was the company’s ace, consistently ranking number one in performance. Her every word and action carried an air of absolute authority. The chat instantly buzzed to life. A girl from Admin posted a star-eyed emoji: “Wow, Mandy’s taste is always top-tier!” Another salesperson chimed in: “Any bag would look a level up on Mandy!” I stared at the screen and said nothing. Mandy, it seemed, had little patience. A second message followed on the heels of the first. “I have a major gala next weekend and I’m in desperate need of a bag. Yours is just sitting there anyway, so lend it to me. I need to make an impression.” Her tone wasn’t a request. It was a notification. As if lending her the bag was a privilege she was bestowing upon me. A few of her cronies in the chat started to hype her up. “Come on, Lily! Mandy herself is asking, you have to say yes!” “Yeah, the fact that Mandy even noticed your bag proves you have good taste.” I looked at the messages, my fingers tapping out two words before I hit send. “No.” The chat fell dead silent. The peanut gallery that had been so vocal moments before was suddenly mute. After a full thirty seconds, Mandy’s icon popped up again. This time, it was a thirty-second voice message. I pressed play, and her sharp, grating voice drilled into my ear. “Well, well, Lily, aren’t you a petty little thing? We work in the same company, we see each other every day. What’s the big deal with helping a colleague out?” “Do you have any idea who I am in this company? You’re new, you should have asked around. Me asking to borrow something from you is me giving you face.” The message cut off, and another one started. “Don’t worry, I won’t use it for free. I’ll give you fifty bucks for a rental fee. That’s more than generous, isn’t it? That’s enough to cover your take-out for a few days.” Fifty dollars. I was so taken aback by her sheer, unadulterated entitlement that I laughed out loud. A bag worth tens of thousands, and she thought she could brush me off with fifty bucks. I was about to type back, to inform her just how many zeros were in the bag’s price tag, when another message from her appeared. This one was text, dripping with menace. “Don’t be ungrateful. I’m giving you a chance here. You’re new. Getting on my good side will make your life a lot easier.” “Besides, that bag of yours is probably gathering dust. I’m doing you a favor by taking it out to see the world, and you even get a free meal out of it. What’s not to like?” “It’s just a bag. Why are you being so cheap? Think about the big picture.” I stared at my phone, my expression growing colder by the second. It wasn’t just a bag. It was the only thing my mother had left me. Just then, a few private messages came through. One was cautionary: “Lily, Mandy runs this place. You’re new, don’t cross her. Your life will be hell.” Another was supportive: “She’s insane. Fifty bucks to rent a Hermès? The audacity!” I ignored them all and replied directly to Mandy in the group chat. “First, my bag is not for loan, especially not to you.” “Second, my bag has probably seen more of the world than you have.” “Third, keep the fifty bucks. Buy yourself a clue.” After sending those three messages, I didn’t bother to look at the chat’s reaction. I knew I had just made a powerful enemy. Sure enough, less than a minute later, my private messages were bombarded by Mandy. All voice notes, each one seething with rage. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Lily!” “How dare you talk to me like that in the group chat? Are you trying to get fired?!” “Fine. You’re good. Just you wait!” I blocked her. And the world went quiet. I thought that would be the end of it. But just before I went to sleep, Mandy tagged me one last time in The Water Cooler. Since I had blocked her DMs, she resorted to shouting in public. “Lily, be in my office tomorrow morning. We’ll have a chat, face to face.” “Don’t make me come down to the design department to ‘invite’ you myself.” 2 The next morning, I had barely clocked in when my department director called me into his office. Director Lee was a man in his forties, usually all smiles. Today, however, his expression was grim. “Lily, did you have some kind of conflict with Mandy Wang from sales?” I nodded. “She wanted to borrow my bag. I said no.” Director Lee sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Mandy is an incredible salesperson, but her personality is… a bit aggressive.” “She called me first thing this morning. Said you were a new hire with an attitude problem, that you don’t know how to respect your seniors.” I stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. “Look, the client she’s meeting next week is critical to the entire company. She just wants to represent us well, make a good impression. That’s why she wanted the bag.” “So why don’t you just…” I cut him off. “Director Lee, that is my personal property. It has nothing to do with the company. And that bag has immense sentimental value. It cannot be lent out.” My polite but firm refusal clearly irritated him. His face soured. “Fine. Handle it yourself. Just don’t let a petty issue like this affect your work.” I walked out of the director’s office and headed straight for the sales department. Mandy’s office was at the end of the hall. It had a glass wall, and I could see her inside, leisurely painting her nails a shade of bright red. I knocked. She glanced up, looking at me as if granting an audience. “You’re here.” She blew on her freshly painted nails, not bothering to lift her head. “You wanted to see me, Mandy?” I asked, getting straight to the point. Mandy pulled a beautifully wrapped box from her drawer and pushed it across the desk toward me. “Here. For you.” I didn’t move. She finally deigned to look at me, a smirk playing on her lips. “Go on, open it. It’s the latest perfume. I had someone bring it back from Europe for me. You can’t even buy it here.” “You’re a young girl, don’t be so stingy. The way you spoke in the chat yesterday made things so awkward for everyone.” She glossed over the incident, as if she wasn’t the one who had been throwing a tantrum. I still didn’t move. I just watched her perform. Seeing my lack of response, her patience began to wear thin. She steered the conversation back on track. “Let’s talk business. The bag. Have you reconsidered?” “Let me be clear. The client I’m meeting is the founder of the L&M Group. If I land this account, the company’s revenue for the year is secured. This is huge for everyone here. As an employee, you should be willing to contribute to the collective good, right?” She was trying to wrap her selfish desires in the flag of corporate interest. I finally spoke, my voice cold. “It’s my personal property. It has nothing to do with the company.” Mandy’s face fell instantly, the facade of friendliness vanishing. She shoved the perfume bottle toward me again, her voice rising. “Lily, don’t push your luck! The profit I generate in a single month could buy ten of your stupid bags! Who the hell do you think you are?” “I’m telling you now, you’re lending me that bag. You don’t have a choice!” She stood up, looming over me, her voice laced with threat. “If I want to make someone’s life in the design department a living hell, believe me, I have my ways. You think a fresh-out-of-college brat like you can fight me?” I looked at her face, twisted with rage, and I suddenly smiled. I reached out and picked up the exquisitely packaged perfume. A triumphant grin spread across Mandy’s face. She thought I’d finally caved. “There, you see? If you’d just…” Before she could finish, I let my hand go slack. The bottle of cheap perfume she claimed was “impossible to find” arced through the air and landed with a distinct clink in the trash can beside her desk. The smile froze on Mandy’s face. I looked her dead in the eye and said, enunciating every word, “My things, even my trash, are not for you to touch.” Then I turned and walked out without a backward glance. Behind me, I heard her enraged shriek and the sound of things being violently swept off her desk. As I reached the door, I heard her snarling into her phone. “Hello, Director Lee? That new girl, Lily Lin, has a serious attitude problem! Yes, her! Zero respect for her seniors!” 3 Mandy didn’t confront me again in the following days, but my life at the company became significantly harder. The design project I was in charge of was for none other than Mandy’s “L&M Group.” It was a massive account, and nearly all the company’s resources were being directed toward it. But my work was being blocked at every turn. The data I needed from Admin was perpetually “in processing.” For three days straight. The samples I requested from Purchasing were suddenly “out of stock” from the supplier, with no new shipment until next month. Even the printer seemed to have a personal vendetta against me, jamming every single time I tried to use it. My colleagues in the design department saw it all, but no one dared to say a word. They just gave me sympathetic looks. Director Lee called me in once more, hinting that I should try to “make peace” with Mandy. My only response was, “It wasn’t my fault. I won’t apologize.” He gave up on me after that, adopting a hands-off approach. I ignored the petty sabotage and poured all my energy into the design proposal. I knew it was my only chance to prove myself. Friday was the final project review. I walked into the conference room, my arms full with a thick binder of schematics and a physical model. As head of sales, Mandy was, of course, present. When she saw me, a malicious smile curled her lips. Ten minutes before the meeting started, I went to the breakroom for a glass of water. On my way back, I ran into someone right at the conference room door. It was Mandy. She was holding a steaming cup of coffee. It tilted, and the entire scalding contents spilled directly onto the design proposal in my arms. The white paper instantly soaked up the dark brown liquid, wrinkling and warping. “Oh my god! Lily, I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to!” Mandy’s mouth said sorry, but her eyes showed no remorse. She even made a show of grabbing a napkin. “Here, let me help you clean it up…” Her hand smeared across the wet pages, transforming the soaked drawings into a blurry, indecipherable mess. The room was utterly silent. Everyone stared. Director Lee’s face was so dark it looked like it was about to storm. Everyone knew how important this project was. With the proposal destroyed, weeks of work had just gone down the drain. They all thought I was finished. Mandy’s eyes gleamed with triumph, waiting for my inevitable breakdown. But it never came. I just stared at her, my face a blank mask, as she finished her little performance. Then, I reached into my laptop bag and pulled out a USB flash drive. “It’s a good thing I have a backup,” I said, my calm voice echoing in the quiet room. The smile on Mandy’s face froze solid. I walked past her and whispered, so low that only she could hear, “By the way, Mandy, I think they just installed a new security camera in the breakroom. HD. With audio.” I saw the color drain from her face. For the first time, her eyes flickered with genuine panic. During that review, I delivered a flawless presentation using my digital backup. My design concept and proposal received unanimous approval from all the senior executives, including the Vice President who had flown in from headquarters specifically for the meeting. When it was over, Mandy was the first one out of the room, practically stumbling over her own feet. Back at my desk, my phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number. “I need that bag tonight.” “Or next time, it won’t be coffee I spill on you.”

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For three years, I was the secret wife of Cole Pierce, Hollywood’s biggest star. And for three years, I was the most hated woman on the internet. He resented me. He resented our arranged marriage, a business deal that forced him onto the set of a reality dating show with Ava Sinclair—the girl he’d always loved—and pretend they were strangers. We were toxic, a slow poison we fed each other daily. It only stopped when I was diagnosed with terminal cancer. On my deathbed, I scrolled through my phone and saw it: Cole and Ava’s relationship was finally public. The whole world was celebrating. “It’s about time,” one of the top comments read. “That desperate parasite is finally out of the picture.” The next time I opened my eyes, I wasn’t in a hospital bed. I was back on the set of that godforsaken reality show, at the exact moment the director told us all to reveal our phone’s lock screen. The first time around, my screen showed a candid photo I had secretly taken of Cole. They crucified me for it online. This time, with a steady hand, I woke up my phone. “It’s nothing special,” I said. “Just the photo from my marriage certificate. To Cole Pierce.” You want your freedom, Cole? Fine. But first, you can pay for it by giving me the most spectacular, career-ending implosion the world has ever seen. 1 “Alright, everyone, let’s start with a little icebreaker to warm things up!” The director of Heartbeat Harbor, the reality dating show of the season, grinned as he raised a megaphone. “On the count of three, I want everyone to show us your phone’s lock screen. Let’s see who—or what—you’re all holding close to your hearts!” A ripple of knowing smiles went through the cast. Cole Pierce, the aloof, impossibly handsome movie star, stood with a practiced, cool distance. Beside him, Ava Sinclair, the current “it girl,” glanced at him with a blush painting her cheeks. They were the internet’s favorite couple, a match made in PR heaven. And then there was me, Claire. The background character. The one they shoehorned in, the industry plant everyone loved to hate. The last time I was here, in another life, this exact moment had been my public execution. The candid photo of Cole’s profile on my lock screen had made me a laughingstock. “Get that desperate stalker off the screen!” “Claire needs to stay a million miles away from our man!” Cole had shot me a look of pure disgust, his words a cold blade in the sudden silence. “Claire, have some self-respect.” One sentence, and I was condemned. Now, the director’s voice boomed again. “Okay, here we go! Three… two… one!” Ava, with a bashful dip of her head, turned her screen to the camera. It showed an adorable little ragdoll cat. Everyone knew Cole’s beloved cat was named Mochi. The livestream chat instantly exploded. omg I’m screaming!! It’s Mochi! This is proof! Ava is so sweet! Look at the way Cole’s looking at her, his whole face just softened! And it was true. A faint smile was playing on Cole’s lips. He pulled out his own phone. The screen showed the generic, default mountain landscape that came with the device. Classic Cole. Never giving anything away, always maintaining that untouchable brand. Finally, every camera, every pair of eyes in the room, swiveled to me. They were filled with judgment, with disdain, with the delicious anticipation of watching a train wreck. I met their gazes and calmly woke my phone. The screen lit up with a government-issued document, its header stark and official. It was a photo of a man and a woman, shot against a plain red background. The man’s handsome features were pulled into a tight, reluctant line. The woman beside him offered a gentle smile, but her eyes were utterly dead. It was my marriage certificate photo. Mine and Cole’s. The air in the studio froze. The director’s smile was cemented on his face. The color drained from Ava Sinclair’s cheeks, inch by painful inch. And Cole Pierce’s famously unreadable expression finally cracked. He whipped his head toward me, his eyes wide with utter shock. The livestream chat, after three seconds of stunned silence, went nuclear. ??????????? Is my screen frozen or am I having a stroke? Is that a MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE??? HAS to be photoshopped! That bitch Claire is insane, she’ll do anything for clout! Through the rising chaos, I heard Cole’s voice, squeezed through his clenched teeth. “Claire, what the hell have you done?” His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist in a blind spot from the cameras. His grip was tight enough to grind my bones together. I looked up at him, my smile as thin and sharp as ice. “You think the certificate is fake, Cole? Is the fact that we’re married fake, too?” I ripped my wrist from his grasp, stood, and held my phone up to the nearest camera, making sure the lens got a clear, steady shot. “Sorry, I almost forgot to introduce myself properly.” “I’m Claire. Cole Pierce’s legal wife.” “We’ve been married for three years.”

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My best friend suggested I use a burner account to test my fiancé. So I did. I created a fake profile and gave her the username, telling her it was his. The second she added it, she went to work. One minute she was trashing me, telling my “fiancé” I had a train of men behind me and was damaged goods. The next, she was spamming the account with her own pictures—low-cut tops, long legs, ass pushed out. “Hey stranger 😉 Up for something fun?” “I’m a good girl. I do what I’m told.” I typed back: “I don’t believe you. Unless…” The next day, at the company’s all-hands meeting, my best friend was hauled out on a stretcher by paramedics, convulsing from a foreign object vibrating inside her. 1 The moment Liam asked me to marry him, something shifted in my best friend, Mia. A subtle cloud passed over her face. Was she worried I was going to get hurt? It didn’t make sense. Liam was the entire package: tall, handsome, smart, from a good family. He was completely devoted to me. You couldn’t find a flaw on the man if you hired a private investigator. Maybe she was just afraid she’d see less of me after the wedding. I tried to soothe her fears. “I know Liam loves to travel, but don’t worry. I’ll bring you back a souvenir from every single place we go.” That only seemed to make it worse. No amount of cajoling worked. I was getting frustrated. “Mia, what is going on with you?” I finally asked. She’s been my best friend since elementary school. We’re practically sisters. She’s been there for every major moment of my life, and I couldn’t stand the thought of her holding some secret resentment about my marriage, about Liam. Mia picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. “Chloe,” she started, her voice hesitant. “I’m just… I’m worried about Liam. Don’t you think getting engaged was a little… impulsive?” A cold knot formed in my stomach. Did she know something? Had Liam done something? Seeing the alarm on my face, she quickly backpedaled. “No, no, it’s just a healthy suspicion! Think about it. What man doesn’t have a wandering eye? Especially a guy like Liam. He’s got everything going for him, women are constantly throwing themselves at him. Why would he be so completely fixated on you? You’re great, but… you know.” I narrowed my eyes. “What does that mean? Are you saying I’m not good enough for my own fiancé?” “Of course not!” she said, a little too quickly. “I just mean that marriage is forever. You should be absolutely, one-hundred-percent sure about his character before you commit. What if he shows his true colors after you’re married? Cheating, abuse… Your whole life could be ruined.” I hesitated. “So what are you suggesting I do?” Her eyes lit up. She grabbed my hand, her grip surprisingly tight. “Give me his number. I’ll make a new account, add him, and test him. If he can resist the temptation, then we’ll know he’s a good guy. Then I’ll feel okay giving you away.” Something about it felt wrong immediately. It was a blatant show of distrust, and it just wasn’t my style. But Mia was relentless. Finally, to shut her up, I told her I’d think about it. When I got home, my mind was racing. I decided to do what I should have done from the start: tell Liam. We were supposed to be partners. Honesty was everything. Better to air this out now than to play stupid games. If there was a real problem, we’d deal with it. I explained the situation, bracing myself for his anger. Instead, he just laughed. It was a full, genuine laugh that echoed in our apartment. He pulled me into his arms, stroking my hair. “Are you sure she’s your best friend and not some enemy spy trying to sabotage us?” he chuckled. “That’s a new level of shady. The girl is practically radiating desperation.” I bristled, pushing away from him. “Don’t talk about her like that. We’ve been friends for over a decade. We’re not going to let a man come between us.” Liam’s smile faded. He looked like he wanted to say more, but he held his tongue. Instead, he offered a different solution. “Okay, how about this? You create a burner account. Give her that username and tell her it’s me. Then you can chat with her yourself.” He smirked. “Let’s see how she plans on ‘testing’ me.” Just then, my phone buzzed. A message from Mia, pestering me for his contact info. A slow grin spread across my face. Perfect. I created a new profile in seconds and sent the username to Mia. Almost instantly, a friend request popped up on the burner. The first message followed. “Hey there, handsome. ;)” I thought for a moment, trying to channel Liam’s direct, no-nonsense tone. “Who is this?” Her reply was instantaneous. “Who I am isn’t important. What’s important is that your girlfriend is playing you for a fool, sleeping around behind your back while you get ready to wife her up.” My breath caught in my throat. I stared at the screen, the words blurring. This was her test? To slander me? I took a few deep breaths, forcing my trembling hands to steady as I typed. “What are you talking about? What about my girlfriend?” A sympathetic hug emoji appeared. “You’ve been lied to. She puts on this innocent act, but in college, she was legendary. Juggled multiple guys at once. Her reputation was garbage.” “For a thrill, she used to hook up with the foreign exchange students. Tons of people saw her going back to their dorms with two or three of them at a time.” “She even had some nasty STD for a while. Had to get treated for… you know… growths down there. It was disgusting.” “I know you two are about to get married, and I just can’t stand by and watch a good, decent guy like you get conned by a woman like her.” She followed it up with a string of kissy-face emojis. This was my best friend. My sister. Smearing my name, fabricating the most vicious lies, all under the guise of helping me. White-hot rage flooded my veins. I forced myself to stay calm, to play the part. “Do you have any proof of this? Or are you just making shit up?” “I have pictures from college. And screenshots of her texts. You want to see them?” How was that possible? Before I could even ask, my phone buzzed with a flood of incoming files. I opened them, my stomach churning. And there they were. They were real. But they were twisted. Screenshots of conversations, edited and spliced together to look incriminating. Messages sent from accounts with my profile picture, saying things I would never say. The photos were from my study abroad program—group pictures with other students from around the world. But the way Mia had packaged it, combined with the specificity of her lies—the dates, the places—it was terrifyingly convincing. If she sent this to anyone else, they would believe it. The “evidence” was right there. The anger peaked and then collapsed into a profound, hollow sadness. I was the fool. I’d been so good to her. The first person I called with any good news. The person I defended unconditionally, no matter what. Why? Why would she do this to me? A second later, I had my answer. After giving “Liam” a few minutes to process the shock, she sent another message. “I know you and your girlfriend. I know all the things she tries to hide. I can only imagine how you’re feeling right now.” “A woman like that doesn’t deserve you. You give her everything, and she throws it in your face.” Then, the pivot. “You should look at me instead. I’ve been watching you for a while. I feel for you.” “If I had an amazing boyfriend like you, I would never, ever cheat. I’d cherish you.” I actually laughed out loud, a bitter, sharp sound. So that was it. Liam was right. She was trying to steal him. To seal the deal, she sent a volley of photos. No face, just body parts. A shot looking down her low-cut shirt. A picture of her legs, crossed just so. Her bending over in a pair of tiny shorts. The caption read: “I know you’re hurting. Let me help you forget about that bitch. Come out and play.” Liam saw the look on my face, the raggedness of my breathing. He gently took the phone from my hands. “Don’t let her get to you,” he said softly, then raised his hand as if taking an oath. “I swear, Chloe. I would never be interested in a two-faced snake like Mia. You’re the only one I love.” “See her for who she is, and then we cut her out of our lives. We never have to deal with her again.” A twisted smile touched my lips. I took the phone back. “Oh, no,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “I can’t let her get away with this. She took her shot. Now it’s my turn.” I typed a reply. “Who are you? Why should I believe a total stranger?” She responded instantly. “You’ll know when we meet. I promise, it’ll be a pleasant surprise.” For the next few days, I played the part of a heartbroken, confused Liam. I’d text Mia sporadically, never agreeing to break up with myself, just keeping her on the hook. She was getting impatient. Her messages grew bolder. “Hey stranger. You up for some fun?” “I’m a good girl. I do what I’m told. ;)” “Don’t worry, I can keep a secret. I’ll be your perfect little dirty secret. Your girlfriend will never have to know.” At the same time, she was probing me in person, asking how things were with Liam. I put on my best performance, letting my shoulders slump, my voice laced with sadness. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” I’d sigh. “He’s been so distant lately.” “It’s like he’s upset about something, but he won’t tell me what. He’s always hiding his phone, texting someone in secret.” Then I’d look at her, my eyes wide with fake worry. “You tested him, right? You didn’t find anything weird, did you?” I watched her face closely. A flicker of panic in her eyes, quickly masked by a triumphant smirk. She covered her mouth with her hand, feigning a giggle. “Nope, everything was totally normal! Liam was a perfect gentleman. You shouldn’t be so suspicious. Maybe he’s just stressed about work. Give him some space.” That night, Mia escalated her attack. She sent a new batch of photos, these ones practically pornographic, the text messages a desperate, vulgar plea. Fighting back a wave of nausea, I saved every screenshot. Then I replied. “We’ve been talking for a while now. I need to see some real commitment from you. How do I know I can trust you?” She saw her opening. “How can I prove it to you?” she asked eagerly. A cold, sharp smile spread across my face. I licked my lips. “Honestly? I like a girl who’s uninhibited. More fun to play with.” “My girlfriend looks innocent, but she’s secretly a freak. I’m kind of sick of it. It feels… dirty.” “You get it, right? I want a girl who’s only wild for me. A girl who’s up for anything.” She assured me she was that girl. So much more adventurous than me. And clean, of course. No messy history. So, I gave her the first task. “So you’re that desperate for a man, huh, you little slut?” “Good. Send me your address. I’m mailing you a package. Do exactly what I tell you to.” “You pull this off, and I’ll agree to meet you.”

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I was on the Acela Express, heading north out of the city, when I saw him: the kind of handsome that makes you stop breathing for a second, watching porn on his phone. He wasn’t even using headphones. “Hey,” I whispered, leaning over the armrest. “You might want to turn that down.” He didn’t look up. “It’s my home security feed.” “Oh. My bad.” I sank back into my seat. “Sorry about that… man.” What else do you say to a guy watching his own cheating partner? He finally glanced at me, and his eyes were pure murder. Still, I felt a pang of sympathy for him. That is, until I saw the tattoo in the video. A familiar, intricate design of a succubus, its wings wrapped around the man’s bicep. My blood went cold. No. Fucking. Way. 1 “Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit!” I snatched the phone from his hand, my face so close to the screen I could feel the static. My fingers were trembling. It wasn’t possible. The universe couldn’t be that cruel, that specific. But the lean, muscular man on the screen, naked from the waist up with a stomach I knew better than my own—that was Liam. We grew up together. We’d been together for eight years. I’d know him anywhere. We were supposed to get married next month. The thought hit me like a physical blow. My eyes instantly flooded, and my chest felt like it had been split wide open, a cold wind howling through the new, empty space. He was cheating on me. Liam was cheating on me. “Someone’s excited,” the guy next to me drawled, a smirk playing on his lips. He was watching me now, his chin propped on his hand. “First time seeing the main event?” He was right. It was the first time I’d seen Liam from this angle. Right now, my fiancé was kneeling before a pair of legs in black stockings, a gleaming silver chain fastened around his neck. The raw, explicit image slammed into my brain. The woman’s ecstatic moans filled the air from the phone’s tiny speakers. It was all too much. My stomach lurched, my throat tightened, and a wave of nausea crested over me. I turned and threw up, the contents of my stomach landing squarely in the handsome stranger’s lap. Oh, wow. That’s… vivid. “Agh—!” He let out a strangled cry, clamping a hand over his nose and mouth as he shot up from his seat, scrambling for the restroom. A few minutes later, he returned, a dark, wet patch staining the front of his expensive-looking jeans. The murderous look was back in his eyes, tenfold. But I didn’t give him a chance to tear into me. The train was pulling into the station. My station. I had to find Liam. I had to get an explanation. I needed to slap his face until my hand went numb and then I needed to—well, let’s just say I had plans for his “equipment.” I grabbed my bag and stood over the guy. “Where do you live? Take me there. Now.” He raised an eyebrow, a look of incredulous disgust on his face. “What, you didn’t get enough of the show? You want a front-row seat?” “Don’t you?” I shot back. He studied me, his suspicion warring with a dawning realization. “Look, I obviously do, but what’s it to you? If you’re into this stuff, I can give you some websites, you don’t have to get… weird about it.” Right. I was being weird. It was my own fault. I was trying so hard to hold it together, to be angry and strong, but the tears were streaming down my face now, hot and unstoppable. His expression softened slightly as he took in my red, swollen eyes. Comprehension finally clicked into place. “Oh, fuck. No way. You’re telling me that’s your…?” “He’s my fiancé,” I choked out. “The one I’m supposed to marry next month.” He sucked in a sharp breath. For a moment, all the animosity vanished, replaced by a flicker of something else. He looked at me, dead serious, and said, “My condolences.” “Save it,” I sniffled, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. “We’re in the same goddamn boat. So, are you coming or not? We have a cheating to catch.” A slow, dangerous grin spread across his face. “Catching them? Oh, we’re going to do a hell of a lot more than that.” 2 On the way to his house, I learned his name was Rhys, and the woman in the video was his fiancée. He was supposed to be in Boston for a business trip but had decided to come back a day early to surprise her for her birthday. Looks like the surprise was on him. “So what were you coming here for?” he asked, his tone casual as he navigated the highway. My heart was a lead weight in my stomach. The last thing I wanted was small talk. I just wanted this nightmare to be over. “A psychic told me I had a dark cloud over my head today,” I mumbled. “Came to see if she was right.” The truth, of course, was much more mundane. I was coming to finalize wedding details with Liam. The caterer, the seating charts—all the little things you can’t sort out over text. He’d been on this consulting gig for weeks, too busy to come home, so I’d decided to come to him. I was supposed to be surprising him, too. “Holy shit, they’re still going at it,” Rhys said, his eyes flicking down to the phone mounted on his dashboard. He let out a low whistle. “I’ll give him this, your boyfriend’s got stamina. Is he… always this adventurous?” I forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. I didn’t know what to say. Because the Liam I knew, the man I slept next to, was a completely different person from the one on that screen. It was like I’d never met him at all. “Oh, look at that. He’s brought out the candles and the whip. Check out the arch on your boyfriend’s back… Damn, makes you just want to smack it.” He held the phone out to me. I recoiled. “Stop it. Aren’t you embarrassed?” “Embarrassed? Are you kidding me? This is exhilarating!” He threw his head back and laughed, a wild, unhinged sound. “What a rich and beautiful life experience!” I decided not to engage. The man was clearly unhinged. I stared out the window, watching the green blur of the suburbs fly by. My heart was pounding against my ribs, my palms slick with sweat. Was I really ready for this? What would I even say when I saw Liam? Forget saying anything. I’d just act. The rage was already simmering, a pressure building inside me. To not let it out now would be like holding in a sneeze. Unnatural. Unhealthy. I took a deep breath, steeling myself. The car turned into a private, gated community, the kind with sprawling lawns and houses the size of hotels. So, Rhys was rich. Which meant his fiancée… Stop it, Clara, I scolded myself. Focus. “Don’t be nervous,” Rhys said, his voice strangely calm. “The first time catching a cheater is always the hardest. It gets easier.” He glanced at me. “I’ll go in first when we open the door. I’m worried the shock might make you… projectile vomit again.” “Okay. I’ll follow you.” I was wringing my hands in my lap, a bundle of nerves. “You, uh… you seem to have a lot of experience with this.” “Don’t ask,” he said with a wry grin. “Let’s just say I’m a man with a past.” There was no time to ask for more. We were here. 3 He parked in the driveway but didn’t immediately get out. Instead, he pulled out his phone and dialed. “Hey, babe. I’m home. Can you come down and open the door for me?” The voice on the other end was a flurry of panic. “Rhys? What… why are you back so early? I thought you weren’t coming until next week.” “Change of plans. What, not happy to see me?” “Of course I am! Just… just give me a second.” “What are you doing? You sound out of breath.” “Oh, you know. Just got off the Peloton.” “Alright. Well, I’m waiting. Hurry up.” He hung up and glanced at the security feed on his other phone, a wicked glint in his eye. “You’re being childish,” I said, my voice tight. “Just open the door.” “Where’s the fun in that?” He smirked. “Look at them scramble.” On the screen, two naked bodies were frantically pulling on clothes. I watched, mesmerized in horror, as Liam—my Liam—scrambled out of sight, disappearing under the bed. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I pulled out my own phone and dialed him. After a few rings, he picked up. “Where are you?” I asked, my voice dangerously sweet. “You didn’t answer before.” He whispered, his voice hushed and urgent. “I’m with a client, Clara. I told you this morning, it’s a huge meeting. Please don’t call unless it’s an emergency. I’ll call you when I’m done.” He hung up. Okay, Liam. Let’s see how you finish this meeting. Let’s see if you get out of there in one piece. “Ready?” Rhys asked. I took a shuddering breath. “Ready. Open it.” Click. The smart lock disengaged. A woman in a pink lace robe appeared in the doorway. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair a messy halo around her head. My eyes scanned the room behind her, instantly catching the black stockings peeking out of a half-closed dresser drawer. The ones from the video. The air in the room was thick with a cloying, fishy smell that made my stomach turn. I thought of the frantic images from the security feed, and the nausea returned. Breathe, Clara, breathe. The woman was wiping at her smeared lipstick, forcing a bright, flirtatious smile. “Silly, you could have just let yourself in. Making me come all the way downstairs. Honestly, honey.” Then her eyes landed on me. “And… who is this?” “Her?” Rhys said, stepping inside. “She’s here to catch a cheater.” “Wh-what?” “I said,” Rhys repeated, his voice dropping an octave, “she’s here with me to catch a cheater. Sloane, I think we can drop the act now, don’t you?” The woman, Sloane, was visibly panicking, but she held her ground. “What act? Rhys, what the hell are you talking about? Are you accusing me of cheating on you?” “Am I wrong?” “Where’s your proof?” Rhys let out a cold laugh. He held up his phone, the video playing in a loop. “I installed cameras weeks ago. Did you really think I was that stupid, Sloane? After last time? After everything you promised me?” He didn’t wait for an answer. In one fluid motion, he strode to the bed, grabbed the edge of the mattress, and flipped it into the air with a deafening thump. And there he was. My Liam. Curled up on the floor, still wearing that ridiculous silver chain around his neck, exposed to the world. 4 “Honey, it’s not what it looks like, I can explain!” Sloane grabbed Rhys’s arm, her voice pleading. “The bed was broken, he’s… he’s a handyman! I don’t even know him! I love you, you know I would never—” SLAP. The sound echoed in the silent room. I had yanked her away from Rhys and struck her across the face, my palm stinging. “I am so fucking sick of this!” I screamed, my voice raw. “There are cameras! We just told you there are cameras! Are you that stupid? Do you think we’re idiots?” She stared at me, stunned into silence. Rhys and Liam were frozen, their eyes wide. I had snapped. Something inside me had just completely and utterly broken. I was done talking. Done thinking. Why waste my breath? The words were just getting stuck in my throat anyway, choking me. Eight years of my life, our wedding next month, the man I loved hiding under another woman’s bed… The blood roared in my ears, a hot, violent rush to my head. My eyes met Liam’s, and the fury inside me exploded. I’d unconsciously grabbed a golf club from a bag leaning against the wall. Now, I swung it, the heavy iron connecting with his cheek with a sickening crack. “Weren’t you with a client?” I shrieked, swinging again. “So this is your client? All this time, and I never knew you moonlighted as a fucking gigolo? You make me sick, Liam! You’re disgusting! You don’t deserve to live!” I hit him again and again, screaming and crying, lost in a red haze of pure rage. Sloane, snapped out of her stupor, tried to pull me away. I shoved her back with my free hand and, in a blind fury, swept my arm across her vanity, sending a cascade of expensive perfumes and makeup crashing to the floor. I snatched a piece of the shattered mirror and lunged at her, scratching it across her face. She screamed, collapsing to the ground, a bloody mess, and didn’t move again. “Clara, calm down! Just listen to me, please!” Liam grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong, forcing me to look at him. “It’s not what you think!” “Not what I think? I saw it, Liam! I saw everything! You played me for a fool, and now you want me to be calm? Calm this!” I wrenched my arm free, grabbed a broken perfume bottle from the floor, and drove the jagged edge straight into his crotch. A gut-wrenching scream tore from his throat, a sound of pure agony that echoed off the walls. He collapsed, clutching himself, and didn’t get up. “You’re insane, Clara!” he gasped from the floor. “Yes! I am! You fucking drove me to this!” “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” “I know exactly what I’m doing! I want you gone, you piece of shit! Isn’t it obvious?” I stood over his writhing form, my whole body shaking. “Eight years, Liam! I gave you eight years of my life! Do you have any idea what that means? We were getting married! Married! I was going to give you everything, and this is how you repay me?” The memories—the good ones, the ones I had cherished—flashed through my mind, and the anger finally gave way to a wave of gut-wrenching sorrow. I sank to my knees and sobbed, the sound raw and broken in the wrecked room. Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked up to see Rhys, holding his phone up. “Hey,” he whispered, “try not to cry. I’m live-streaming this. It ruins the power dynamic.” “You’re… what? A live-stream?” I looked at his phone screen. The viewer count was ticking rapidly past one million. The world went dark at the edges, and I thought I was going to faint.

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1 I’m bound to the Lie-to-Riches System. For every lie someone tells me, I get $10,000. It was the first day of freshman year, and my new roommate introduced herself while decked out head-to-toe in designer brands. “Hi, everyone. I’m Stella Moss, Larry Vance’s fiancée. I hope we can all get along.” If she was Larry Vance’s fiancée, then who was I? As I stood there, stunned, my phone buzzed. A notification from my banking app: Deposit received: $10,000. I immediately texted my fiancé—whose own trust fund was currently frozen—and told him the news. It was time to start fleecing. … I stared at the $10,000 notification on my phone, my mind reeling. My other roommate, Jenna, was already fawning over Stella. “Welcome, Miss Moss! It’s an honor to be your humble roommate!” Stella swept into the dorm, her eyes landing on my faded t-shirt and worn-out sneakers with a look of undisguised contempt. She shoved her suitcase at me, her voice dripping with arrogance. “Unpack this. Put my clothes in the wardrobe and make my bed. From now on, you’ll be my personal assistant—fetching my coffee, doing my laundry, running my errands. You’ll be well-compensated, of course.” BZZZ. Another $10,000 hit my account. I almost laughed. I’d recognized Stella the moment she walked in. She was a charity case, a girl from a poor rural town my family had been sponsoring for years. I’d chosen her myself during a philanthropy trip when I was ten. With my family’s money, she not only had her basic needs covered but had repeatedly asked my father for extra cash for vacations and luxury makeup. Meanwhile, after I graduated high school, my family had frozen my accounts. It was their way of “building character,” forcing me to pay my own tuition and living expenses. I was working three jobs, running myself ragged just to make ends meet. A thought sparked in my mind. Since Stella clearly had no interest in using this opportunity to actually study, why shouldn’t I use her to my advantage? I could fleece her for all she was worth. Once I had enough seed money for my own business, I’d expose her and let her face the consequences. I set her suitcase on the floor, saying nothing. I was here to make money off her, not to be her servant. I pointed at the shoulder strap of her bag, where a single thread was loose, and plastered a sneer on my face. “Well, well, well! If it isn’t the high-and-mighty Miss Moss carrying a fake Hermès? A bag that expensive would never have a loose thread.” As I spoke, I pulled my own identical Hermès bag from my locker. Stella’s expression flickered. A flash of anger crossed her face, and her voice became shrill enough to shatter glass. “Of course it’s real! Don’t you know luxury brands are notoriously poor quality?” BZZZ. The Lie-to-Riches System activated again. Another $10,000. I could feel a giddy excitement bubbling up inside me; my hands were trembling. Jenna sneered at me. “She’s right! Everyone knows rich people only use their luxury items once! Ruby, is that a knockoff you bought from a street market?” Stella pinched her nose as if I were contaminated. “How can you be so shameless, carrying a fake? I despise social climbers. Just because your parents are poor farmers doesn’t mean you can pretend to be one of us!” She crossed her arms, looking down her nose at me. “Ruby, I have an entire wall of Hermès bags at home. If that bag of yours is real, I’ll eat shit.” BZZZ. BZZZ. BZZZ. $30,000. In an instant. My heart pounded. I’d always dreamed of starting my own business, but I never had the capital. Now, with just a few choice words, my startup fund was already 5% complete! I had to dig my nails into my thigh to keep from laughing out loud. Jenna clapped her hands, her voice oozing with fake admiration. “Ruby, you should thank Stella! She’s working so hard to show you the error of your ways!” I wasn’t angry. My gaze drifted from Stella’s bag to the four-leaf clover necklace around her neck. “Stella, is that the new Van Cleef & Arpels piece?” She touched the necklace, her chin held high. “Of course. My fiancé flew to Paris just to buy it for me.” As if by accident, I let the small magnet on my keychain swing near her neck. Click. The magnet snapped right onto her necklace. “Oh, dear! Miss Moss, why did your necklace stick to a magnet? I thought their pieces were 18-karat gold! Is that a fake?” I covered my mouth in mock horror, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Stella’s face turned beet red. She ripped the magnet off and threw it on the floor, her lips trembling. “This is absolutely real! It’s an SVIP custom piece from France! A country bumpkin like you wouldn’t understand!” BZZZ. Seeing the notification, I almost burst out laughing. The dorm room door was open, and a small crowd of students had gathered to watch the drama unfold. “But I heard the real ones aren’t magnetic,” someone whispered. “Is Stella’s necklace actually fake?” “Didn’t you hear her? It’s custom-made. Luxury brands always have special rules for their top clients.” “That makes sense! Ruby is just being jealous.” Suddenly, Stella’s eyes welled up with tears, her voice a fragile whisper. The performance was flawless. “Ruby, we’ve only just met. I don’t know why you’re targeting me. It’s not my fault I have a wealthy family and a handsome fiancé.” The students in the hallway immediately rushed to comfort her. Stella continued her saccharine act, and soon everyone was pointing fingers at me, calling me a bitter, jealous nobody. But I wasn’t angry. I was ecstatic. My phone had been buzzing non-stop. In just ten minutes, I had made over a hundred thousand dollars. My startup fund was 20% complete. Stella was my personal cash machine. And if she loved pretending to be Larry’s fiancée, why not bring Larry himself in on the scheme? I immediately sent Larry a text, telling him we needed to meet. I found him outside the campus dining hall. Our grandfathers were old war buddies, both highly decorated. They had come from nothing and believed in the value of hard work. To instill that same spirit in their descendants, they’d made a rule: all grandchildren had to earn their own way through college. And so, Larry and I had become a broke power couple. Our days were a blur of classes and part-time jobs—working shifts at a boba shop, handing out flyers, and running food delivery orders. We’d talked about starting a business, but we were still saving up for the initial investment. Over dinner, I told him everything: the Lie-to-Riches System, and Stella’s outrageous charade. He didn’t believe me. Not until I asked him if he had a secret stash of cash hidden somewhere. He shook his head, and my banking app instantly buzzed with a $10,000 deposit. Larry stared at my phone, then tearfully transferred the last $10 in his Venmo to me. “Larry,” I said, laying out my plan, “Stella is telling everyone she’s your fiancée. We can use this to fleece her. Once we have a million dollars for our startup, we’ll expose her!” His eyes lit up. A few days later, Freshman Orientation Week began. During a break, Larry showed up, handing out bubble tea to all the freshman groups. “Stella, your man is here!” a girl squealed, pushing her forward. “He must have come to see you!” The guys started hooting, waving Larry over. “Larry! Stella’s over here!” Stella shrank back, looking like she was about to faint. I smirked. “What’s wrong, Stella? Did you and Larry have a fight? He’s acting like he doesn’t even know you.” She swallowed hard, then practically shouted, “What are you talking about? Of course he knows me! Why else would he be here with bubble tea? He just hasn’t seen me yet! We were at a hotel together just last night!” Jenna immediately jumped to her defense. “Ruby, you’re sick! Why are you always hoping for the worst?” Other students chimed in. “Are you trying to steal her boyfriend? Even if they were fighting, Larry would never look at you!” “Everyone knows he’s a famously doting fiancé! He’s completely devoted to his childhood sweetheart!” I felt a wave of nausea, but the sweet scent of money quickly overpowered it. Stella was on a roll now, gushing about her fairy-tale romance. “He bought bubble tea for the entire school just for me. It’s his subtle, powerful way of showing his love. It’s a love you could never understand, Ruby.” She continued to spin her sickeningly sweet fantasy, and my phone vibrated relentlessly. Within minutes, another hundred thousand dollars had landed in my account. Just then, Larry started walking toward our group. Stella was pushed forward, stumbling right into his path. When Larry saw her, a flicker of disgust crossed his face. He exchanged a quick glance with me. “Sorry, guys,” he announced to the group. “Looks like we’re all out of bubble tea.” I snorted. “But Stella, I thought we were all getting free drinks on your account? How come the guest of honor doesn’t even get one?” Jenna looked confused. “Yeah, Stella, what’s going on? Didn’t you say he ordered this specially for you?” A few of the guys, sweating in the sun, started to complain. “I thought he was supposed to be this super-devoted fiancé! Why’s he letting you down like this?” Suddenly, Stella shoved me. Hard. I cried out, stumbling and falling to the ground. Across the field, I saw Larry tense, ready to run over. “What are you all staring at?” Stella snapped, her voice high and commanding. “Ruby, go buy us all water! My baby and I just decided that bubble tea is unhealthy. So, water for our group is on me!” The whole group cheered, immediately singing her praises. “Stella, you’re so thoughtful and generous!” A few of the guys turned on me. “Ruby, what are you waiting for? Get going!” “Are you deaf? Go! You want us to die of thirst?” BZZZ. Another $20,000. A thrill shot through me. I scrambled to my feet and ran to the campus Starbucks, ordering thirty iced coffees. I returned with the receipt and handed it to Stella with a fake smile. “Here you go. I’m sure a little bill like this is nothing to you, right?” A couple of girls scoffed. “Are you kidding, Ruby? As if someone like Stella would care about a few bucks.” “She’s from the countryside, what do you expect? So classless, making a big deal out of nothing.” “Right, Stella?” Stella took the receipt. Her eyes widened, and she looked like she’d just swallowed a bug. The total was nearly $200. “Right,” she said, her smile more pained than a grimace. “It’s nothing. I normally only drink glacial water flown in daily from overseas. It’s about a thousand dollars a bottle.” The group erupted in another round of cheers. When it came time to pay, there were tears in Stella’s eyes. Forking over that much money was like pulling teeth for her. I was secretly ecstatic. In just a few days, my startup fund was 40% complete! I had $400,000. Just a little longer, and I could finally expose her. Larry texted me: [Babe, are you okay? That psycho actually pushed you! I’ll get her back for this!]. On the last day of orientation, Larry deliberately let a rumor slip: that night, he was taking his fiancée home to the family estate for his grandfather’s birthday. After our last session, a group of girls swarmed Stella. “Stella, stop being so secretive! You’re going to the Vance estate tonight, aren’t you?” “We heard all about it! We’re so jealous!” Stella tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, affecting an air of nonchalance. “It’s not a secret. Going to the Vance estate for dinner is as normal as breathing for me. It’s nothing to talk about.” BZZZ. More money. The air filled with gasps of envy. I put on my best fake smile. “Stella, I’m so jealous! You must be staying the night, right? I won’t wait up for you, then.” Stella froze, the words catching in her throat. “Right. Don’t wait up. I’m staying over.” As soon as she said it, Jenna shot me a look of contempt. “Duh! Of course she’s staying over! Stop asking such stupid questions!” Someone else giggled suggestively. “If she’s staying at the Vance estate, maybe tonight they’ll… you know…” Stella pretended to blush, lowering her head, but the beads of sweat on her forehead gave away her panic. “Oh, stop it, you guys.” Larry’s revenge was swift and brutal. Of course, Stella didn’t go to the Vance estate. To keep up the lie, she left campus as her classmates watched her go, a vision of supposed glamour. But Ashton University was in the heart of the city, and the nearby hotels were ridiculously expensive. Stella was too cheap to pay for a room, but she was terrified of being spotted by other students at a park. According to one of the Vance family’s security guards, she ended up spending the night shivering under a remote overpass. The next day, she showed up to class with dark circles under her eyes, sneezing uncontrollably. The other students exchanged knowing, wicked smiles. Fighting back my disgust, I laid it on thick. “Stella, I heard the Vance family estate is a 7,000-square-foot mansion! It must be incredible! You’re so lucky. I’ve never even seen a mansion. Is your family home huge, too? Can you show us sometime? I’d love to see it!” The other girls’ eyes lit up. “Stella, we’ve never seen one either! Please! Let us come see it!” They pleaded, one of them even doing an exaggerated bow. Stella basked in the attention. But she was trapped. She touched the tip of her nose, looking troubled. “My family is… very private. Old money, you know. Very strict rules. My parents don’t allow me to bring strangers home.” BZZZ. $40,000! Everyone looked disappointed but understanding. But I wasn’t about to let her off the hook. “That’s okay!” I pressed on. “I saw in a news article that the Vance fiancée’s birthday is at the end of September. You could just invite us to your birthday party! I’m sure your parents wouldn’t mind that!” It was like a lightbulb went off over everyone’s heads. “Yes! We can celebrate with you! Your parents will totally understand!” “Stella, let us celebrate with you this year!” “You wouldn’t look down on us, would you, Miss Moss?” Stella looked like she was constipated. She finally forced the words out. “Fine. I’ll go home and discuss it with my family elders.” The room erupted in cheers. I almost cheered along with them. With that short exchange, on top of what I already had, my startup fund hit 80% completion! I was morbidly curious to see how she would squirm her way out of this one. That night, I got a call from our family’s estate manager. “Miss Lane, the student you sponsor has requested to hold her birthday party at the villa. Do you approve?” A slow, cold smile spread across my face. “Yes. Let her come.” The plan was working even better than I had imagined. A few days later, my earnings hit $900,000. The startup fund was 90% complete. The money was almost there. Soon, I would rip away Stella’s mask of lies and expose her for who she truly was.

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At my childhood friend’s wedding, just as the bride and groom were about to exchange rings, the bride suddenly snatched the microphone and turned to look directly at me. In an instant, a single, blinding spotlight swung from the altar and pinned me in my seat. Every head in the chapel turned. With all eyes on her, the bride, Sophia, walked slowly down the aisle until she stood before me. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and with a choked sob, she thrust her bouquet into my hands. “Amelia, please. I’m begging you.” “Ethan and I are married now. Please, have some sense of decency. Stop using the ‘just friends’ excuse to be so intimate with my husband, regardless of the time or place.” 1 A collective gasp swept through the guests. Those who didn’t know the situation were already shooting me looks of pure contempt. In the distance, I saw my mother’s face fall, her expression hardening like stone. Ethan’s face was even uglier than mine. He lunged forward, his brow furrowed as he tried to grab Sophia’s arm. “Sophia, are you insane? This is our wedding! What the hell are you doing?” She violently shook him off. The screech of microphone feedback pierced the air. Tears streaming down her face, she pulled out her phone. The screen showed Ethan’s social media profile. The background picture was their engagement photo. But the latest post was a picture of Ethan’s forearm, marked with a faint, old bite mark. The caption was what made it damning. “Getting married tomorrow, but I can’t forget you, or the mark you left on me.” “Look, everyone!” Sophia’s voice was a raw scream. “I’ve tolerated you being close with Amelia all this time!” “But to post this, right before our wedding, and set the privacy so only she could see it! Ethan, you tell me, what is this supposed to mean?” The color drained from Ethan’s face. Sophia shot me a cold, triumphant smirk. “Amelia! Since you need him so much, and since he’s so clearly obsessed with you, why didn’t you two just get together? Why keep that intimate bite mark as some kind of secret trophy? Are you both just playing me for a fool?” The stares of the guests felt like a thousand needles pricking my skin. I stood frozen, not out of shock, but out of sheer, dumbfounded exasperation. Me? Need Ethan? When have I ever needed Ethan? And that bite mark… what a joke. Until this very moment, I had always considered it a symbol of our mutual hatred. Ethan’s family and mine were next-door neighbors. Our mothers were best friends. By all accounts, we should have gotten along. But from the moment we could walk, he made it his mission to torment me. Tearing the ribbons from my hair and smearing mud on my dresses were his tamer tricks. The worst was when he threw my kitten into the deep end of his family’s pool and physically blocked me from getting help. I was so frantic, so utterly helpless, that I bit his arm with all the strength my small body could muster. That was over a decade ago. The fact that the scar is still visible is a testament to how viciously I bit him. It was also the day I started taking Muay Thai classes. After that, our dynamic shifted. I was the one pinning him to the ground until he finally learned to leave me alone. I’ve despised him my entire life. If it weren’t for our families’ history and the fact that his mother has always been kind to me, I wouldn’t have even shown up to this sham of a wedding. As for his social media post… Good lord. I had no idea. He’d always had a flair for overly dramatic, emo nonsense that polluted my timeline. I found it so annoying that I’d muted his profile years ago. With that thought, I opened my phone, navigated to my chat with Ethan, and turned the screen toward Sophia. The setting was clearly displayed: “Mute this person’s posts and stories.” Even our chat history was on silent mode. I scrolled through it. Aside from the occasional spammy link he’d sent, the most recent message was from last week—an invitation to his wedding. I hadn’t even bothered to reply. It was a pointless invitation. Given our families, my mother would have dragged me here by my hair if I’d refused. I took a deep, steadying breath. “I have no idea what kind of misunderstanding you two are having, but don’t you dare drag me into your mess to play the villain.” I shot a glare at Ethan, my jaw tight. “And for the record, that pathetic bite mark is from when he pushed me too far and I snapped! I wasn’t even in elementary school! God only knows why he’d post something so twisted about it.” Ethan, who had been trying to placate Sophia, froze. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a wounded, disbelieving expression. 2 Sophia’s hand, still holding the phone, hung in the air. A flash of surprise crossed her face, but she quickly doubled down, biting her lip. “But you can’t deny the inappropriate intimacy between you two!” “You spend all your time with a bunch of guys, acting like you’re one of them, but it’s all just a cover to stay attached to Ethan! There’s a limit to playing the ‘cool girl,’ Amelia! You have a fiancé, yet you’re still stringing my husband along. Have you no shame?” I let out a humorless laugh and looked at Ethan, who was now pretending to be part of the scenery. Just then, my friend Jake’s girlfriend, Chloe, spoke up with blunt honesty. “Sophia, are you sure you’re not mistaken? I’ve never seen Amelia act out of line.” Sophia faltered, turning her attack to Leo’s wife, Sarah. Sarah just smiled. “Sophia, you really have it all wrong. We’re all friends with Amelia because she’s a genuinely good person. She rarely organizes get-togethers; we’re always the ones begging her to come out.” “The building materials supplier my husband’s company needed? The design team for Jake’s new restaurant? The insider discount on Mark’s new car? That was all Amelia. She made those connections for us.” Leo tried to quiet his wife, but Sarah shot him a look that silenced him instantly. She glanced at Ethan, whose face was growing darker by the second, and added with a sly smile, “Amelia is the reason our group exists. Ethan has nothing to do with it. He only started hanging out with us because he’s her neighbor. We only put up with him for Amelia’s sake.” I silently gave Sarah a mental high-five. The truth was simple. We live in a small city. The business circle is tight. Our crew was solid, but the cornerstone, the one holding it all together, had always been me. My family made its fortune in renewable energy a few years back. I then started my own consulting firm and opened an exclusive bar, accumulating a network of high-profile clients. I became friends with Jake and Leo because our fathers knew each other, and we helped each other’s businesses grow. Ethan’s family ran a small construction supply business that had been failing for years; they were on the verge of bankruptcy. My mother, out of pity, had my father throw them a few contracts to stay afloat and insisted I include Ethan in my social circle. I was against it. I hold a grudge, and I’ve never forgotten the way he treated me as a child. But my mom’s relentless nagging wore me down, and I reluctantly let him tag along. I fixed my gaze on him. “What exactly were you trying to achieve with that post?” Ethan’s face turned the color of raw liver. His lips moved, but no words came out. Sophia’s expression soured, but she wasn’t ready to give up. “You’ve all been fooled by her! She’s just pretending to be above it all, showing off how successful she is to seduce men!” I frowned, my patience finally gone. It was her wedding day. I had been willing to let it slide, to endure the humiliation for the sake of peace. But she was pushing it, determined to smear my name. “Sophia, you need evidence to make accusations like that,” I said, my voice turning icy. “You’ve seen my chat history with Ethan. What more do you want?” She sneered. “If there’s nothing between you, why did he pour so much money into your bar? It’s a members-only club with a ridiculously high barrier to entry. As a woman running a place like that, you must have your methods for keeping wealthy clients around. Ethan recently dropped fifty grand on a membership. Are you going to tell me that’s not suspicious?” The venue fell silent. My mother, pale with rage, rushed to my side. “You say that one more time.” I gently pushed my mom back into her seat and stepped toward Sophia. “First of all, Ethan spending money at my bar is a normal business transaction. I didn’t force him.” 3 “And don’t you worry. I’ll have my manager refund every penny he hasn’t spent and post a notice at the entrance permanently banning him from the premises.” What a joke. My bar is a top-tier establishment that would hold its own in any major city. The renovations alone cost millions. My clientele consists of the city’s wealthiest and most influential people. Did she really think I needed Ethan’s chump change? Sophia froze, clearly not expecting me to be so decisive. “Even so, you can’t deny that you call him in the middle of the night! Why does he always rush out to meet you at ungodly hours?” “Last Wednesday, at two in the morning, he told me there was an emergency at your bar and ran out in his pajamas! Are you going to deny that you called him?” Her words even stunned me. I would never, ever contact Ethan. Besides, last Wednesday, my fiancé and I were on vacation out of state. As I was about to refute her, I caught a glimpse of panic in Ethan’s eyes. “Sophia, stop it! It’s all a misunderstanding! We can talk about this at home. Today is our wedding…” She ripped her arm from his grasp. “You need to tell me the truth right now! Is she the only one you love? Did you ever even want to marry me?” “Yes! I didn’t want to marry you!” Ethan suddenly roared, his composure shattering. He glanced at me, a wild, cornered look in his eyes. Sophia stared at him, her face a mask of disbelief. In the next second, all the color drained from her cheeks. “My stomach… it hurts…” Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed in a dead faint. The scene erupted into chaos. Ethan, terrified, scooped her up and ran for the exit. My mother watched the pandemonium, her voice laced with worry. “Amelia, maybe we should go to the hospital, just to check…” I hesitated for a moment, then nodded, and we followed the ambulance. Outside the emergency room, Ethan was crouched against a wall, his face ashen. My mom tried to offer a few words of comfort to his mother, Wanda, but was met with a cold shoulder. My mom’s expression darkened, but before she could speak, the ER doors opened. A doctor emerged. “The patient is stable. The emotional distress caused a threatened miscarriage. She’ll need to be admitted for observation to ensure the pregnancy is safe.” Wanda’s face lit up with manic joy. She grilled the doctor, and after confirming Sophia was pregnant, she whirled on me, her eyes blazing with resentment. “Are you satisfied now, Amelia? If you hadn’t started a fight with Sophia at her own wedding, would she have almost lost my grandchild? You have a fiancé of your own, so why can’t you just leave my son alone?” She grew more agitated with every word. “Sophia was right! People need boundaries! If you don’t like my son, then stay away from him! Stop pretending to be his buddy while secretly seducing him, keeping one man on the hook while you look for another! You may have no shame, but we do!” “What nonsense are you spouting?” My mother stood up, her face a mixture of anger and disappointment. “Wanda, if I hadn’t convinced my husband to give your family business, you would have gone bankrupt years ago! And this is how you repay us? By slandering my daughter?” Wanda flinched, then changed her tone. “Amelia, dear, please. I’m begging you. You know my son’s… condition. The doctors all said it would be nearly impossible for him to have children. Now that Sophia is finally pregnant, that baby is our family’s lifeline! Just stay away from Ethan from now on, please!” “Mom! Stop it!” Ethan hissed, his face burning with humiliation at having his infertility broadcasted to the world. I scoffed and sent a quick text to my assistant, telling her to dig up Ethan’s recent movements and social media activity. I hadn’t called him in the middle of the night. Someone else had. And I wasn’t about to take the fall for it. 4 Just as I sent the message, Ethan approached me, hesitating. “Amelia, I know you’re innocent in all this, but… I’m finally going to be a father. This is so important to our family. For the sake of our childhood friendship, can you please just let this go? Don’t push her any further.” I rolled my eyes. “You should be thinking about what you did to make your wife so insecure in the first place.” He opened his mouth to say more, but was cut off by the sound of approaching footsteps. I turned. It was my fiancé, Liam. For once, his calm demeanor was replaced by a hint of urgency. “I’m sorry I’m late.” He was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, clearly having come straight from the office. His handsome face was cold as he came to my side, his gaze sharp and commanding. “I’d appreciate it if certain people would conduct themselves with a little more dignity and stay away from my fiancée,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “And stop trying to blame her for your own messes.” Ethan flinched under Liam’s glare, a flicker of jealousy and fear in his eyes. After a tense moment, he turned and scurried back toward the ER. Liam watched him go, then gently smoothed my hair back, his tone softening. “Come on. I’m taking you and your mom home.” It was dark by the time we got back. I had just slipped off my shoes when my phone began buzzing relentlessly. It was my assistant. As I looked at the photos she sent, my eyes narrowed. So that’s why Sophia was so convinced I was the other woman. It was because… Before I could finish reading, a notification popped up on my screen. A trending local news post. “Boycott Local Socialite: Juggling Two Men and a Messy Private Life.” Someone had edited clips from the wedding, cutting out all context, making me look like the villain. The comment section was a cesspool of people calling me a manipulative “cool girl.” Thanks to the algorithm, I didn’t even have to search. A local livestream recommendation appeared. It was Sophia, broadcasting from her hospital bed. The title read: “The Price of Marrying a ‘Devoted’ Man: My Husband’s Affair with His ‘Best Friend’.” I clicked. She was propped up against the pillows, pale and red-eyed, weeping for the camera. “I’m pregnant with twins, and he’s still messing around with another woman. A woman who has her own fiancé but insists on calling my husband in the middle of the night…” The comments were a flood of sympathy. “I’m so sorry, sweetie!” “Girls like that are the absolute worst!” “I heard her family is like local royalty. They’re in business, and she owns some shady bar. What kind of decent woman runs a bar?” I laughed out loud at the absurdity. My mom saw it too, her hands trembling with rage. Liam wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Don’t let them get to you.” I smirked. “Oh, I’m not angry. I should be thanking them for all this free publicity.” My company was about to launch a new product line. Free press is free press. Half an hour later, I started a livestream from my own account. As soon as I went live, a flood of viewers poured in—half to curse me out, half to watch the drama unfold. I sat in front of the camera with a calm smile. A moment later, a request to co-stream popped up. It was Sophia. I accepted immediately. Her pale, tear-streaked face appeared on the screen. “You really have no shame, do you? Broadcasting after all this,” she sneered. I raised an eyebrow and held up my phone. “I’d invite everyone to take a look at the new video I just posted on my account.” In the next second, the comment feed exploded.

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