Category: English

My 71-year-old mom is trapped in her walk-up by severe rheumatism. She called hesitantly today, asking if I could help find her an elevator apartment—just a simple one-bedroom, maybe $800 a month. But my wife, Chloe, immediately pulled up our finances on her tablet. “You went $300 over budget on a tie last month, David. And now this?” It hit me: I earn a seven-figure salary, yet I can’t even buy a tie freely. Mom was already backtracking. “Don’t worry, it was just a thought. I’m used to it here.” I hung up, a knot tightening in my chest. I’m a partner at a top law firm. What part of this is difficult? The difficult part is my wife—a junior associate who appointed herself our “Chief Asset Allocation Officer” and controls every paycheck. 1 “Chloe, that’s my mother we’re talking about.” My voice was tight. “What’s eight hundred dollars to us?” She didn’t even look up from her spreadsheet. “David, familial sentiment cannot override the principles of sound asset allocation. Eight hundred dollars, multiplied by twelve months, is nine thousand, six hundred dollars. That represents a 0.096% fluctuation in our annual yield. Any expenditure outside the budget is a liability against our future.” She paused, tapping on an app and turning the tablet toward me. “Look. Last month, your unauthorized tie purchase caused the ‘Non-essential Lifestyle Goods’ category to exceed its budget by $312.50. This month, it’s rent for your mother. What about next month? Will you want to hire a full-time nurse for her?” I stared at the glaring red number, the sheer absurdity of it all making my head spin. Last month, I won a massive case. On my way home, I saw a tasteful tie in a boutique window. My others were getting frayed. I wanted a new one. It was that simple. That three-hundred-dollar tie was the only purchase I had made in six months without her explicit approval. I took a deep breath, fighting down the inferno rising in my gut. “I make twelve million dollars a year. My mother needs an eight-hundred-dollar apartment. Since when do I need your permission for that?” She smiled, but her eyes were sharp as shattered glass. “David, we are a married couple. Your income is marital property. And let’s not forget, three years ago you signed the Irrevocable Family Trust Agreement. I am the sole administrator of this family’s assets.” She added coolly, “Therefore, I am obligated to eliminate all irrational spending.” She closed the app and pulled a sleek, velvet box from a drawer. “Speaking of which, it’s my mother’s birthday next week. I used our joint account to order her a little something from Chanel. It’s already been logged under the ‘Familial Relations Maintenance’ category—a reasonable expense in service of a core objective.” The knot in my chest exploded. Eight hundred dollars for my mother’s rent was an irrational expense. A twenty-five-thousand-dollar handbag for hers was a reasonable one. My gaze hardened. “Chloe, is your risk management strategy exclusively designed to hedge against my family?” She sighed, as if explaining a complex theory to a child. “David, why can’t you understand? My mother’s social circle requires certain things to maintain her standing. Your mother is a retired factory worker. Living in an old, low-rise building is more… authentic for her. It’s better for her well-being.” With that, she stood up and poured me a glass of lukewarm water. “Let’s not fight. Go to bed early; you have that hearing tomorrow. Oh, and by the way, you’ve already used 87% of your credit card limit for the month. I’ve placed a temporary hold on the card to prevent any impulse buys. It will automatically reset on the first.” I held the glass, my fingertips numb and cold. 2 The next morning, I checked my mobile banking app. Every account in my name—salary, bonus, dividend—I tapped through them one by one. Each displayed the same insulting three-digit balance. On the first of every month, every cent I earned was automatically swept into a single “Family Trust Fund” account managed exclusively by Chloe. Any payment from that fund required her digital signature. I ordered breakfast delivery, only to find that my payment app had also been linked to her account. For any purchase over fifteen dollars, she received an alert. A new message popped up on my screen. It was from her. “Just have the oatmeal and coffee for breakfast. The French cruller platter is $18. Both the calories and the price are excessive.” I deleted the message. On the drive to the firm, I called my best friend, Marcus. Marcus is a shark of a divorce attorney, all sharp angles and brutal efficiency. After hearing me out, he exploded. “Are you fucking kidding me, David? You’re one of the best commercial litigators in the city, and you’re being played like this by a junior associate? What were you thinking when you signed that goddamn agreement? Did a donkey kick you in the head? That’s not a contract, it’s an indenture! If word of this gets out, you’ll be a laughingstock.” I gave a bitter laugh. “I’d just made partner. I was drowning in work. She said she’d handle the finances so I could focus on my career. I didn’t think twice.” “Bullshit! That’s not management; that’s legal fucking embezzlement!” Marcus swore, then his tone turned serious. “You didn’t keep anything on the side?” “My equity, my stock options… it’s all in the trust for tax-sheltering purposes.” “Then you go scorched-earth! Sue her! File for an emergency injunction to freeze the assets!” I shook my head. “She’s smart. The agreement was notarized by the best contract lawyer at Sterling & Cole. The clauses are ironclad. If I file for divorce, the case will drag on for at least two years. In the meantime, every single asset will be frozen.” I let the reality of it sink in. “Two years, Marcus. My partnership, my equity distributions, my active cases… everything would be compromised.” “So you’re just going to let her use your money to buy her mom a twenty-five-thousand-dollar purse while your own mother can’t afford an eight-hundred-dollar apartment?” he roared. He paused, thinking. “Okay, if we can’t go through the front door, we’ll find a back one.” I could hear him typing. “I’m sending you a contact. Sofia. She used to be a forensic investigator specializing in financial crime. Now she runs her own consulting firm. She eats people like your wife for breakfast.” “What can she do?” “She has a saying,” Marcus said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “A balance sheet can be cooked, but greed always leaves a trail. She’s the best at following that trail right to the hole.” 3 That evening, I came home to the rare and welcoming aroma of a home-cooked meal. Chloe, wearing an apron, emerged from the kitchen carrying a steaming pot of soup. “David, you’re back! Go wash up. I made your favorite mushroom and chicken soup to help you de-stress.” She smiled so warmly, it was as if yesterday’s ugliness had never happened. Against my better judgment, the last ember of warmth I felt for her began to glow again. Maybe she was just overly principled, not malicious. Maybe this was just the friction of marriage. I was about to say something to smooth things over when she produced a document from behind her back and placed it on the table in front of me. “Honey, I need you to sign this first.” It was an Equity Pledge and Unlimited Personal Guarantee. My pupils contracted. She pointed to a clause. “A friend of mine has a new renewable energy project. The potential is enormous, but it requires a lot of upfront capital. I want to invest fifty million from our fund, but they need your credit backing and personal guarantee as a partner at the firm.” I flipped directly to the last page and saw the company’s name. “HelioCore Renewables?” I looked up at her. “This company just got a risk advisory warning from the SEC last month. The founder, Zara, served time three years ago for securities fraud.” The smile on Chloe’s face faded. “David, you can’t be so one-dimensional. Higher risk means higher reward. Zara doesn’t have a criminal record; she has experience.” “So you want to gamble our entire net worth on a convicted con artist’s new venture?” She took a deep breath. “This is an investment! It’s for our future!” She suddenly smiled again, her voice softening into a purr. “How about this? You sign the papers, and I’ll call the realtor right now. We’ll get your mom that apartment she wanted. Better yet, I’ll pay for three years’ rent upfront. And I’ll throw in a top-of-the-line shiatsu massage chair and a ten-thousand-dollar bonus for her. How does that sound?” Baiting me with my mother’s $800 rent to sign a contract that could bankrupt us. What did she take me for? A dog that could be bought with a bone? I laughed, a cold, sharp sound, and pushed the contract back across the table. “Chloe, do you know what my legal specialty is?” She froze. “Corporate bankruptcy and liquidation,” I said, looking her dead in the eye. “I’ve seen countless investors just like you, blinded by greed, who ended up losing everything, right down to their underwear.” Her face turned to stone. “David, don’t be a fool! I’m trying to elevate us to the next level!” Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, and a cruel smirk touched her lips. “Your uncle just called me. I ignored it. He’s probably calling about your mother’s apartment. I suggest you reconsider. My patience is wearing thin.” Before she even finished speaking, my phone lit up. It was a picture message from my uncle. It was my mom, sitting alone on the dusty steps of her building’s stairwell, her head bowed, her silhouette a portrait of loneliness. Beneath the picture was a line of text. David, your mom’s leg is acting up again. She’s in too much pain to leave the apartment. It’s a shame, son. You’re making millions, but you can’t even spare a little for an elevator for her. The whole family is talking… My heart seized, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. 4 At two in the morning, I lay awake, listening to the steady rhythm of Chloe’s breathing beside me. We shared a bed, but there were mountains between us. I slipped out of the room and went to the study. Her laptop was open, a single password-protected folder on the screen. I tried our anniversary. Her birthday. Her mother’s birthday. All incorrect. On a dark impulse, I typed in the date we signed the Irrevocable Family Trust Agreement. Click. The folder opened. Inside was a document: Formal Complaint for Professional Misconduct, prepared for submission to the State Bar Association. Complainant: Chloe. Subject of Complaint: David. She had taken some of the most complex and difficult cases of my career, twisted the facts, and reframed them as gross professional negligence on my part. She had attached audio and video clips as evidence. One was a clip of me at home, yelling in frustration after losing a tough case. She’d labeled it “Emotional Instability, Lacks Professional Temperament.” Another was a recording of me venting to her about an unreasonable client, edited to make it sound like I held all clients in contempt and lacked professional ethics. But the fatal blow was a hidden clause she cited from our Trust Agreement: “In the event that either party has their professional license suspended or revoked due to personal conduct, thereby creating a joint liability risk to the family’s assets, the other party shall automatically gain sole and exclusive right of disposal over the Family Trust Fund.” She was planning to destroy my career, get my law license revoked, and then legally seize every asset we owned. A chill shot up my spine, cold as ice. I forced myself to be calm. The lawyer in me took over. I took a deep breath, encrypted the entire folder, uploaded it to my private cloud server, and then meticulously erased every trace of my activity from her computer. The second I closed the laptop, the study door creaked open. Chloe stood there, leaning against the doorframe in her silk robe. “What are you looking for?” she asked lazily. “You woke me up.” My heart skipped a beat, but my face remained a mask of calm. I gestured to the computer. “Just remembered a detail about the evidence for tomorrow’s hearing. Wanted to double-check.” She stared at me for a few long seconds, then chuckled. “Such a workaholic. Have you seen the time? Our electricity bill is going to be through the roof again this quarter.” She turned and left. I stood frozen in the dark, a profound cold seeping into my bones. She wanted to use the law as her weapon. Fine. I would use the very thing I was best at to personally liquidate her. 5 “Ms. Sofia, I’d like to hire you to investigate my wife, Chloe.” She leaned back in her chair, raising an eyebrow. “Investigate what?” “Everything. Her financial transactions, her social networks, her call logs. And the background of that renewable energy friend of hers, Zara.” Sofia arched a brow. “That won’t be cheap, Mr. David.” I slid a debit card across the desk. “PIN is six eights. If you need more, just ask.” She didn’t take it. She just smiled. “I don’t take cases based on the fee. I take them based on how interesting they are. Give me a reason to be interested.” I met her gaze directly. “She’s using the money I earned to build a legal trap designed to end my career and leave me with nothing. I want you to help me switch the roles of the hunter and the prey.” The smile vanished from Sofia’s face. “Now that’s interesting.” She picked up the card, spinning it deftly between her fingers. “Three days. I’ll have a report for you that you’ll be very happy with.” I went back to the firm and called my paralegal. “Jake, I need you to draft a complaint. The cause of action is a ‘Petition to Revoke the Irrevocable Family Trust Agreement.’ The defendant is Chloe.” Jake was silent for a moment. “Uh… partner? Are you… are you sure?” “Just do it. Also, schedule an appointment with the firm’s chief notary. I need to execute a new will and a durable power of attorney.” In the will, I would stipulate that in the event of my death, all my personal assets, after funding a trust for my mother’s care, would be donated to the senior center in her neighborhood. In the power of attorney, I would designate that if I ever became incapacitated, my legal guardian would be my best friend, Marcus. You want to leave me with nothing, Chloe? I won’t give you the satisfaction. That afternoon, Chloe called, her voice tight with suppressed rage. “David, what the hell is this? You’re suing me?” “As an attorney,” I replied calmly, “when my rights are violated, I trust the law to provide a just resolution.” “Are you insane? Do you have any idea what this will do? All our assets will be frozen! What about my HelioCore deal?” “That’s your deal, Chloe. Not ours.” “David!” she shrieked. “You will regret this! I have a hundred ways to make you drop this suit before we ever see a courtroom!” I hung up and looked out at the river of traffic below. You want to take everything from me? I’ll use the very trap you set to make you swallow your own poison. Game on, Chloe. 6 Chloe’s retaliation came faster than I expected. The next day, a post appeared on the firm’s internal message board. It was anonymous and pinned to the top. “SHOCKING: Top Partner at Prestigious Firm Suffering from Severe Bipolar Disorder, Has Allegedly Threatened Suicide Multiple Times!” The post detailed my supposed emotional breakdowns, complete with several blurred photos that were still clearly identifiable as me. They were the same files I’d found on her computer. The post ended with a concerned question: “How can a lawyer in such an unstable mental state be responsible for his clients’ massive assets?” It was like dropping a bomb in a quiet library. The firm’s managing partner, Mr. Davison, called me into his office immediately. His face was grim. “David, what in God’s name is this?” I handed him the psychological evaluation report I had already prepared. “Mr. Davison, I had a full psychological workup done last week at Mount Sinai. The report concludes that I am in perfect mental health.” He scanned the report, but his brow remained furrowed. “The damage is already done, David. Clients are talking. Two of our biggest accounts have already requested a new lead attorney.” I knew. This was Chloe’s real goal. To sabotage my career, cut off my income, and turn me into a dependent she could control. As I walked back to my office, I could feel the questioning stares of my colleagues burning into my back. I shut the door and called Marcus. “Marcus, I need a favor. Pull the last five years of call logs between Chloe and her best friend, the one who’s a psychiatrist.” Marcus chuckled on the other end. “Oh, so we’re hitting back now, are we?” “She went after my livelihood. It’s only fair I return the favor.” Later that afternoon, Sofia called. Her voice was electric with excitement. “Well, David, your little ‘Asset Allocation Officer’ is quite the treasure trove.” “The highlights, Sofia.” “First, her friend Zara. In that securities fraud case three years ago, Chloe was her defense attorney. She got her a reduced sentence. The quid pro quo? Once Zara got out, she was to help Chloe set up a new scheme to lure in more investors. They were going to split the profits.” I let out a cold laugh. “A den of vipers.” “Exactly,” Sofia said. “Second, and this is the masterpiece. Over the past three years, Chloe has used an SPV she registered in the British Virgin Islands to funnel five million dollars out of your family trust under the guise of ‘overseas asset diversification.’ On paper, the money went into an art fund in Panama. In reality, that fund’s only assets are a handful of limited-edition classic cars parked in her mother’s garage and the anonymous ownership of a private vineyard in Bordeaux. The investment was written off as a market loss, but in reality, the money was just converted into her family’s private property.” My heart turned to a block of ice. “The reason she’s so desperate for you to guarantee Zara’s new project is because she needs a massive infusion of new cash to cover the hole she created in the books. And to make you complicit in the process.” Sofia let out a low whistle. “Using your own money to dig your grave, then making you thank her for the shovel. David, your wife is a goddamn financial genius.” I hung up and stared out the window as the sky began to bleed into dusk. Five million dollars. My money. Earned through years of grinding, case after brutal case. She had laundered it, effortlessly, into her own family’s pockets. And yet, she couldn’t spare eight hundred dollars a month for my mom. I picked up my phone and called my mother. “Mom, don’t stay in that old building anymore. I bought you a new place downtown. A corner unit with a view. It’s fully furnished. I’ll come pick you up tomorrow.” On the other end, her voice was a mix of shock and worry. “David, how… how much did that cost? Did you talk to Chloe?” “Mom,” I said, my voice steady for the first time in months. “This is from your son. It has nothing to do with anyone else.” After hanging up, I sent a text to Sofia. [Compile all the evidence into the most professional, airtight legal opinion you can. I’m going to destroy her in court.]

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When I was 19, I dated a rich kid. I was idealistic back then, a firm believer that true love conquered all. I didn’t realize the four cruel words—class divide—could drown a person. The year we graduated, we broke up amicably. He went abroad to study finance; I went back to my village to manage greenhouses. When we met again years later, it was an awkward reunion. To fill the silence, I desperately searched for things to talk about. I asked him what our old classmates were doing now. I asked him if the stray cat we adopted together was doing well. But Liam just watched me silently. After a long moment, he spoke, his voice soft. “What about me?” “Aren’t you going to ask if I was okay these past few years?” 1 The call from Jason came when I was standing on the dirt hill at the edge of my village. The other villagers were staring at the sky, their faces etched with worry. I was trying to reassure them, telling them this was the only rain forecasted for the week, that it wouldn’t delay the watermelon harvest. That’s when my phone rang. “Rebecca, are you still messing with those stupid greenhouses? We have a huge problem! Liam’s back in the country!” “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. He’s been on a rampage ever since he landed, trying to find you. Bro, I can’t hold him off any longer.” Hearing his name after so long, I froze. “Why is he looking for me?” Jason sounded exasperated. “What do you think? He’s still hung up on you. Everyone knew he was crazy in love with you in college. Seriously, you were cold-blooded, breaking up with him like that. You nearly drove him insane.” “You’re out here playing farmer with your damn watermelons, but Liam… he had a rough time overseas. Anyway, just watch out.” Liam. I breathed out his name. Honestly, I didn’t know what I was supposed to “watch out” for. His name had been the soundtrack to my four years of college and had haunted my dreams for three years after. I thought I would never forget him, that the memory would be etched into my soul forever. But time, it turns out, really does wash everything away. Hearing his name now, I felt surprisingly calm. “Tell him not to come. It’s not convenient.” The village’s dirt roads were a muddy mess from the rain. I was a wreck, covered in mud and holding a farming tool. I thought back to my time with Liam and politely declined. “He’ll have to take a train from the airport, then a bus, then another bus, and finally a motorcycle taxi.” “It’s too much for him. He can’t handle that kind of hardship.” 2 I wasn’t lying. Liam was the long-awaited only child in his family. He grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth, pampered and doted on. Looks, family background, education, ability—he was a golden boy, top-tier in every way. The only hardships Liam had ever faced were because of me. I took him to a cheap, spicy noodle shop and landed him in the hospital with a high fever. The scarf I knitted for him gave him a rash that lasted a month. Liam told me it was okay, that the rash wasn’t serious. But the next day, I found the scarf in the trash. I quietly retrieved it and buried it at the bottom of my suitcase. At 10, I didn’t understand what “low-quality chocolate” meant. I only knew it was a luxury I could only have on my birthday. Just like at 19, I couldn’t tell the difference between a taxi and a Maybach. I didn’t know that one pair of Liam’s shoes cost more than my living expenses for an entire year. I had never worn an evening gown and didn’t know the first thing about social etiquette. So for every formal event at school, Liam would attend with his childhood friend, an elegant girl named Stella. He always had a reason. “Rebecca, you’re always busy with your part-time jobs. And you don’t like these kinds of parties anyway. You wouldn’t be comfortable.” The school’s social media page was filled with photos of them, looking close. Among the countless comments, one stood out: “A perfect match. They actually belong in the same world.” So, the year we graduated, we broke up. He went abroad to study finance; I went back to my village to manage greenhouses. College blurred the lines, but graduation sent us back to our respective social classes. That’s why when Jason said he was still hung up on me, I didn’t believe it. If anything, he was probably just bitter that I was the one who ended things. After all, a poor girl from a small town who got into a good school had dared to break up with the heir to a massive fortune. Everyone had laughed at me back then. They said I was playing hard to get, that I was being manipulative. They laughed at my ignorance. 3 That night, the old college group chat was buzzing. “Did you guys hear? Liam from the business school is back. He’s probably the most successful one from our year, right? He already has several companies to his name.” “Can’t be jealous of that. He was born with it. Even if he didn’t start his own businesses, the family fortune is enough for him to live lavishly forever.” “He’s handsome and successful. How can one person have it all? And Stella, I saw her movie poster today. She’s gorgeous.” The conversation quickly centered on Liam and Stella. They had been the “it” couple in college, the campus king and queen. Even after graduation, they were still a hot topic. Amidst the envy and admiration, someone typed: “Aren’t they engaged already?” The chat went silent for a second, then exploded. “Don’t spread rumors. Since when were they engaged? I haven’t heard anything about them dating.” “Well, they are childhood friends, from similar backgrounds. A lot of people shipped them back then. There was even a fan group.” “Let’s not guess. What if they’re not engaged? That would be slander.” The person who started it seemed hesitant but then posted a photo. “It’s not me saying it. Stella admitted it herself. Her family is arranging her engagement, a childhood betrothal. And people figured out that the picture she posted was taken at the Thorne family villa. Who else could it be but Liam?” The photo seemed to convince some people, but others were still skeptical. “If they had a childhood betrothal, why didn’t they announce it before? And if they were engaged, why didn’t they date in college?” “Yeah, I remember Liam’s girlfriend back then wasn’t her. That girl was an idiot. If she had just held on to Liam, she’d be a rich man’s wife by now.” “I heard she was the one who dumped him. Then he went abroad and had a really tough time, he was…” The messages stopped abruptly as people realized who was in the chat. I stared at the photo for a long time before closing the app. I was the girl they were talking about. Liam and I dated for four years, from when I was 19 to 23. I was the girlfriend who was ignored, cropped out of photos. I was the gold-digging, manipulative, innocent-looking poor girl in his friends’ eyes. I was the foolish, laughable ex-girlfriend in my classmates’ eyes. I put down my phone, not letting their words get to me. When I was younger, I was proud, and my pride was more important than my life. But now… I looked up at the sky, just praying that the price for this year’s harvest would be good. Love, and all that… none of it was as important as my watermelons. 4 My village is remote, the roads are bad, and transportation is a nightmare. Every year, the buyers who come for our watermelons use that as leverage to drive the price down. This year, we had a bumper crop, and they were trying to lowball us with a price that was frankly insulting. I was in the middle of a heated argument with a merchant over a few cents a pound when Jason’s call came through. His voice was urgent. “Liam’s really on his way to you. Be careful, don’t—” I didn’t hear the rest of his sentence. Because the man he was talking about was standing right in front of me. I looked up and met a pair of silent, watching eyes. Liam was dressed in a black jacket and black leather shoes, his expression unreadable. He looked at me, and I looked at him. Neither of us spoke. The loud voice of our village mayor boomed from the doorway. “Oh my goodness, I am so sorry! The road is slippery from the rain. I gave that boy on the motorcycle a real talking-to. I’ll have him come apologize to you right away…” Our village roads are narrow, and motorcycles often skid and fall. The mayor was insisting the driver compensate Liam for his jacket, but Liam just waved a hand, saying it wasn’t necessary. I noticed the designer logo on the hem—a brand Liam often wore, with a price tag that would make you gasp. The kid on the motorcycle probably couldn’t afford to replace it with a year’s wages. The mayor apologized again and again, then eagerly pulled me forward. “This is Mr. Thorne, a businessman from the city! He heard our watermelons are top quality and came all this way. If this works out, he wants to sign a long-term contract and make us his official supplier. Rebecca, you have to talk to Mr. Thorne, show him the best we have to offer.” I was the only person in the village with a college degree and the one who had spearheaded the greenhouse initiative. The mayor had always valued my opinion, and I was the designated liaison with outsiders. Getting a buyer to come all this way was a huge deal, especially one from the city. The mayor’s face was flushed with excitement as he pushed me to be a good hostess. 5 I took Liam to the local clinic to get his scrapes treated. Then I arranged for him to stay in the nicest house in the village so he could shower and change. The entire time, the silence between us was deafening. Jason’s texts were making my phone vibrate nonstop, but I ignored them. I stared at the distant mountains, lost in thought. Liam said nothing. By the afternoon, I finally broke the silence. “Shredded potatoes, scrambled eggs, and that stewed chicken the mayor brought over. Is that okay for dinner?” I hesitated. “I’m sorry, the village is a bit rustic. There isn’t much to offer.” Liam finally turned to look at me. “Is this what you eat every day?” Of course not. The free-range chickens here are delicious, but the villagers rarely eat them. They sell them in town or to truck drivers passing through. A single chicken could fetch a good price. My family only ever had chicken on holidays or special occasions. This one had been stewed specifically to welcome him. When the food was on the table, Liam picked up his chopsticks and said suddenly, “You still remember I don’t eat onions.” I paused, saying nothing. Liam and I were polar opposites. I had no dietary restrictions; I loved spicy food and was always eager to try new things. He was a fitness fanatic with a bland palate. No onions, no spice, no mushrooms, no seaweed… The list was endless. Besides his family’s private chef, I was the person who knew his restrictions best. After the time I sent him to the hospital with that spicy noodle soup, I became incredibly careful about his food. I was so overwhelmed with guilt that I started working multiple part-time jobs, saving up every penny. My simple goal back then was to treat him to one meal at a high-end restaurant. It was only later that I learned that the restaurant I had researched and worked three jobs a day to afford was just an everyday occurrence for him. “Yeah, well, you don’t like them, Jason doesn’t like them, and I remember my old roommate was allergic to shellfish, and another one didn’t eat beef. I’ve always had a good memory.” The slight smile on Liam’s lips slowly faded. Maybe it was just because we hadn’t seen each other in so long, but the silence kept creeping back in. I thought about the mountains of watermelons in the greenhouses, about the hopeful look in the mayor’s eyes. If Liam was really here to source produce, I needed to smooth things over. My pride wasn’t worth jeopardizing the village’s livelihood. The past was the past. I started searching for a topic of conversation. “Do you still keep in touch with anyone from college? I wonder what they’re all doing now.” “Oh, and what about that stray cat we found by the dorms? The one you adopted. How is he? Is he doing okay?” “Have you been back to visit any of our old professors? I heard Professor Albright is retiring this year.” My voice was the only sound in the small, quiet room. I talked about our classmates, about the cat, and the memories started to surface. I rambled on for a while before I realized Liam hadn’t said a word. I trailed off, a wave of regret washing over me. I must have been talking his ear off, annoying him with all my questions. The wind rustled past the window. Liam finally looked up. He didn’t answer any of my questions. Instead, he just looked at me, his voice soft and low. “You ask about our classmates, about the cat, about our professors… what about me?” “Aren’t you going to ask if I was okay these past few years?”

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I’m Hollywood’s resident Ice Queen, the beautiful statue who can’t act her way out of a paper bag. My agent, in a stroke of what she called “brand expansion genius,” shoved me onto a live-streamed celebrity survival show to, in her words, “boost my relatability.” Nobody expected the show’s engineered crisis—a mechanical wolf meant to add a dash of drama—to malfunction. Nobody expected it to hunt me with single-minded, metallic fury. And certainly, nobody expected me, under the unflinching eye of a dozen drone cameras, to snap a branch from a dead tree, sharpen it on a rock in three fluid motions, and pin the machine to the forest floor with one clean, powerful thrust through its synthetic heart. Later, staring blankly into a drone lens, I offered my only explanation. “I grew up in the country.” A pause. “We had a hog farm. You learn a thing or two about butchering. It’s practical, right?” 1 The day I retired, my handler—Director K—placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. His voice was as gravelly and devoid of emotion as ever. “Spectre,” he said, using my call sign. “You’ve lived up to the name. For years, you’ve been the sharpest point of The Blade. You’ve earned your rest.” He stared at me with those piercing gray eyes. “The organization will grant you one request for your new life. Anything.” A thrill, the first I’d felt in years that wasn’t followed by the scent of blood, shot through me. My eyes, I’m sure, lit up with visions of a life I’d only ever seen in movies. “My new life?” I leaned forward, my voice practically buzzing. “I want it all. The glamour, the scandal, the mindless decadence. I want to burn through money, dance until dawn, and be utterly, gloriously frivolous.” Director K’s perpetually grim face twitched. It was the closest I’d ever seen him come to a smile. He nodded slowly, the picture of managerial solemnity. “Understood,” he said. “You want to experience the rewarding, hands-on labor of a federal penitentiary. An excellent choice for personal growth.” I blinked. A week later, the organization unceremoniously dropped me into the glittering cesspool of Los Angeles. According to K, it had all the glamour and decadence I’d asked for, but the paychecks were, technically, legal. Three years later, my unblinking stare and an acting ability so wooden a director once famously declared me “splinter-proof” had cemented my status as Hollywood’s Ice Queen. While the gossip blogs and internet trolls debated which powerful producer I was sleeping with to maintain my career, no one could possibly guess the truth. That I was Spectre, the top field operative for The Blade, a clandestine organization that operated in the shadows to protect national interests. That I held the standing record for a solo infiltration: thirty elite hostiles neutralized in under five minutes. A record that remained unbroken. If The Blade was the ghost that guarded the country, I was the ghost that other ghosts feared. Back then, they had a saying in the underworld: “A glimpse of the Spectre is the Reaper’s kiss.” 2 “Declan, don’t look back!” I woke with a gasp, the words torn from my throat. The air in the cheap production tent was humid and stale, and cold sweat slicked my forehead. Outside, a voice dripped with saccharine poison. “Well, well. Some people really think this is a vacation, don’t they?” The voice belonged to Isabelle Vance, Hollywood’s reigning sweetheart and a rising star known for her girl-next-door charm and fiercely loyal fanbase. “An ice queen with nothing to offer but a pretty face, having nightmares in broad daylight. How unlucky for the rest of us.” She let out a fake little laugh. “And shouting a man’s name? Desperate for a little attention, are we?” Isabelle and I were at the same agency, but we were oil and water. Being cast on the same show was a carefully engineered ratings ploy. It was working. The phantom heat of the explosion still clung to my skin, my heart hammering against my ribs. It took me a few seconds to focus on the swaying palm trees and the painfully bright sunlight outside. A few seconds to remember. Declan was already dead. The man who was all easy smiles and infuriating charm, the one who always managed to shield me in the moments when death felt certain, had been vaporized in that firestorm. There was nothing left to bury. Only then did her words fully register. I pushed open the tent flap, squinting against the light. “What did you say? About a man?” Isabelle crossed her arms, her eyes raking over me with disdain. “Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you. I’m talking about Mr. Scott, of course. The mysterious heir to the Sterling-Scott fortune.” She leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper meant for the hidden camera I knew was clipped to a nearby tree. “A piece of advice? A blank slate like you could never hope to catch the eye of a man like Dylan Scott. So don’t even try.” She smiled, a triumphant, venomous little thing. “I, on the other hand, am the only actress who received a personal invitation to his charity auction next month. It’s being held on The Stratos, his private jumbo jet. I hear Mr. Scott will be there personally.” Her smile widened. “I have a feeling he and I will find we have a great deal in common.” “As for you,” she finished, with a dismissive flick of her wrist, “you couldn’t even get a ticket to the airport.” I watched her, this preening, posturing fool, and felt the ghost of a real smile touch my lips. It felt foreign. “You should probably get some more Botox before you go,” I suggested, my voice flat. “The crow’s feet around your eyes are deep enough to lose a dime in. You wouldn’t want to scare Mr. Scott away.” I let my gaze drift over her. “And for the record? When you’re born with a face like this, you don’t have to try. You wouldn’t understand, but I don’t blame you.” 3 After my little chat with Isabelle, I tracked down the show’s director and demanded the use of his satellite phone. He stared at me as if I’d grown a second head. To be fair, less than an hour ago, I had twisted the head clean off his thousand-pound mechanical wolf. I just stared back. Three seconds later, he was handing me the phone like a holy relic. The moment the call connected, I didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Jenna! That charity auction next month, the one on The Stratos. You have to get me in.” The line went silent for a full thirty seconds. The only sound was the wind rustling through the jungle canopy. Just as I was about to lose my patience, my agent’s weary voice came through. “Sweetheart. You mean the auction that sent you a gilded, hand-delivered invitation three weeks ago? The one you immediately ran through the office shredder because, and I quote, ‘attending a pointless social gathering is a criminal waste of my finite existence’?” Right. That had happened. At the time, the idea of sipping champagne and making small talk with a bunch of billionaires sounded less appealing than a root canal. Besides, Isabelle’s PR team had already flooded the blogs with stories about her being the “exclusive celebrity guest.” I had no desire to play second fiddle and give her a free publicity boost. I cleared my throat, my tone shifting from demanding to syrupy sweet. “Right. About that. I know I was wrong, Jenna, you know I’m impulsive! Please don’t be mad.” I took a breath. “Out of curiosity, what was the appearance fee they offered?” Jenna’s sigh was heavy enough to be felt across continents. “One million dollars.” I didn’t hesitate. “A waste of my existence? Who cares! For a million bucks, I’d sell my soul and do a little dance while I’m at it! Jenna, you’re the best. Make it happen!” Jenna… Declan Shaw… Dylan Scott… I knew the odds of it being a coincidence were astronomical. I knew it was impossible. But deep inside me, in a place I thought had long turned to ash, a tiny, stubborn ember flickered back to life. Even if there was only a one-in-a-billion chance. I had to see for myself. 4 Jenna, being the miracle worker she was, pulled a string so obscure even I was impressed and secured me an invitation at the eleventh hour. As the most exclusive private aircraft in the world, The Stratos hosting a gala for the global elite was a media frenzy. The live streams were pulling in millions of viewers before the first guest even stepped on board. [Holy crap! It’s finally happening! I’ve never seen a plane this insane!] [An auction in the sky. Rich people are a different species.] [Look! It’s Isabelle Vance! That white dress is stunning. A true goddess!] [Did you guys hear the rumor? A major mystery guest is supposed to be on board!] [Yeah, I heard that too! The head of some secret global conglomerate or something…] [It’s gotta be for Isabelle! They’d be the ultimate power couple!] [Ugh, why is Ava Sterling there? She probably bribed her way on. So tacky.] I leaned against the curved window, scrolling through the comments on my phone with a profound sense of boredom. The hate was just background noise at this point. Suddenly, a quiet, powerful voice spoke from behind me. “I never thought I’d have the pleasure of seeing you again.” The voice was old, but the tone was firm. “Miss Spectre.” 5 I had heard the soft tread of his expensive shoes approaching, so the voice wasn’t a surprise. I turned slowly and gave a slight nod of my head. “Mr. Peterson. It’s good to see you looking so well.” The man was Marcus Peterson, a titan of industry and a true patriot. Over the decades, he’d funneled billions from his tech empire into national interests, from scientific research to infrastructure. His personal motto was famous: “The nation is the foundation; business is just the scaffolding.” As his influence grew, he’d become a target for foreign powers. At one point, a consortium of his rivals had pooled their resources and hired one of the world’s top ten mercenary guilds to put a kill order on him. My mission had been to provide close protection. In one month, I made sure that mercenary guild ceased to exist. He was the only person outside of The Blade who knew my real identity. Before we could say more, a flurry of motion and camera flashes interrupted us. Isabelle Vance, flanked by a gaggle of reporters and assistants, swept toward us like a queen holding court. One reporter shoved a microphone forward. “Isabelle, the internet is buzzing that you’re here tonight as a special guest of honor. Can you confirm a personal relationship with the mysterious Mr. Scott?” Isabelle didn’t answer directly, offering instead a shy, demure smile. “I think we should all focus on the wonderful charity this event is supporting. It’s better to keep a little mystery in life, don’t you think?” A wave of knowing murmurs and excited gasps rippled through the press pool. I had to physically restrain myself from laughing out loud. Her non-denial-denial was a masterclass in PR manipulation. I was willing to bet her own team had planted the rumors online. After all, no one in the world could have possibly traced my invitation back to me. Perhaps my smirk was a little too obvious. Isabelle’s gaze snapped to me, her eyes narrowing. Then she saw who I was standing with. Her entire demeanor shifted. Her eyes lit up with craven opportunity. She glided over, high heels clicking on the polished floor, the cameras trailing her like pilot fish. “Ava Sterling. You are just everywhere, aren’t you?” she said, her voice loud enough for every microphone to catch. “I thought you turned down the invitation. What happened? The moment you heard Mr. Scott would be here, you came crawling back?” She gestured towards Marcus. “And now you’re harassing Mr. Peterson? Honestly, your methods are so predictable. Some of us in this industry try to maintain a little dignity.” Just like that, she’d painted me as a desperate, social-climbing harpy. As she intended, the live stream chat exploded. [OMG I’m cringing so hard. Ava is so pathetic!] [First she’s a bad actress, now we know she has no morals either!] Having successfully trashed me, Isabelle turned a dazzling smile on Marcus Peterson and extended a perfectly manicured hand. “Mr. Peterson, it is such an honor. I’ve admired your work for years. I’ve always hoped for a chance to meet you.” Marcus Peterson was a legend. A few soundbites with him, caught on camera, would elevate Isabelle’s brand from mere celebrity to a serious public figure. A brilliant move. Except for one small problem. Marcus didn’t even glance at her outstretched hand. He simply stared at her as if she were a mildly interesting insect, his expression utterly flat. “I doubt that,” he said, his voice cold enough to freeze champagne. “My own company’s CEO has to book an appointment six months in advance to see me. Who, exactly, are you?” Isabelle’s face went from pristine white to a blotchy, mortified crimson. The silence in the cabin was so absolute you could hear the hum of the engines. Into that silence, Marcus turned back to me. With the deep, formal respect a knight might show a queen, he made a slight bow. “Miss Spectre,” he said, his voice resonating with warmth. “Would I have the honor of buying you a drink in the lounge?”

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Ten years ago, my twin sister, Lily, helped me get a date with the boy I was in love with. Then she started dating him herself. Later, when she was dying of acute leukemia, I was her only perfect match for a bone marrow transplant. The day the final test results came in, I calmly signed the official form to decline the donation. My mother collapsed on the spot. She slapped me so hard the world spun. “Chloe! Are you insane? That’s your sister!” My father pointed a shaking finger in my face, his whole body trembling with rage. “How did we raise a monster like you?” And Ethan Archer, the man whose name filled every page of my high school diaries, asked me in anguish, “Chloe, why won’t you save her?” Ten years later, on the Fourth of July, with the sky over the Washington Monument about to burst into a sea of fireworks, Ethan came back. At the pinnacle of that national celebration, he held out a diamond ring. “Chloe,” he said. “Marry me.” 1 The tips of my fingers were ice-cold. Ethan was on one knee, surrounded by the roar of the crowd and the flash of a hundred cell phone cameras. He wore a tailored black coat that made him look solid and dependable, his features sharp and deep-set. A decade in the service had carved the boyishness from his face, leaving behind a man who was more handsome than I remembered. But the eyes looking up at me held none of the love I had once dreamed of seeing there. There was only the silent, deep water of a calm ocean. Isn’t it ironic? Ten years ago, my twin sister, Lily, had squeezed my hand, her own eyes shining as she described this exact scene. “Chloe, when Ethan gets back from his deployment, he’s going to propose to me right on the National Mall! Everyone will be there to celebrate with us!” “You have to be my maid of honor, promise?” Now, she was in the ground, and I was standing here, the reluctant star of her favorite fantasy. My phone vibrated in my pocket. A text from the hospital’s surgical unit. Urgent. I steadied myself, pushing aside the hand that held the ring. “I have an emergency surgery tonight.” Ethan’s posture stiffened for a fraction of a second before he smoothed it over. He stood, taking my hand and forcing the ring into my palm. The metal, warm from his skin, dug painfully into my flesh. “Chloe, don’t do this.” His tone was flat. Not a request, but a statement. An order. “We’re getting married. It was Lily’s last wish.” There it was again. Lily. It was always, always about Lily. I looked down at the diamond in my hand and let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Fine.” “I’ll marry you, Ethan.” With that, I turned and pushed my way out of the crowd, leaving the sudden eruption of cheers and astonished murmurs behind me. But the voices followed me, little ghosts nipping at my heels. “Oh my God, isn’t that Major Ethan Archer? The war hero? He’s even hotter in person!” “Wait, didn’t his fiancée die years ago? Who is that?” “I think that’s her sister… Wow. Swooping in on your dead sister’s fiancé. Classy.” It was three in the morning when I finally got home. The surgery was a success, but I felt no joy, only a weariness that had settled deep into my bones. I pulled off my scrubs and stared at my pale reflection in the bathroom mirror before dialing my parents’ number. “Mom, Dad.” “Ethan and I are getting married.” A long, dead silence stretched across the line. Then, my mother’s hysterical scream. “Chloe! Have you no soul? How dare you!” 2 When I arrived at my parents’ house, the living room was in shambles. A collection of aunts and cousins were gathered, pointing at me the moment I walked in. Ethan followed close behind me. My mother’s red-rimmed eyes locked onto him. “Ethan! How could you do this to Lily’s memory? You promised you would take care of her for the rest of your life!” My aunt immediately chimed in. “Exactly! Lily’s not even cold in her grave, and you two are getting married? What will people say? Think of this family’s reputation!” Ethan looked at the floor, his voice steady. “Ma’am, Mr. Hale… marrying Chloe is what Lily wanted. It was her last wish.” “Before she passed, she said she hoped I could take her place, and take care of her sister for the rest of my life.” And with that single sentence, he nailed me to the cross of selfishness all over again. See? It wasn’t him who had a change of heart, nor was it me who stole him away. It was me, the charity case, the broken thing that needed to be “taken care of,” stepping into the spot that rightfully belonged to my sister. Everyone looked at me with a mixture of pity and disgust, as if I were some parasite, shamelessly living off the scraps of a dead girl’s legacy. Crack. The sound of the slap was sharp and clean. My mother, trembling from head to toe, pointed at me. “Chloe! Your sister was thinking of you even as she was dying, and what about you? Do you deserve it? You’re a murderer!” My cheek burned. I licked the coppery taste of blood from the corner of my mouth and finally lifted my head, my gaze calm as I looked at the twisted faces of my “family.” “She was a thief,” I said, my voice even and clear. The room fell instantly silent. My father shot to his feet, staring at me in disbelief. “What… what did you just say?” “I said, Lily was a thief.” I repeated the words, a smile spreading across my lips. “She stole my diary, found out I was in love with Ethan, and then she put on the dress I bought, used the lines I practiced in the mirror, and went to tell him she was in love with him.” “She stole the award certificate that should have been mine—first place in the National Science Scholar competition—and used my name and my work to get into the early admissions program at Johns Hopkins.” “She stole my life. She stole everything from me. Did you know that?” I turned to my parents. “Did you know that the research paper she submitted—every data point, every single equation—was the result of dozens of sleepless nights I spent in the lab?” “All you knew was how proud you were when she won, how you could boast about her to all our relatives.” “Did you know I was dragged into the dean’s office and accused of plagiarism? That I was nearly expelled?” “You didn’t know.” I looked at their stunned, speechless faces, and I laughed until tears streamed down my cheeks. “All you ever knew was your precious younger daughter. So innocent, so kind, so fragile. A perfect little angel.” “And me? I was born healthier, stronger. So I deserved to be ignored. I deserved to be her stepping stone. I deserved to give up everything for her. Even… my life.” Ten years. This was the first time I had ever said the words out loud. Everyone was frozen, including Ethan. His brow was furrowed, and for the first time, a flicker of confusion crossed his face. My mother, after the initial shock, turned deathly pale. She looked like she was remembering something, her lips trembling as she failed to form a single word. I took a deep breath and looked directly at Ethan. “Why do you think, even on her deathbed, she was so obsessed with you ‘taking care’ of me?” “Because she was guilty.” “She was afraid I would tell you the truth. She was terrified that after she was gone, you would find out from someone, anyone, what kind of person the girl you loved for all those years truly was.” In the silent living room, only my cold voice remained. That, and the sound of my mother’s choked, breaking sobs. I suddenly remembered that last afternoon in the hospital, just before Lily died. Everyone else was gone. It was just the two of us in the sterile room. She had gripped my hand, her voice as thin as thread. “Chloe, don’t save me.” “I’m begging you. Don’t donate your marrow.” Ethan was silent for a long time. Finally, he spoke, his voice raspy. “Lily… she wouldn’t lie to me.” The answer I expected. “The wedding is in three days,” I announced to the room. “Come or don’t. I don’t care.” I turned and walked out, not sparing any of them a final glance.

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Hayden Shaw came to St. Jude’s Home for Children to choose a sister. Every other girl scrambled to be seen, praying they’d be the one. I was the only one hidden away, fast asleep in a wardrobe. I thought I could escape it this time. Escape the fate of becoming a Shaw, and eventually, becoming Hayden Shaw’s wife. I thought I could finally live a life that was my own, free and happy. But when I woke up, the first thing I saw was Hayden, standing before the open wardrobe door. He smiled and asked me, “Cora, how would you like to come home with me?” 1 When Hayden Shaw’s face swam into view, my first thought was that I was still trapped in the nightmare. It wasn’t until the director’s sharp voice cut through the haze that I knew it was real. “Cora, what are you doing sleeping in there?” The fog in my head cleared. This was happening. Seeing me frozen, the director, Mrs. Davison, reached in and pulled me out of the wardrobe. The smell of mothballs and old wool clung to me. She straightened my collar, her fingers rough, and then nudged me forward, towards the Shaws. “You were asleep. Mr. Shaw was kind enough to ask us not to wake you.” Her voice was tight with an unspoken reprimand. “We’ve all been waiting for you.” Hayden stood just in front of his parents, a faint, unreadable smile on his face as he looked at me. He was different from the cold, distant Hayden I remembered. Softer. Younger. He spoke first. “Hi, Cora.” For some reason, hearing my name from his lips felt deeply, unnervingly strange. I frowned, my gaze dropping to the floor to avoid his. A question burned in my mind: they could have picked anyone else. Why wait for me? “Waiting for me? For what?” Mrs. Davison crouched down, her usual stern expression replaced by a rare, strained smile. “They want to adopt you, Cora. You’re going to have a family. A mother, a father… and a brother.” I think she was trying to be happy for me. For any child at St. Jude’s, being chosen was like winning the lottery. But Mrs. Davison didn’t know my secret. I’d lived this life before. I knew Hayden Shaw was coming today. That’s precisely why I’d hidden in the wardrobe. “Cora, sweetheart, won’t you come home with us?” Mrs. Shaw took my hand. Her touch was soft, her voice gentle. “Hayden has always wanted a little sister. You could be his sister.” The scene was a perfect, horrifying replica of the last time. The past flickered through my mind like a broken film projector. I snatched my hand back. I looked up, not at them, but at the director. “Mrs. Davison, I don’t want to be adopted by them.” A collective, sharp intake of breath filled the room. Everyone was stunned. Hayden’s reaction was the strongest. His smile vanished, his brow furrowing. “Why?” “Because I don’t want to be your sister.” Despite my rejection, no anger appeared on his face. Instead, his voice became even gentler, laced with an unnerving thread of indulgence. “Then don’t be my sister. Just come home with the Shaws. Live with us. Is that okay?” Mrs. Davison gave my sleeve a sharp tug, a silent, desperate plea. It didn’t stop me from refusing him again. “No.” I thought that would be the end of it. But when the director, flustered, asked the Shaws if they’d like to see the other girls, Hayden’s voice rang out, loud and clear. “Mom. I want her.” He looked straight at me. “Only her. She’s the one who looks the most like my sister.” 2 Last time, that was the reason he’d given, too. I looked like his dead sister. Back then, when I learned I was chosen, I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. I was taken to the Shaw’s sprawling estate, given a new name—Cora Shaw—and my very own room in their enormous house. I didn’t care that the room wasn’t truly mine. I was just grateful to have it. “Girls from the system can be… unpolished,” Mrs. Shaw had said. “Their manners aren’t fit for our world.” So, I shed my old self like a snake sheds its skin, molding myself into someone I no longer recognized. Mrs. Shaw was exacting. I was forced to practice the piano for hours upon hours every day. Even when my teacher insisted I had no natural talent, Mrs. Shaw would sit with me, a constant, smiling presence. But you can’t force a flower to bloom in barren soil. “I’m sorry, Mom. I still can’t get it right,” I’d apologize, my fingers aching. And every time, she would look at me with that same indulgent expression and soothe me. “It’s alright, darling. As long as you keep trying, you’ll be wonderful one day.” It was much later that I learned her deceased daughter had loved the piano. All of Mrs. Shaw’s affection was just her projecting a ghost onto me. I was a stand-in. I didn’t care. A drowning fish doesn’t question the purity of the water; it only gasps for a breath. Her love was my water. I would take it, clean or not. I tried harder at the piano, harder at pleasing her. We grew closer, our relationship blurring into something that felt real. Until Hayden’s engagement party. He was drugged. I was the one who stumbled into his room. When Mr. Shaw found us, the shock sent him into a fatal collapse. Mrs. Shaw slapped me across the face, her eyes blazing with a hatred I’d never seen. “I should never have brought you into this house.” Hayden just watched me, his expression unreadable. But I knew. I knew he was regretting it, too. Regretting the day he chose me to be his sister. “I don’t know what happened,” I pleaded, my voice raw. “I didn’t drug him. I swear.” No one believed me. Later, for years, during every betrayal, every public humiliation in our forced marriage, he would sneer, “You drugged your own brother to marry him. Don’t you dare play the victim now. This is your karma.” Hayden hated me. He took pleasure in shaming me, in making sure everyone in our circle knew I was beneath him. They all placed bets on how long our marriage would last. “A year, tops,” they’d whisper. “The second that baby is born, he’ll kick her to the curb.” They were all wrong. Hayden and I were tangled together for nineteen years. Even after I died, the words carved on my tombstone were: Beloved Wife of Hayden Shaw. … “Cora, tell me. Why don’t you want to be adopted by the Shaws?” After his parents left, Mrs. Davison called me into her office. I was silent for a long time before offering a weak lie. “I don’t want to leave you and everyone here.” She sighed, a heavy, tired sound, and urged me to reconsider. I knew she meant well. She wanted a better life for me. But I refused to walk that path again. I would not have anything to do with Hayden Shaw. That night, a fire broke out, and all my plans went up in smoke. 3 “Did you set the fire?” I stared at him from my hospital cot, my voice cold and flat. “No,” Hayden said, his denial swift and earnest. “The fire department investigated. It was old wiring.” He let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh. “Cora, you think I’m a monster.” In this life, we’d only met a handful of times, yet he spoke to me with a disturbing familiarity. “I just want to help you,” he said, his voice low. “If you agree to come home with me, I’ll cover all of Mrs. Davison’s medical bills.” She had been badly burned trying to get us all out. I let out a cold laugh. “Taking advantage of a tragedy. Does that make you a good person?” He didn’t try to defend himself. He just said, “Cora, you don’t have to be my sister. You can just be a foster child. Living with us.” He was persuasive, relentless in his compromise. But it only made me more suspicious. “Why are you so desperate to have me at your house?” “My mother… she’s been missing my sister a lot lately. And you look so much like her,” Hayden said. “I thought bringing you home might comfort her.” I was only half-convinced. His behavior was too strange, too intense. I pressed him. “Is that all?” He hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. “That’s all.” I didn’t want anything to do with him, but Mrs. Davison was lying in a hospital bed, her life hanging in the balance. I had no choice. On the drive to the Shaw estate, Hayden kept trying to talk to me, but I remained silent, staring out the window. He must have sensed my hostility, because his tone softened, became almost pleading. “The Shaws can give you a better life. It’s better than the group home, no matter how you look at it,” he said. “Cora, don’t be angry with me. I’m doing this for your own good.” I’m doing this for your own good… He’d said that in our last life, too. After hating me for more than a decade, his attitude had softened in my final days. But by then, the cancer was untreatable. My only companion was a small stray cat I’d taken in. One day, on a whim, Hayden came to visit me at the villa. The first thing he did was have someone throw the cat out. I’d asked him, my voice weak, “Why?” He’d looked down at me, his expression cool. “I’m doing this for your own good.” I knew then what it meant. It was never about my well-being. It was an excuse he used to satisfy his own selfish desires, his need for control. Or maybe it was just another way to torture me. He’d always been like that. Whatever I cherished, he destroyed. … As the car pulled up to the house, I saw Mrs. Shaw waiting at the front door. Hayden had called ahead. A room on the second floor had already been prepared. “Cora, this will be your room,” she said, taking my hand with a cloying familiarity. “Do you like it?” I looked down at our joined hands for a moment before pulling mine away. I was no longer the desperate, love-starved girl from my past life. “Mrs. Shaw,” I said, my voice even. “This was your daughter’s room, wasn’t it?” I gestured to the perfectly preserved space. “You’ve kept all her things. You clearly treasure them.” I met her eyes. “If I stayed in here, I might accidentally break something. I wouldn’t want to cause you any pain.” I finished, “I saw there’s a guest room downstairs. I’ll stay there.” Mrs. Shaw looked at me, about to argue. “But…” “Mom,” Hayden cut in. “If Cora wants to stay downstairs, just have the housekeeper prepare it.” I glanced at him, the one who was supposedly speaking up for me. He had no idea. The real reason I refused to stay on the second floor was because his bedroom was right next door. In our past life, before the engagement party, we’d had a harmonious relationship, or so I thought. I was a teenager with a crush. I remember Mrs. Shaw asking me, “Cora, what kind of boys do you like?” I’d looked over at Hayden, flushed and sweaty from his morning run, and smiled. “Someone like my brother.” That innocent, offhand remark later became evidence in the trial of my character. Proof that I had plotted to drug my own brother. Every time I tried to defend myself—“I didn’t drug you”—Hayden would grab me, his fingers digging into my neck. “You told my mother you liked me when you were sixteen,” he’d hiss. “You were obsessed. You drugged me to force my hand, and now you don’t have the guts to admit it?” 4 Perhaps it was being back in this house, but that night, my dreams were filled with memories of the life before. In my final days, my oncologist had suggested, “You shouldn’t be alone all the time. Call your family, your friends. Have them visit.” “I don’t have any family,” I had told her. As for friends… my best friend used to be Hayden’s fiancée, Scarlett Jensen. She returned to the country five years into my marriage with Hayden. He picked her up from the airport himself and threw a lavish ‘welcome home’ party for her. Someone deliberately recorded a video at that party and sent it to me. It showed the two of them in a dark corner, locked in a passionate kiss. It was only a few seconds long, but I watched it on a loop all night. That was the night I made a choice. I gave up on our second child, and I asked Hayden for a divorce. He asked me, “On what grounds?” I showed him the video. “Hayden, I know you were forced to marry me. But Scarlett is back now, and it looks like she’s forgiven you. Let’s divorce. We can go our separate ways.” I had asked for a divorce many times before, and he had always refused. I thought, with Scarlett’s return, he would finally agree. But Hayden just tore up the papers I’d prepared and deleted the video from my phone. … “Cora? Cora?” I woke with a gasp, my hand lashing out, connecting with a sharp crack against Hayden’s cheek. He looked at me, a boy’s face, his eyes wide with something that looked like hurt. “I heard you crying from the hall,” he said softly. “I just came in to check on you.” He turned to leave, then paused at the door. “You should get up. We’re going to be late for school.” Just like last time, the Shaws had enrolled me in Hayden’s high school. As I followed him into the classroom, someone called out, “Hey, Hayden, who’s that?” He introduced me. “This is Cora. She’s staying with my family for now.” A flicker of memory. In our past life, before everything went wrong, he always introduced me with pride. “This is my sister, Cora Shaw.” I looked at Hayden, standing just a foot away from me, and a strange realization dawned. He wasn’t the same as the boy I remembered from my first life. But he wasn’t the cruel, vengeful man he became, either. He was… something else. My heart hammered against my ribs. A terrifying thought began to form. “Hayden.” “Hayden.” Another voice called his name at the exact same moment as mine. He glanced at me, then looked past me, towards the classroom door. I turned to follow his gaze. It was Scarlett Jensen. “Hayden, wait for me after school. I need to talk to you,” she said, her eyes fixed on him. Only then did she seem to notice me standing beside him. Her expression soured instantly. She sized me up, a quick, dismissive scan from head to toe. “So you’re the girl staying at the Shaws’?” She was my best friend in my past life. I knew her tells. And right now, the hostility rolling off her was unmistakable. This was completely different. Back then, when Scarlett learned I was Hayden’s sister, she had looped her arm through mine, called me Cora, and welcomed me into her inner circle. Now, she looked at me the way she did the very last time I saw her. It had been an ugly confrontation. I had asked her, “The security footage shows only you and I went into Hayden’s room that night. I didn’t drug him. So it was you, wasn’t it?” I couldn’t understand it. She loved him so much. Why would she ruin their own engagement party? “Her name is Cora,” Hayden answered for me. Scarlett forced a tight smile, then said nothing more. Throughout the morning classes, I could feel her eyes on my back. As much as it unsettled me, I forced myself to ignore her, to focus on the words in the textbook in front of me. 5 In my past life, I was a terrible student. Mrs. Shaw never cared. In fact, the worse my grades were, the happier she seemed. “Cora is becoming more and more like my little girl,” she would say. “She never cared for books either.” A parent who truly loves their child plans for their future. What mother wishes for her daughter to be nothing more than a beautiful, empty shell? In the end, she never saw me as her daughter. I was just a toy, a comfort object to ease her grief. This time, I refused to live that way again. I wouldn’t spend the first half of my life as a substitute for a dead girl, and the second half as a useless, gilded canary, wasting away in a cage. Education was my only way out. But it wasn’t easy. Frustrated by my inability to understand the material, I pushed my chair back and stood up. Hayden, who had been talking with some friends, noticed the movement immediately. He turned to me. “Where are you going?” “The restroom,” I snapped, my patience worn thin. I remembered the girls’ restroom being perpetually crowded during breaks, but today, it was eerily empty. The moment I pushed the door open, I knew something was wrong. A group of girls inside all turned to look at me in unison. The one closest to me was Scarlett. She dropped a cigarette butt to the floor, grinding it out with her shoe. She glanced at another girl, crumpled on the wet floor and soaked with grimy water, before turning her attention to me. “Just messing around,” Scarlett said with a lazy smile. “You’re not going to tell Hayden, are you?” I looked from the cigarette to the girl on the floor. I realized then that I had never known Scarlett at all. I never knew she smoked, or that she was a bully. After a moment, I said, “Hayden and I aren’t that close.” “Really?” she asked, though her expression had already relaxed. “I thought you were living with him.” I met her gaze directly. “Living in the same house doesn’t mean we’re close.” Scarlett nodded. “Good.” With that, she and her friends filed out. Once they were gone, I looked at the girl on the floor. After a moment, I walked past her into a stall. When I came out, she was standing at the utility sink, her back to me. She was only in a thin camisole, washing her school-issued button-down shirt under the faucet. Hearing the door, she quickly wrung out the shirt and slipped the damp fabric back on. Head down, she made a dash for the exit. As she passed me, I reached out and grabbed her arm. The girl looked up at me, her eyes wide with confusion. We stared at each other for a long moment before I remembered her name. Leah. I took off my own cardigan and pushed it into her hands. “Your shirt is wet. Wear this.” Leah ducked her head, mumbling, “No, it’s okay.” “It’s see-through,” I said bluntly. “You can see your camisole right through it.” Her ears turned a deep shade of red. She clutched her arms across her chest, hesitating for a long moment before finally taking my cardigan. As Leah went into a stall to change, I let out a quiet breath of relief. I wasn’t the type to get involved. But I remembered her. In my last life, not long after I transferred here, Leah had jumped from the roof of the school. The official explanation was family problems and academic pressure. But seeing this now, I suspected there was more to her story. It was a life… a young life. “Thank you.” Leah’s voice was soft when she came out, now wearing my sweater. The words “you’re welcome” were on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them. An idea was forming. “You get good grades, right?” I asked her. I remembered that before she died, she had been first in our year. She looked surprised, then nodded. “They’re okay.” “Leah,” I said, glancing at the cardigan she was wearing. “I’ll lend you my sweater. In return, you can tutor me.” I didn’t give her a chance to refuse. “After the next pop quiz, they’re rearranging the seating chart. We’ll be desk mates. It’ll be easier for you to help me.” Leah hesitated for a long time before finally agreeing. After school, Hayden insisted I ride home with him. The moment I got in the car, Scarlett ran up to the window. “Hayden, can we talk?” I had no interest in their drama and tried to tune them out. But the parking lot was quiet, and Scarlett’s voice was high and emotional, carrying on the wind. It drifted right into the car. “Is it because of her? Is Cora why you’re breaking up with me?” she demanded. “Hayden, we’ve been together for so long. The minute she shows up, you end things. What other reason could there be?” Hayden’s voice was weary. “It’s not about anyone else, Scarlett. I just… I suddenly realized that what I feel for you isn’t romantic. I’ve always seen you as a sister.” In that instant, everything clicked into place. I finally understood why Scarlett had been watching me all day, why she saw me as a threat.

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1 To save me from an invader, my parents traded their lives to the System. After they died, our assets were frozen. My brother, now hating me, was diagnosed with leukemia. I worked as a movie corpse to pay for his treatment. After ten coffin scenes, I finally had enough for one chemo session. Then I saw my “dead” parents taking a family photo with Tiana, my lookalike. My mother suggested inviting me, but my healthy brother objected, “This was her punishment. We’ll tell her when she’s no longer a threat. Besides, she’s bad luck now.” Clutching the money, I cried laughing. My phone buzzed: “Get treatment or you’ll die, Willow!” … “I’m not getting treatment,” I whispered. I shut off my phone and sat on the curb, the world fading to black around me. The pain, sharp and splintering like broken bones, seized my body again. Fumbling, I pulled out the painkillers I always carried, swallowing more than a dozen pills until the agony receded to a dull throb. My phone chimed. I opened it to see that their family portrait was trending online. Though their faces were artfully blurred, I knew it was them. The parents and the brother who had once cherished me. The sense of familiarity was a phantom limb, an ache I couldn’t shake. The caption read: ‘Billionaire and family dote on their beloved princess for a stunning family portrait!’ I had endured the agony of bone cancer without a single tear, but those words… a wave of grief so profound washed over me, and I finally broke. My brother’s call came through. “Where’s the money you earned today? Get it to me now! I heard you were in a coffin ten times. I want every single cent!” “Okay,” I answered, my voice flat as I swallowed the bitterness. My coldness must have unsettled him. “Don’t try anything funny,” he warned. “Every dollar you earn for the rest of your life belongs to me.” After hanging up, I drifted to the bus stop in a daze. As I waited, a luxury car glided past. It was only there for a few seconds, but through the window, I saw it all. My mother, her face glowing with affection, fastened a necklace around Tiana’s neck. My father stood beside them, clapping and smiling. Tiana sat between them… a perfect little princess. Before she had taken over my life, I was the princess. I was the one they had adored. In fact, until today, I had believed it was still true. I thought my parents had sacrificed their lives for me, that my brother’s hatred was just a mask for his unbearable grief. But it was all a lie. The person they loved was Tiana. For her, they had constructed this elaborate, cruel theater to deceive me, to punish me, to ensure I would live forever drowning in guilt for their ‘deaths.’ The pain was coming more frequently now. I stumbled back to my dingy walk-up, collapsing to the floor in a tight, agonized ball. I fumbled with the pill bottle, but just as I was about to shake some out, the door flew open. My brother was there, and he slapped the bottle from my hand, sending pills scattering across the dirty floor. “What’s with the act? If you want to sleep, go to your room! Don’t lie here like a corpse. Or have you gotten too used to the role?” I wrapped my arms around myself, my body convulsing in silent, excruciating pain. He kicked me, his voice laced with rage. “Hey! If you’re going to play dead, don’t do it on my doorstep! Go back to your coffin! You’re such bad luck!” When I didn’t move, he gave me one last, vicious kick and slammed the door shut. A moment later, the neighbor, Mrs. Gable, came out to take out her trash. She saw me and gasped. “Oh my God! Honey, your nose is bleeding!” 2 I scrambled to scoop a handful of the scattered pills from the floor and shoved them into my mouth. The door creaked open again. My brother stood there, his eyes wide with shock at the sight of my bloodied face and the small pool of crimson on the floor. He spoke, his concern awkward and forced. “What the hell happened? Why’s your nose bleeding?” The pills began to work their magic, dulling the sharpest edges of the pain. I used the wall to haul myself to my feet and stumbled inside. “It’s nothing.” Mrs. Gable’s eyes were filled with worry. Before she left, she called into the apartment, “Young man, you should take your sister to a hospital! She doesn’t look well at all!” I slumped onto a stool, closing my eyes and waiting for the world to stop spinning. My brother crossed his arms, studying me with a detached curiosity. “Willow, have you been playing dead for too long? The more I look at you, the more you look like you’re actually dying.” He smirked. “You look more like a patient than I do.” “Now, where’s the money you earned today? Hand it over. I need to get my prescription.” I pulled the wad of cash from my pocket—my payment for ten descents into a wooden box—and placed it in his outstretched hand. He slapped it against his other palm and turned to leave, then paused at the door, his gaze cold. “Don’t go in tomorrow. This is enough for a while. You wouldn’t want to actually die playing the part.” A bitter smile twisted my lips. I couldn’t tell if it was a flicker of concern or just more of his biting sarcasm. I must have dozed off, slumped against the wall, because the ping of my phone jolted me awake. The extras’ group chat was blowing up. “OMG! Who is that CEO brother?! He rented a luxury yacht for his sister for a whole month!” “I know, right?! He’s the best! He was so happy today he was literally throwing money off the deck! I’d be a janitor on that yacht for a month just to pick up cash all day!” … I scrolled up and found the video that had sent them into a frenzy. I pressed play, and the blood in my veins turned to ice. My brother’s voice, unmistakable and cheerful, filled the air. “Take it! This money feels tainted anyway! It’s the corpse cash my dead-beat sister earned!” “If I wasn’t faking being sick, I wouldn’t even touch this stuff.” With a grand gesture, he flung my hard-earned money into the sea. Then he turned and placed a diamond tiara, worth millions, on Tiana’s head. My body shook violently. I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a sob. He had thrown away my blood and sweat. To pay for his ‘leukemia,’ I hadn’t spent a single dollar on myself. I stretched one meal from the set into three. My clothes were patched and washed so thin they were nearly transparent. The only money I had ever spent was for the hospital visit that had diagnosed my bone cancer. And even then, I hadn’t dared to start treatment. The money was for him. And now I knew. He thought my money was tainted. Tears streamed down my face, my shoulders shaking with silent, racking sobs. The emotional shock sent a fresh wave of agony through my bones. Overwhelmed, I pitched forward and the world went black. When I woke up, I was in a hospital. It was Mrs. Gable. She had been worried about me, and after wrestling with her thoughts, she had decided to check on me. She’d found me unconscious on the floor and rushed me here. Her voice was tight with concern. “Honey! How could you, at your age…” Just then, my brother burst through the door, pointing an accusatory finger at me. “Willow! What the hell are you doing, causing trouble? You get a little sick and I have to come running? I’m busy! You’re messing up my plans!” 3 I stared at him for a moment, a bitter smile touching my lips. A complete stranger could see that I was unwell, but my own brother, who saw me every day, was blind to it. The image of him laughing as he crowned Tiana flashed in my mind, and a single tear traced a path to my temple. His genuine, adoring smile would never be for me again. Mrs. Gable opened her mouth to tell him the truth, but I gripped her hand and shook my head. She reluctantly fell silent. As she left, she couldn’t stop herself from saying, “Young man, stop being so hard on your sister. Just be good to her.” Ethan ignored her completely, striding over to my bed. He glared at me, then sat down with a sigh, as if forced. “Willow, I have something to tell you. Try not to get too excited.” I kept my head turned away, my eyes closed. He didn’t care. He continued, “Mom and Dad aren’t dead. They’re coming back tomorrow.” His words hit me like a physical blow. I shot up in bed, my mouth opening and closing, unable to form a word. They were coming back? They hadn’t abandoned me. Of course. I was their precious daughter, the one they had cherished. How could they discard me for someone like Tiana? A genuine laugh escaped my lips, a terrifying sound coming from my pale, gaunt face. Ethan recoiled in disgust and left. Even with the searing pain knitting through my bones, my heart felt light. I ripped the IV from my hand and ran home. The reflection in the mirror startled me. My complexion was a ghostly, ashen white. My parents would be so worried if they saw me like this. I dug out a jar from under my bed, filled with years of saved-up coins. Pennies, dimes, nickels. I clutched a handful and ran to a dollar store, buying the cheapest, brightest red lipstick I could find. The next morning, I was up at dawn. I applied a thick layer of lipstick and dabbed some on my cheeks for color. I checked myself in the mirror again and again, satisfied that the ghastly pallor was hidden. Then, I sat by the door to wait. The hands on the clock spun, and waves of pain washed over me, each one a trial. Finally, as dusk settled, they arrived. My mother was dressed in a stunning gown, my father in a tailored suit. I looked down at my own tattered clothes and felt a pang of insecurity. As tears welled in my eyes, I stepped forward and whispered, “Mom…” She wrinkled her nose and took several steps back, her eyes filled with undisguised distaste. “Willow, it’s natural for a girl to want to look beautiful, but you don’t have to try so hard. It’s just laughable.” I forced down the lump in my throat, telling myself, It’s just because we’ve been apart. In a few days, it will be like it was before. My mother continued, “We came to take you home today.” “But, I have one condition.” I nodded eagerly. To spend my last days with them, I would agree to anything. She gestured toward the door. “Tiana, sweetheart, you can come in.” A moment later, Ethan walked in, leading Tiana by the hand. I was confused, until my mother spoke again. “It must be strange for you, seeing Tiana, who looks exactly like you.” “There can only be one face like this in the world.” “So…” She placed a small, sharp fruit knife on the table between us. “Ruin your face.” For a second, the world stopped. I stumbled back, my mind blank. What… What did she mean? My father’s cold voice pulled me from my stupor. 4 “Willow? Did you hear your mother’s condition?” “Just do as she says. Even with a ruined face, you’ll still be our precious daughter.” So, that was it. This was the reason they had come. Ethan picked up the knife and pressed it into my hand. “Don’t hesitate. You love Mom and Dad, don’t you? You want to live with them again, right?” He looked away, mumbling, “If you do this, I’ll… I’ll admit you’re still my sister.” Ha. He couldn’t even bring himself to say it clearly. I looked at them—the family who had once adored me, now cornering me like a pack of wolves for a stranger. A wild, unhinged laugh tore from my throat. The cheap lipstick smeared with my tears, running down my cheeks in grotesque, crimson rivers, mocking my foolish hope. I turned away, wiping my eyes. “You don’t have to do this. I’m going to die soon. Then, there will only be one Tiana.” Their expressions instantly soured. Ethan was the first to explode. “Willow! What’s this about dying? Is this your excuse to get out of it? You think playing a corpse makes you an expert on death?” Even my quiet father couldn’t hold back his anger. “If you don’t want to do it, just say so! Stop playing these manipulative games! You’re a young woman. What kind of person talks about dying all the time?” “Fine! Let there be two identical faces in the world. We’ll just disown you!” At his words, Tiana burst into tears, as if she were the one being wronged. “It’s all my fault! I shouldn’t have taken over her body. Daddy, Mommy, please don’t be angry!” “Let me be the one to do it! Let me ruin my face so there’s only one Willow!” She snatched the knife and raised it to her own cheek. But before the blade could touch her skin, Ethan lunged, grabbing the knife. Blood dripped from his hand. He threw the knife at my feet. “Tiana! You’re not the one in the wrong!” My mother rushed to Tiana’s side, fussing over her. “Oh, my darling girl, why would you do that? What if you had really hurt yourself?” I stood outside their circle of four, the villain in their story. Ethan glared at me, then suddenly lunged forward, snatching the fruit knife from the floor. He tackled me, and a searing line of fire ripped across my cheek. The fall sent a jolt of agony through my already ravaged body. The sharp, repeated agony of the knife on my face, combined with the deep, grinding pain in my bones, was more than I could bear. But I didn’t struggle. I didn’t reach for my pills. My mother stood by, directing him. “Ethan, a few more times. Make sure it’s completely unrecognizable. Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of Willow at home. After this, she won’t have to suffer another day.” He only stopped when my face was a bloody, unrecognizable mess. They all waited for me to get up, but I could only lie there, convulsing. They stared, their brows furrowed in confusion. Ethan finally nudged me with his foot. “Hey! Get up. You were always talking about Mom’s cooking. They brought ingredients to make you a meal at home.” Suddenly, there was a frantic banging on the door. After a few loud thumps, the door burst open, and Mrs. Gable rushed in. She saw me lying in a pool of my own blood, my body emaciated, and she let out a horrified shriek, her eyes wide with terror. “My God! What have you done?! The poor girl has bone cancer! She only has days to live! Couldn’t you just let her die in peace?!”

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Since kindergarten, Charles and I had never gone more than three days without seeing each other. But the moment our families started talking about our engagement, he vanished. For an entire year, he ghosted me. He blocked me on everything. His company security had a standing order: no solicitors, and absolutely no Arabella Fairchild. If I so much as appeared in his line of sight, he would turn on his heel and walk away. Eventually, even his friends couldn’t stand it anymore. One of them, Leo, arranged for me to see him. But when I arrived, Charles’s cold voice sliced through the crack in the private room door. “She’s just a little plaything who comes running whenever I snap my fingers.” “No ambition, no personality… Being engaged to her would be beneath me.” 1 My hand froze on the doorknob. I couldn’t bring myself to push it open. Leo, standing behind me, quickly covered my ears. “Bella, don’t listen to him. He’s drunk, he doesn’t know what he’s saying!” “I’ll go give him a piece of my mind!” He made a move to shove the door open, but I grabbed his sleeve and shook my head. All this time, all I’d wanted was an answer. Why was he so violently opposed to our engagement? He’d made it a public spectacle, the talk of our entire social circle. I had looked up to him as my protector, my big brother, for seventeen years. But he wasn’t my real brother. We both had to get married eventually. Why couldn’t it be me? Now, I finally had my answer. It wasn’t that I wasn’t good enough, or pretty enough. It was that he had only ever seen me as a pet. A little creature he’d raised from childhood. Something to amuse him? To pass the time? Or maybe just something pretty to have around. Leo dabbed at my tears with a handkerchief, muttering, “Damn it, Carter and the guys shouldn’t have… this was a terrible idea…” “It’s okay, Leo.” I took a deep, shaky breath. “Can you just take me home? I don’t want to see him anymore.” “Yeah, of course…” Just as we turned to leave, the door swung open from the inside. We froze, staring at Carter, who was standing there, equally surprised. He didn’t know what had just happened. He just grabbed my arm and pulled me inside. The whole point of this dinner was for them to convince Charles to make up with me. Carter sat me down in the chair directly across from Charles. “Come on, man,” Carter said. “Even if you’re fighting with your family, you can’t take it out on Bella.” “We’ve all known her since we were kids. Just talk to her. Don’t let your pride cause some stupid misunderstanding.” Charles hadn’t looked up once since I entered the room. But the veins on the back of the hand gripping his glass were stark and white. Leo followed me in, shaking his head and trying to signal to Carter to shut up. Before Leo could pull me away, Charles finally spoke. His voice was low and tight. “Arabella, why can’t you ever just listen?” “Didn’t I tell you we shouldn’t see each other until my grandfather and my parents change their minds?” “Why do you have to be so damn stubborn?” I stared at my lap, the words lodged in my throat. The air in the room was thick with tension. The last time I’d seen him this angry was when one of his college friends—a guy he actually liked—had asked me out. Leo sighed and came over, gently stroking my hair. He then herded the other guys out of the room, leaving Charles and me alone. 2 Charles threw back a mouthful of whiskey, his frustration palpable. “Bella, can’t you have some self-respect?” “I told you, I’m not interested in you. I have never, not once, looked at you as a woman.” “Instead of clinging to me all the time, why don’t you do something to improve yourself?” “All you ever do is orbit around men…” “Are you that pathetic?” “When I take over the company for real, I’ll be traveling constantly for meetings. I can’t just drag you along with me everywhere.” I felt like I’d been plunged into an icy sea. A cold numbness spread through me, stealing the strength from my limbs, the words from my mouth. So this is how he saw me. After all these years. “So just be a good girl and stay away from me. The old man will probably give up on this engagement idea soon enough.” “I understand,” I whispered. “And you’ll stop bothering Leo and the others to track me down?” “I’ll stop.” A slideshow of my life flashed through my mind. I used to cherish those memories like precious jewels. Now, I saw how ridiculous I’d been. I had ignored how his patience with me had worn thinner and thinner since high school. I had ignored the undisguised disdain in his eyes when he looked at my clothes, my style. I had ignored the first thing he said when he found out his friend had asked me out: “Someone actually likes her?” … I lifted my head and looked at him, my gaze clear and steady. “Charles. Thank you for saving me when I was a little girl.” “I’ll learn my lesson now. I promise, I will never bother you again.” With that, I stood up and walked out, and I didn’t look back. 3 I flipped on the lights in the villa. As always, it was empty. Silent. My parents were perpetually away, and my grandfather lived a quiet life of self-cultivation in the mountains. Charles’s mom once told me that from the day I was born, I was raised by a single nanny. When I was three, the nanny went out for groceries and forgot to close the front door. I wandered out of the house and fell in the middle of the road. Charles, who was playing in his yard next door, heard my crying and carried me back to his house. For the next fifteen years, I grew up trailing behind him. I followed him to the same elementary school, the same middle school, even the same university. When I was bullied for being quiet and withdrawn, Charles was the one who stood up for me. He taught me how to protect myself. When I thought about it, Charles had been in my life more than my own parents. I depended on him too much. So when he first started avoiding me, I panicked. I searched for him everywhere, feeling like my entire world had become a terrifying, empty void. A year isn’t a long time. But it was harder than the fifteen years that came before it. I sat at my computer, staring blankly at the acceptance email for the foreign exchange program. My therapist said a change of scenery would help. New hobbies to distract me. I had wanted to tell Charles… A bitter laugh escaped me. He was probably dying for me to get as far away as possible. When I left, I only sent a text to my parents. Not that they would notice, anyway. … Landing in Italy, I fumbled my way through the paperwork and renting an apartment. It wasn’t as hard as I’d imagined. While waiting for the semester to start, I traveled, exploring nearby cities. Just as my therapist had said, getting away really did change my perspective. And my habits. After being pickpocketed three times and harassed more times than I could count, I decided to learn Krav Maga. There was no one to protect me here. I had to learn to protect myself. 4 Two months into the semester in Italy, I got a sudden call from Leo. “Bella! You went to Italy? Why didn’t you tell us? We only found out because we ran into one of your classmates.” “Yeah, I just wanted a change of scenery, clear my head. I’ll be back in a few months, don’t worry.” “So how are you doing? Is your place safe?” “Everything’s great. It’s perfectly safe.” “Good, good. Hey, maybe you should give your brother… uh, Charles… a call? He knows some people over there.” “No, that’s okay. I’m fine on my own. No need to bother anyone.” “Alright then. Well, if you need anything, call me or… uh… him.” Back in the Sterling Corporation office, Leo waited until he heard the click on the other end before hanging up. “She’s got some nerve,” Charles muttered, flicking a lighter open and closed, his face a dark thundercloud. “Dude, you were the one who told her to get lost,” Leo said, sprawling lazily on the sofa and glancing at a copy of Arabella’s exchange application. “Telling her to get lost doesn’t mean she can’t send a text or make a phone call.” “Oh, for God’s sake, Charles, check your own block list. You were the one who said you had to make it look convincing and blocked her on everything. How was she supposed to tell you?” “If I were her, I wouldn’t bother with you either,” Leo grumbled, rolling his eyes. He was Charles’s childhood friend and had watched Arabella grow up too. He knew, more or less, about the situation with her family. Parents who were never there, a kid who barely spoke to anyone but clung to Charles like a lifeline. But Charles didn’t have romantic feelings for her. Now that she was far away, he was clearly worried sick, but too damn proud to admit it. What a mess. Let them sort out their own drama, he thought. After Leo left, Charles rubbed his temples. There was a knot of irritation in his chest that he couldn’t loosen. It was even worse than the time he’d discovered her art studio was filled with dozens of portraits of him. The two family patriarchs were still pressuring them to get engaged. Bella was just a junior in college. A kid who’d never even been on a date. What did she know about any of this? Charles scrolled through his phone. After a long hesitation, he unblocked the contact labeled “Little Sister.” Then he buzzed his secretary, Lina. “Mr. Sterling, you wanted to see me.” “Bella went to Italy by herself.” A flicker of a triumphant smile crossed Lina’s lips before she quickly suppressed it. “That just proves that my ‘tough love’ approach worked,” she said smoothly. “Miss Fairchild has been without guidance her whole life. No one ever corrected her when she was wrong.” “She’s a junior in college and her world still revolves around you. What kind of future can she have like that?” “With girls like her, who have no sense of self, you have to use harsh words. Otherwise, she’ll never learn to stand on her own two feet.” Lina smiled sweetly. “Besides, her going abroad doesn’t necessarily mean she’s making progress. She could just be copying a scene from a romance novel, playing hard to get.” “I’m a woman, too. I know all about these little games.” “To cure her of this… dependency, you have to maintain your distance.” Charles looked thoughtful. “But she’s never been anywhere far on her own…” “Mr. Sterling, she’s a college junior. She’s not a child. I was younger than her when I went off to college in a strange city. It’s not that hard. Girls don’t need to be coddled so much.” On second thought, she had a point. Maybe Bella had just seen so few men in her life that she’d mistaken her sibling-like affection for him for romantic love. It was probably for the best to let her fend for herself for a while. He told Lina to cancel the plane ticket to Italy he had just booked and turned his attention back to his work. 5 Bang. Bang. Bang. “Perfetto!” I nodded to the instructor, set down the M1 rifle, and rubbed my wrists. My marksmanship was getting better. I packed up my things in silence, trying to clear my head. I had my combat class this afternoon and needed to get home early tonight. Otherwise, I’d run into that obnoxious neighbor again. Just as I reached the door, a tall Asian man walked toward me. I kept my head down, moving to the side to let him pass. But he stopped directly in front of me. “Excuse me, are you Miss Arabella Fairchild?” he asked in fluent, unaccented English. “Yes, and you are…?” I looked up, curious. The man before me was dressed in a bespoke suit, easily six-foot-three, and radiated an aura of command. But the moment our eyes met, that intimidating pressure vanished. His eyes were a deep, startling blue. “My name is Dominic Moretti. I’m a friend of Charles’s.” “Oh… hello.” “Charles told me you were studying here alone. He was worried, so he asked me to look out for you.” “The apartment you’re in isn’t the safest. I’ve arranged another place for you. Would you like to move?” “You can call him and confirm, if you like.” Dominic gestured for me to follow him, and we sat down at the café next door. He took out his phone and dialed. After a brief exchange, he handed the phone to me with a gentlemanly grace. “Bella.” “Hi.” “Dominic is from the Moretti family. We have some business dealings. He’ll arrange a place for you to stay. You can ask him for help with anything you need.” I took a steadying breath. Hearing that familiar voice felt like stepping back in time, to before he started avoiding me. Maybe it was the time, or the distance, or maybe the year of withdrawal had finally worked. I wasn’t as heartbroken as I thought I’d be. “Okay, I understand. Thank you.” There was a slight pause on the other end. “But don’t be a leech and latch onto him. Learn to be independent. Show some progress, you understand?” “I understand.” After hanging up, I returned the phone to Dominic with both hands. Then, I obediently followed him to his car. Since they were business partners, Charles must have already offered Dominic something in return for this favor. For my own safety in a foreign country, I wasn’t going to be stubborn. 6 In the car, Dominic made a call and arranged for someone to pack up my things. Then, he took me out for a proper Italian dinner. An hour later, the driver pulled the car through the gates of a sprawling estate. “Miss Fairchild, after you.” “Thank you, Mr. Moretti.” As I stepped out of the car, I saw a butler and several maids waiting for us. Dominic gestured for me to follow him inside. “You don’t have to call me Mr. Moretti. You were seven years old the last time I saw you, at the Sterling’s house.” I looked up at him, puzzled. “You and Charles were playing hide-and-seek. You ran right into my leg and fell down and started crying.” Dominic remembered it vividly. He’d been very struck by her. He and his father were visiting the Sterlings. The moment they walked in the door, a little white puffball had collided with him. Most kids that age would have wailed. But little Arabella just sat there on the floor, rubbing her nose, fat tears rolling silently down her cheeks. Before he could even say anything, the little puffball wiped her own tears, whispered to herself, “Bella’s okay, be good,” and then scrambled up and ran off. Combined with the file his assistant had given him this morning… She probably cried because no one was there to comfort her. Charles was just a nine-year-old kid himself, and the Sterlings were too busy to pay much attention to the neighbor’s child. At the time, Dominic had thought to himself, If no one wants this kid, I should just take her back with me. He never imagined that over a decade later, that childhood whim would actually come true. 7 We made our way to the second floor. At the top of the stairs, a door to the right was open. Inside, a man and two maids were unpacking my luggage. The man saw us and came out to greet us. “Mr. Moretti, Miss Fairchild.” “Sir, I thought we were taking her to the south-side flat. Why the change to your estate?” Hearing this, I looked at Dominic as well. The tall man rubbed his nose. “Oh, my cousin is coming to stay there for a while. I had to put Miss Fairchild here for the time being.” “Ah, I see.” … The days that followed were peaceful. Dominic even cleared out a space for a small art studio for me in the third-floor library. When I didn’t have class, I would paint. Dominic was often in the library as well, working. Sometimes he would sit beside me and watch, joking that he was collecting the early works of a future master. When he found out I was learning marksmanship and combat, he volunteered to be my coach. He noticed that my wardrobe consisted entirely of simple, athletic wear, and had a high-end designer send over a collection of perfectly coordinated outfits. He had excellent taste. I never knew I could look so beautiful. I thought my life would continue on this tranquil path. Until one day, I noticed a shift in the atmosphere of the estate. The butler knocked on my door. “Miss Fairchild, we will be conducting a deep cleaning of the estate. We’ll need you to stay at a hotel for a few days, perhaps a week.” “The driver and a maid will accompany you, so your daily routine will not be disturbed.” I traced the edge of the doorframe with my finger. After a moment’s hesitation, I couldn’t help but ask, “Will… Dominic be staying at the hotel too?” This feeling… My heart sank. It was horribly familiar. Was Dominic tired of me, too? After only three months? “Sir is… going on a business trip. He will come and pick you up personally when he returns.” I clenched my fists, forcing down the sour feeling rising in my throat. “Okay.” “When do we leave?” “Whenever you are ready.” I told him I’d just change my clothes and then closed the door. A bitter laugh escaped me. It’s fine. It’s not the first time. Thinking back on the last three months with Dominic, I sometimes felt a strange kinship with him, like I had met one of my own kind. His small, compulsive habits, the way he understood my paintings… Whatever. Maybe he really was just busy. I slung a backpack over my shoulder and went downstairs. The maids were almost all gone. Only the butler and the driver were waiting for me by the door. A ridiculous thought popped into my head. What if Dominic went bankrupt? I couldn’t help but find a sliver of dark humor in the thought, and then promptly choked on my own saliva. I motioned to the butler and hurried to the kitchen for a glass of water. I still didn’t know the estate very well; it wasn’t a castle, but it was far from small. After drinking the water, I passed by a room with the door slightly ajar. I heard the faint sound of shattering glass from inside. Didn’t they say everyone was gone? Maybe it was one of Dominic’s pets? A cat or a dog? It couldn’t be a person… Curiosity killed the cat. I went back to the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and returned to the half-open door. I pushed it open. Behind the door was a staircase leading down. A basement? The lights along the stairs were on, and the walls were adorned with beautiful murals. Holding my phone in one hand and the knife in the other, I slowly descended. At the bottom was another, more ornate door. I thought about turning back. What if it was dangerous? But just as I was about to leave, I heard a familiar sound. It was just a muffled grunt, but I recognized it. It was Dominic’s voice. I turned back and pulled the door open. Slumped on the floor, amidst the shards of a broken wine bottle, was him. 8 Dominic was clutching a piece of glass in his right hand. His left hand was a bloody mess from where he’d been punching the wall. I hesitated, torn between running away and my stupid bleeding heart. I settled on a cowardly compromise: I stayed in the doorway and called his name. “Dominic? Are you okay?” His body went rigid, every muscle tensing. It was as if he was shocked to hear another person’s voice. He turned and looked at me. “Bella? How did you find this place…? Didn’t the butler take you away?” Dominic forced a smile, the same gentle smile he always wore, but it didn’t reach his eyes. I could see his left hand trembling. I debated for a few moments, regretting that I’d called out to him. “I’ll go now. I won’t disturb you. Just… make sure you take care of your hand.” I was about to close the door when I heard him whisper, a desperate plea: “Don’t go…” “What?” “I won’t hurt you. Don’t be afraid.” “I just… I had a nightmare. I can’t sleep. I’m scared.” “Bella, can you just… stay with me for a little while?”

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The day of my wedding, my brother ruined my dress. He stormed into the bridal suite and emptied a glass of red wine right down the front of it. “Chloe, are you sick?” he spat, his voice shaking with rage. “You know how Ava feels about Caleb. What is all this? This whole spectacle, just to rub it in her face?” My fiancé, Caleb, stood behind him, leaning against the doorframe, his face a mask of cold indifference. “I’ll give you two choices,” Caleb said, his voice low and steady. “One, you walk down that aisle in the stained dress and we get this over with.” He paused, letting the cruelty of it sink in. “Two, you go to Ava right now and apologize. You fix what you broke, you make her feel better. If you can manage that, I’ll tell everyone the wedding is postponed.” I didn’t choose either. I chose a third path. I walked out in that ruined gown, stood before our family and friends, and I called off the wedding. My brother, my fiancé, my sister… I was done. I wanted none of them. But later, long after I had left, I heard the stories. The heirs to Northwood’s two most powerful families had lost their minds. They were scouring the globe, trying to hire the world’s most brilliant designers, all for one impossible task: to repair a wedding dress stained with wine and memory. 1 When Ethan burst into the suite, I had just finished putting on the dress. It had been my mother’s final design, the one she poured the last of her strength into, a masterpiece I had treasured for a decade. I hadn’t even had a chance to see myself in the mirror before the man who shared my face kicked the door open. “Chloe, what is wrong with you?” he yelled. “I warned you! How many times did I tell you not to go through with this circus?” He stomped toward me, his face contorted. “Do you have any idea how much you’re hurting her? Ava’s been crying her eyes out all morning because of you. Is this what you wanted?” His words were a physical blow. The flicker of joy I’d felt seeing him, just for a second, died. Of course. It was always about Ava. The weight of the dress, the intricate beading and layers of silk, suddenly felt like a cage. It was my wedding day. A day for peace, for promises. Not for this. I took a shallow breath, forcing myself to stay calm. I wouldn’t trade insults with him, not today. “Ethan, can we please not fight?” I said, my voice quiet. “Not today. It’s my wedding day. I just want to be happy.” His face darkened. “Happy?” He took another step, invading my space. “Can you stop being so selfish for one second? It’s just a wedding. Is it more important than Ava’s feelings?” He was practically pleading, but there was an edge of accusation in his tone that made my skin crawl. “She is so fragile, Chloe. She’s heartbroken, but she still wanted to wish you and Caleb the best. All she asked—the only thing she asked—was for you to tone it down. A small family dinner would have been perfect. Why do you always have to be so stubborn?” His entitlement, his complete blindness to my own feelings, made my hands tremble. The carefully constructed calm shattered. “The person getting married is me,” I shot back, my voice rising. “What is so wrong with me wanting a real wedding? Who cares if Ava is sad? Why am I the one who always has to pay for her emotions?” “Don’t you talk about her like that!” he roared. “Ava is your sister! It’s your job to look out for her, to be the bigger person!” A hot, dizzying rage washed over me. “She is your sister, not mine! My mother only had one daughter!” “Shut up!” The cold liquid hit my face first, then cascaded down my hair, a river of dark red over the pure white silk of my dress. For a second, we both froze. The world went silent. Ethan looked down at the empty wine glass in his hand as if he’d never seen it before. The rational part of him seemed to flicker back to life, his hand starting to shake. “Chlo… Chloe, I didn’t—” He fumbled for a napkin on the vanity, scrambling to wipe my face, but I flinched away. I was numb. Like a ghost in my own body, I looked down at the ugly, dark stain blooming across the bodice of my mother’s last gift to me. Wine was still dripping from the ends of my hair. Ethan, probably realizing how pathetic this looked, tried again, pressing the napkin to my forehead. “Honestly, Ethan, why bother?” A new voice, laced with contempt, cut through the tension. Caleb was still in the doorway, a cigarette dangling from his lips, a cruel smirk on his face. I saw then that he wasn’t even wearing his tuxedo. He had on a casual jacket over a white t-shirt. On the chest was a faded, hand-painted sun—Ava’s birthday gift to him last year. 2 He tilted his head, a soft, mocking laugh escaping his lips as he took in my ruined appearance. “You really thought you could pull this off, didn’t you, Chloe?” he said, smoke curling from his nostrils. “You thought charming my parents meant you could control my life? Dream on. You can play all the games you want, but you’ll never be half the woman Ava is.” The pure hatred in his eyes was almost comical. Our families had been planning this since we were kids. Not once, not a single time, had he ever said he didn’t want it. Even after he started orbiting Ava, treating her with a tenderness he never showed me, he never once mentioned breaking the engagement. The wedding had been his parents’ idea. They were tired of waiting. When Ava heard the news, she’d thrown a fit, refusing to eat. Ethan and Caleb had been beside themselves with worry, both of them ignoring my calls to comfort her. The last time I’d managed to get Caleb on the phone, I’d asked him straight out: “Caleb, do you even want to marry me?” There was a long silence. Then, in the background, I heard Ava’s tearful voice, small and wounded. “Caleb? Who is that? Is it… is it Chloe?” He’d finally snapped. “God, this is so annoying. It’s been decided, okay? What’s the point in asking? Just stop calling me!” His father had assured me everything was fine. He would handle the arrangements, and he would talk to Caleb. Looking at him now, I realized what “talking to Caleb” meant. His father must have laid into him, and this was his petty revenge. A dry laugh escaped my lips. I took the napkin from Ethan’s limp hand and calmly wiped the wine from my face. “Chloe! Chloe, is Caleb here yet? The coordinator needs you both for the processional… Oh my God.” My maid of honor, Maya, skidded to a halt in the doorway. Her eyes widened in disbelief, darting from my stained dress to the two men standing there like vultures. She understood instantly. “You bastards! Are you hurting her again?” She lunged for Caleb, nails out, but I caught her arm just in time. Maya’s dad was a senior VP at Caleb’s family company. It wasn’t worth it. Nothing about this was worth it. Caleb, however, seemed to misread the gesture. He saw me standing between him and Maya, and for a fleeting moment, a flicker of confusion crossed his face. Then his expression hardened again, and his voice dropped. “I’ll give you two choices,” he repeated. “One, you wear the damn dress and we get this over with.” “Two, you go apologize to Ava. You fix this. If you do, I’ll postpone. I’ll even find someone to make you a new dress. Your call.” He said it was a choice, but his face was a taunt. He was daring me to fight, to scream, to make a scene. Tears of rage streamed down Maya’s face. She looked like she wanted to kill him. But me? I felt nothing. The anger had burned out, leaving behind an unnerving calm. I looked him straight in the eye. “No, thank you, Mr. Thorne. My mother—the world-renowned designer Elena Vance—made this dress for me before she died. I don’t think you can find anyone better than her.” Thud. Behind me, Ethan stumbled back into the vanity. I glanced over my shoulder and met his wide, shocked eyes. His lips trembled, but no words came out. He had forgotten. I turned back to Caleb. “So, your two choices? I don’t want either of them.” 3 I walked down the aisle alone, carrying my own bouquet. At the altar, only Caleb’s parents were waiting. My own parents were gone, lost years ago. Other than the brother who had just assaulted me, I had no blood relatives left in the world. Ignoring the gasps and confused whispers from the crowd, I calmly took the microphone from the officiant. “I’m so sorry you all have to see me like this,” I began, my voice clear and steady. “Please, forgive my appearance.” Caleb, finally realizing what was happening, rushed onto the stage and grabbed my arm. “Chloe, what are you doing?” “Exactly what you wanted,” I said, pulling my arm free. “As you can all see, my fiancé, Mr. Thorne, hasn’t even bothered to change.” I let my eyes sweep across the stunned faces in the audience. “He believes I schemed my way into this wedding. Well, as of right now, consider my scheming over. I am officially announcing that my engagement to Caleb Thorne is broken. From this moment on, we go our separate ways.” I dropped the microphone. The clatter echoed through the silent venue. I turned and walked off the stage, leaving Caleb standing there, a statue in a storm of chaos. At the back of the hall stood Ethan, his face pale, his eyes wide with a frantic, desperate energy. He reached out to stop me, but his hand froze in midair as his gaze fell on the deep, crimson stain on my dress. I didn’t pause for him. I didn’t pause for anyone. I tossed my bouquet aside and walked right past him, out the door where Maya was waiting, her car already running. “Chloe! Get in!” The moment the door slammed shut, I felt the tremors start in my hands. In the rearview mirror, I saw a face streaked with tears, my makeup a faint smudge beneath my eyes. Maya pressed a tissue into my hand, muttering a stream of curses against Caleb. “He used to be such a sweet kid. What happened to him?” she fumed. “He used to adore you! God, men are trash. They change their minds faster than they change their clothes.” Her voice softened as she saw me press the tissue to my face, my shoulders shaking silently. “Chloe…” “I’m okay, Maya. Really,” I whispered. “I just… I miss my mom.” The car fell silent. I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window, watching the familiar scenery blur past. Everything had changed, and I was the only one foolish enough to stand still, waiting for a past that was never coming back. It wasn’t always like this. Ethan and Caleb… they were good to me, once. They really were. My mother was a world-famous wedding gown designer. She always said she would create a one-of-a-kind dress for me, that she would watch me with her own eyes as I wore her love and blessings to marry the man I loved. The year our families decided Caleb and I would one day marry, he had come to me, his cheeks flushed red, and taken my hand. Ethan had immediately shoved him away. “Hey! The deal was for when you’re grown-ups, not now!” The adults had laughed. I had buried my face in my mother’s dress, shy and giddy, as she stroked my hair. Back then, my mother hadn’t been diagnosed with stomach cancer yet. Back then, there was no sister named Ava in our house. Everyone I loved was right there, with me. 4 My mother passed away when I was twelve. She’d spent her final months working on my dress, constantly guessing at how I would grow, re-stitching seams, and finally, in a concession to the future she wouldn’t see, adding adjustable closures to the waist and bust. It was the last gift she ever gave me. And I almost lost it. The same year my mother died, my father brought a little girl home. Her name was Ava. He said she was the daughter of an old army buddy who had died, a man who had made my father promise to care for her. “Ethan, Chloe,” he’d announced, “this is your new little sister. I expect you to make her feel welcome.” I tried. But it seemed Ava had other plans. I had never met a child like her. One second, she would be hissing at me, trying to snatch a doll from my hands, and the next, she would be running to Ethan and Caleb with tears streaming down her face. Is it human nature to automatically side with the one who seems weakest? I don’t know. All I know is that the two boys who had always been on my side slowly began to drift away. “Chloe, you can’t be like that! Ava’s lost her parents. Have some compassion!” “She’s right, Chloe. You need to share. You have a brother, and you have me. Ava has nobody.” I lost track of how many fights we had. They always ended the same way: with them telling me I wasn’t as kind, as gentle, as sweet as Ava. Eventually, I just stopped fighting. But my silence only made Ava bolder. She started going after the one thing that was sacred. She tried to take my mother’s dress. The day I found her dragging it down the stairs, its white silk hem collecting dust, something inside me snapped. For the first time, I hit her. When she came into my room later, a bright red handprint on her cheek and Ethan in tow, I was on my knees, gently cleaning the smudged hem with a damp cloth. “Sniffle… Ethan, please don’t be mad at Chloe,” Ava cried, hiding behind him. “It was my fault. I made her angry. I deserved it.” I’ll never forget the look in Ethan’s eyes. Disappointment. Confusion. And something else… disgust. “I never thought you could be so cruel, Chloe,” he said, his voice cold. “She’s never seen anything so beautiful before. She just wanted to look at it. How could you hurt her like that?” My hands were shaking with rage. I tried to explain, to defend myself, but our shouting brought my father into the room. He saw Ava’s tear-streaked face and immediately went to her side. “Ava, don’t cry,” he soothed. “Daddy will have someone make you an even more beautiful princess dress, okay?” After he had calmed her down, he turned and finally noticed me standing there. A flash of awkwardness crossed his face. “Ahem, well, both of you. Chloe will get one too, of course.” As I watched him and Ethan dabbing at Ava’s tears, a cold realization settled over me. I was the outsider in my own home. I didn’t ask for a new dress. I took my mother’s gown, locked it away in my closet, and understood, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that there was no one left in this world who truly loved me. “Chloe, we’re here. I’m coming in with you. I’m not letting that little snake get another shot at you.” 5 Maya’s eyes were as red as mine. I shook my head. “No.” Over the years, she had gotten into so much trouble defending me, falling for every one of Ava’s petty traps. Maya was all heart and no guile; Ava could set a snare at her feet and she’d walk right into it, every time. And Caleb, using his family’s influence, always sided with Ava, leaving Maya furious and in tears. I was leaving. I couldn’t let her burn any more bridges for my sake. “It’s okay, Maya. I just need to grab my passport and a few documents. I’ll be right back out.” I took a deep breath, gathered the heavy skirt of my dress, and walked into the house I grew up in. The first thing I saw was Ava. The same Ava who was supposedly “crying her eyes out” was lounging on the sofa, twirling a lock of hair around her finger, a smug smile on her face. “Well, look who it is. Back already?” she chirped. “I thought Caleb just left. That must have been the world’s fastest wedding.” She covered her mouth in mock surprise. “Oh, dear. What happened to your dress? Caleb can be so mean. Even if he doesn’t like you, he shouldn’t have poured wine all over you. Especially since that was your mother’s final creation.” Her performance was flawless, but as I stood there, silent and unmoved, the smile faded from her eyes. I felt no anger. Just a deep, hollow sadness. Even she remembered whose dress this was. But my own brother… he had forgotten. Before she could speak again, I cut her off. “It wasn’t Caleb.” She froze. I held her gaze. “It wasn’t him. It was Ethan.” The color drained from her face. Her mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. “You don’t have to fight anymore,” I said, my voice flat. “Ethan, Caleb… they’re all yours. I don’t want any of it.” I turned to go to my room, but she lunged, her fingers digging into my wrist. Something I said had hit a nerve. Her entire demeanor shifted, becoming manic and agitated. “‘Let me have them’?” she shrieked. “What do you mean, ‘let me’? You didn’t let me have anything! You lost! You couldn’t hold on to them!” Her face twisted into the familiar, venomous mask she only ever wore when we were alone. “I won! It was always me! I won!” she chanted, her eyes wild. “You’re insane, Ava.” I tried to pull away, her grip tightening painfully. “Let go of me.” “You lost, Chloe! You lost to me! Hahahaha!” She was completely unhinged. I finally shoved her away, not even that hard, just enough to break her grip. But she let out a piercing scream and threw herself backward, crashing into the tall curio cabinet against the wall. CRACK. The entire thing toppled over with a deafening crash. All the little treasures I had collected over the years—glass figures, painted boxes, delicate ornaments—shattered into a thousand pieces. I stared, stunned, at the glittering wreckage. My eyes fixed on a broken glass jar on the floor. I was so lost in the haze of it all that I didn’t see the figure rushing in from behind until a violent shove sent me stumbling forward. “Get away from her!” Caleb roared. He had come back. “I was actually coming back to apologize to you, and I find this? You can’t be left alone for five minutes without hurting her!” He had pushed me right into the pile of broken glass. A sharp, searing pain shot up from my ankle. 6 “Ah—” I gasped, the pain cutting through my shock. I tried to push myself up, but Caleb grabbed my shoulders, his grip like iron. “Why are you so cruel?” he raged, his face inches from mine. “You’ve been bullying her since the day she arrived! Always competing with her!” “For toys, for clothes, for a brother’s attention… you even had to take the person she loved!” “You already won, Chloe! You got everything you wanted! I agreed to marry you! Why can’t you just give her a break? Why can’t you cede an inch?!” Ava was on the floor in the only clear spot, a small patch of carpet, sobbing dramatically. Caleb shook me, his forehead vein throbbing, his voice cracking with a mixture of hatred and desperation. But I wasn’t looking at him. My gaze was fixed on the broken glass jar. It had split in half, revealing the contents scattered on the floor: dozens of small, folded pink stars. Paper stars. My breath hitched. Ignoring Caleb’s tirade, ignoring the throbbing pain in my ankle, I whispered, “It wasn’t me.” The pain was becoming overwhelming, a sharp counterpoint to the dull ache that had been building in my head all day. I could feel tears welling in my eyes, and I saw my own blurry reflection in Caleb’s amber irises. But I didn’t care. My hands, shaking, found the sleeves of his jacket and clenched them tight. Just like I had done ten years ago, I was trying to make him believe me. “Caleb, it wasn’t me. I didn’t hurt her,” I pleaded, my voice breaking. “She grabbed me first. I didn’t even push her that hard. I didn’t.” For a second, I thought I saw his expression soften. His frantic breathing seemed to even out. He even started to raise a hand, as if to wipe away my tears. But then Ava spoke from the floor, her voice choked with sobs. “Caleb, please don’t yell at Chloe. She’s right… she didn’t push me hard. It was my fault. I’m just so clumsy, I lost my balance and fell.” She sniffled loudly. “But… I think I twisted my ankle. It really hurts. Can you take me to the hospital?” Caleb hesitated. His eyes flickered between me and Ava, a silent war playing out on his face. In the end, he pulled his arm away from my grasp. “I’m taking Ava to the emergency room. We’ll talk when I get back.” He knelt down, scooping Ava into his arms. As he stood, he glanced back at me, his voice heavy with a weary sigh. “Your brother and my parents are handling the guests. They told everyone we had a fight and you said things you didn’t mean. Our wedding is… postponed.” He looked at me, a hint of pleading in his eyes. “I already agreed. We’ll have the wedding. Just stop fighting, okay? Wait here for me.” He kicked a shard of glass out of his path and walked past me, his shoe crushing one of the pink paper stars on the floor. In his arms, Ava shot me a look of pure, triumphant hatred. I felt nothing. The pain, the world, it all faded away. I sank to the floor, my movements slow and robotic, and picked up the star with the dirty footprint on it. I unfolded the tiny paper. Chloe don’t be scared. Your dad and Ethan like Ava more now, but I like you. I like you the most. Only you!! He had given it to me in class, two years after Ava had arrived. The other kids had teased us, guessing it was a love note. I’d opened it, read it, and burst into tears. Even now, after all this time, that childish promise felt more real, more precious, than any love poem. At fifteen, Caleb Vance had seen my fear and loneliness. With the fierce, clumsy sincerity of a teenage boy, he had tried to heal the wounds left by my mother’s death and my family’s betrayal. But years passed. And this is what we became. This.

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The day our company went public was the day the cops led me away in handcuffs for embezzlement. My wife’s old flame became the new CEO, and I was sentenced to three years in prison. My little sister, my only family, died of a broken heart trying to clear my name. After I got out, I heard a conversation on my car’s dashcam that shattered my world. It was my wife, Sophie, talking to her assistant. “It was you who embezzled the funds. You who framed Aiden and sent him to prison. Do you ever regret it?” “Not for a second,” Sophie’s voice was ice. “If Rick and I were never meant to be husband and wife, then the least I could do was give him the best of everything. A life free of worry. Think of it as my twenty-fifth birthday present to him.” “But the company was Aiden’s to begin with! He has nothing now.” “And you wanted me to just stand by and watch others tear Rick down?” 1 There was a pause. “As for Aiden,” she continued, “he grew up tough. What’s it to him to have a little less? Besides, I married him. I have the rest of my life to make it up to him.” “Then why not clear his name now? Let people know the truth.” “The last time he went out to buy me tampons, people pointed and called him a monster who abandoned his wife and drove his sister to her grave. He was shaking so hard he pissed himself in public.” “He was brutalized in prison. His right hand is permanently damaged, and he has severe depression. If you told the truth, it might give him some peace.” Sophie’s sudden shout made even me, just listening to the recording, jump. “Never! Everyone in Northwood City knows Aiden is a prodigy on Wall Street. If he walked out of there clean, where would that leave Rick? Absolutely not. My Rick has to be number one. No one will ever drag him down.” “So you’d rather let your own husband live in darkness? Let him hurt himself day after day with no one to comfort him? Have you forgotten his sister, her face pale as she knelt and begged you?” “Aren’t you afraid that if Aiden finds out the truth, he’ll destroy everything you’ve built?” A soft, chilling laugh. “He won’t. Aiden only has eyes for me. We’re very happy now.” The blood drained from my face. I couldn’t breathe. I saved the recording. I thought Sophie was the light of my life. I never imagined she was the source of all my suffering. She was the one who pushed me into the world of high finance, the one who gave me the resources to succeed. I thought she was my muse. But she only built me up so high to make the fall that much more devastating. If I hadn’t needed to replace the dashcam’s memory card, I might have spent the rest of my life living under the same roof as my nemesis. I stared at my numb right hand, a sickening suspicion coiling in my gut. I was so lost in the horror of it all that I didn’t even notice Sophie wrapping her arms around me from behind. “What’s wrong, Aiden?” Her voice was sweet, concerned. “Why are you crying again?” “Sophie,” I rasped, my voice cracking. “Why can’t I feel my hand?” My right hand was a mess of fresh, bloody cuts, but there was no sensation. She moved with practiced ease, retrieving the first-aid kit from behind the door. She gently disinfected the wounds, applied ointment, and bandaged them with care. “Oh, Aiden. Why do you keep hurting yourself?” “Every time I open my phone, I see them… calling me a monster who abandoned his family. I didn’t, Sophie. I swear I didn’t. Please… please, tell them the truth, won’t you?” Her hands paused for a fraction of a second. I saw it then—a flicker of disgust in her eyes before it was gone. “Then just turn off your phone. Don’t look,” she said, her tone hardening slightly. “I’ve told you so many times, I don’t care that you have a record. I don’t care that you’re hurt.” She softened her voice again, a masterclass in manipulation. “I’ve taken ninety-nine steps toward you, Aiden. Can’t you just take one toward me? When you hurt, I hurt.” She let out a choked sob, a performance worthy of an Oscar. “It’s Crystal’s memorial in a few days. I’ll take you to see her.” Even knowing the recording was real, hearing her say my sister’s name was like a knife twisting in my heart. I turned my head away, unable to look at her. “You should rest. I’ll go get your medication.” 2 After Sophie handed over the company, we moved into her family’s old estate, where I endured the daily scorn of her parents. They never missed an opportunity to berate me, lamenting how their brilliant daughter was now wasting her life washing and cooking for a “cripple.” Today was no different. Sophie’s father barged into the room, his eyes immediately fixing on my bandaged hand. “You useless cripple. How is it that something like this didn’t just finish you off?” I met his venomous gaze and spoke calmly. “I want to divorce Sophie. I don’t want to be a burden on her life anymore.” I added, “And I need the papers finalized as soon as possible.” The triumphant smirk on his face vanished, replaced by a scowl. “You dare make demands? If Sophie hadn’t begged us not to divorce you, do you think you’d still be living in this house? Back then, if she hadn’t threatened to kill herself just to marry you, someone like you wouldn’t even be fit to clean the toilets here.” He jabbed a fat finger at me. “A wreck like you should have been out of my daughter’s life long ago. You’ll get your divorce in thirty days. The moment you have it, you get the hell out of my house.” He stood there, his big belly practically hanging over my bed, ranting. I could only clench my fists under the covers. Bang. The door slammed shut. While I was in prison, her family had sent divorce papers several times. I never received them. I later heard it was because Sophie had threatened suicide, and I’d believed it was some grand, romantic gesture. How naive. The truth was, she was terrified that if we divorced, I’d get back on my feet and threaten Rick’s position. As I drifted into a medicated sleep, the familiar scent of herbs filled my senses. I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder, a soft voice urging me to wake up and take my medicine. It felt like my mother’s touch. But I couldn’t wake up. The next morning, I had just made it downstairs when I saw Rick sitting across from Sophie. She looked incredibly tense. I ignored them and headed for the kitchen to get some breakfast. “Aiden,” Rick suddenly stood up, his voice trembling as he reported to me like a subordinate. “I was just asking Sophie about some company matters.” He subtly moved to stand behind her, his eyes welling with nervous tears. He’d been terrified of me ever since he took over the company. “If… if you don’t want to see me, I can go.” I didn’t answer him, just poured myself a glass of water. Sophie, however, became animated. “It’s fine, Rick, Aiden doesn’t mind. Why don’t you stay with us for a few days? We can go over the other details properly.” Rick glanced at me nervously. “Would Aiden be okay with that?” The hand holding the glass trembled. A sharp pain lanced through my heart. “It doesn’t matter,” I said, my voice flat. “This is her family’s house. It’s not my place to say.” That’s right. This was their home. I was the outsider. Besides, I would be leaving soon anyway. Sophie flashed a satisfied smile. I didn’t look at her again and walked straight out the door. She blocked my path. “Where are you going?” “To see Crystal.” “Is that Aiden’s sister?” Rick’s voice piped up from behind her. “Sophie, I’d like to go too. We were classmates, after all.” He gave a small tug on Sophie’s sleeve. Without so much as a glance in my direction, she made the decision for me. I was shoved into the car, and I stopped fighting. I ignored the two of them. All I wanted was to see my sister. 3 I held the bouquet in my left hand, gently placing the flowers on Crystal’s gravestone. Suddenly, my face felt wet. Tears were streaming down my cheeks without me even realizing it. Crystal’s photo smiled back at me, her eyes seeming to look right through the picture and into my soul. “Crystal,” I whispered, my voice thick. “You have to believe me. Your brother has lived his life with a clear conscience.” Growing up, it was always just the two of us against the world. She was the only family I had left. And I wasn’t even there to see her one last time. “Let me tell you the truth, Aiden,” Rick’s voice, slick with venom, cut through my grief from behind. “You know, we were originally going to feed your sister’s body to the dogs.” My blood ran cold. “Do you know why? Because Sophie was afraid the police would trace it back to me. Before she died, your sister kept screaming ‘no’ under me. I’d already given her a double dose of the stuff… Still, there’s nothing quite like the first time, is there?” His words, each one a hammer blow, struck my mind. My scalp tingled, and a raw, agonizing pain tore through my chest. If it weren’t for you, if Sophie hadn’t found me, none of this would have happened to us. It was him. He killed Crystal. My reason evaporated. I spun around and threw a punch. But Sophie appeared out of nowhere, blocking my fist. She returned my punch with a vicious slap that echoed through the silent cemetery. “Aiden, how dare you hit him?” Her voice dripped with disappointment. “I don’t care that you’ve been to prison. I don’t care that you’re a cripple. But how can you resort to violence?” “In front of your sister’s grave? Do you want her to never rest in peace?” She kicked the flowers I had placed, stomping on them again and again. “Since prison clearly didn’t teach you anything, since you can’t get rid of these thuggish habits, maybe a little time in the basement will help you learn.” Suddenly, several large men in black suits appeared behind me. They blindfolded me and dragged me to the family estate’s basement, where they began to beat me mercilessly. The clubs they used were studded with thorns, each blow tearing into my flesh. My numb right hand was mangled again, a bloody mess. Blood poured from my left, staining the concrete floor a deep crimson. Through the haze of pain, I heard them talking. “Doesn’t the Missus love this cripple the most?” “Are you kidding? She only loves Mr. Rick! The way she looks at him… she wouldn’t let anyone else even touch him.” Love. I had stopped hoping for love long ago. So why did my heart still ache, as if it were being carved out with a dull knife? Rick came down to the basement. The timid, teary-eyed act was gone. He walked straight up to me. He stomped his foot down hard on my bleeding left hand. The barely-clotted wounds burst open, and I cried out in pain. “Aiden, you should know by now that Sophie has only ever loved me. So why aren’t you dead yet? After all this, how are you still alive?” He leaned in close, his voice a hateful whisper. “If it weren’t for you, Sophie and I would never have been apart for so long.” “I was this close to being crowned the Prince of Wall Street, to inheriting billions and marrying Sophie. And then you showed up. You ruined everything! Now I’m stuck with this shell of a company, and I can never set foot in my own family’s house again.” His face contorted with rage. “Tell me, why won’t you just die?” The blood from my left hand was turning black at the edges. My vision blurred. So that was it. Sophie only got close to me to tear me down, to clear the path for her one true love. I already knew, so why did the pain still feel so sharp, so real? “Rick! Rick…” Sophie’s voice echoed from the top of the stairs. Rick’s expression shifted instantly, a dark, cunning look I’d never seen before. He grabbed a knife from one of the goons, plunged it into his own thigh, and then draped my bloody right hand over the handle. “Sophie! Sophie… I’m down here!” he cried out, his voice filled with fake terror. Sophie practically flew down the stairs. She shoved my hand away and cradled him. “You really are hopeless,” she snarled at me, her eyes filled with pure hatred. “After all I’ve done for you. You’re nothing but a worthless animal.” A doctor rushed in and did a quick examination. “Ms. Sophie, he’s lost a lot of blood. He might need a transfusion, but getting a match from the blood bank will take at least an hour…” The doctor hadn’t even finished his sentence. Sophie’s eyes, cold and murderous, locked onto mine. There was no hesitation. “Use Aiden’s blood.” 4 They tied me to a makeshift operating table. A thick needle pierced the vein in my left arm. The pain from my battered body was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. I don’t know how long I served as a human blood bag before I passed out. When I woke up, Sophie was feeding me medicine. My left arm was bandaged, but I couldn’t lift it. It felt just as dead as my right. “You’re awake? Here, drink this.” I turned my head away. Sensing my anger, she softened her tone. “Alright, making you give blood was my fault. I apologize. But you have to take your medicine, even if you’re angry. Your body can’t handle any more stress.” I remained still. With an exasperated sigh, she stood up, pinched my cheeks to force my mouth open, and poured the bitter liquid down my throat. As the herbal concoction hit my stomach, my consciousness began to fade again. “He drank it all.” That was her voice. “Good. Then we can begin.” Rick’s. “Your leg…” “It’s just a scratch. You know how strong I am. You’d better give me a baby this year.” Sophie’s playful protest faded away, replaced by the unmistakable sounds of their lovemaking. The sounds drifted into my ears, a final, cruel torture. I wanted to wake up, to scream, to demand the divorce they owed me. But my eyes wouldn’t open. I was startled awake by the shrill ringing of my phone. Unable to lift it with either hand, I managed to hit the speaker button with my knuckle. “I’ve got the divorce certificate. Now get the hell out of our lives.” It was Sophie’s father. It was the best news I’d heard in years. The pain in my body seemed to lessen at his words. “I’ll be gone immediately. I won’t trouble you again.” Finally. I was leaving. And I would take back everything I had lost. “Trouble who? Leaving where?” Sophie walked in, holding a glass of water. “Nothing. Just listening to an audiobook,” I lied. The suspicion in her eyes faded, replaced by something else. “Aiden, Rick wants to thank you for the blood. He’s invited you to a big dinner tomorrow to show his gratitude.” I looked at my lifeless left hand and managed a twisted smile. “Sure.” Sophie looked like she was about to jump for joy. “Great! I’ll go help him with the arrangements.” I dragged my broken body to find her father and collected the divorce certificate. Then, I immediately booked the next flight to Australia. I didn’t see Sophie for the rest of the afternoon, and the relief was intoxicating. I asked the butler to deliver the divorce certificate to the restaurant where they were having their “thank you” dinner. Then I took a cab and left the city behind. I had no luggage. There was nothing from that life I wanted to take with me. Nothing except my sister, and I didn’t have the power to do that yet. “Crystal,” I vowed, watching Northwood City shrink below me. “Don’t worry. Your brother will get justice for you, even if it’s the last thing I do.” A sense of euphoria washed over me as the city disappeared. It was over. I was heading toward a new life, one that belonged only to me.

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His ex-wife and daughter were back from Europe. And just like that, our marriage was no longer a private affair. It wasn’t until I saw the photos that I truly understood. The pictures splashed across Page Six: Michael Ashford—a man so disciplined he scheduled his own spontaneity—stuffed into a fuzzy, bright blue cartoon character costume, smiling for a selfie with his ex and their child at the Central Park Zoo’s family day. That’s when the realization hit me, cold and sharp. I had never seen that version of him. The version of Michael Ashford in love. But I am Audrey Rhodes, the sole heir to the Rhodes Corporation. And I have never learned how to share. 1 The second the tabloid photos hit my phone, I was dialing my PR team to kill the story. But someone was faster. Within three minutes, the images were scrubbed from the internet. A complete digital blackout. I let out a dry, humorless laugh. That was Michael, all right. As the CEO of Ashford Holdings, the last thing he would tolerate was a scandal that could tarnish our merger—the very union our marriage represented. Fifteen minutes later, the low hum of a town car announced his arrival. A wave of bright, cheerful laughter drifted from the driveway. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window in the foyer, a silent observer. I watched Michael—a man known for his calculated composure and ruthless boardroom tactics—gently holding a little girl’s hand. His face was softened in a way I’d rarely witnessed. I knew about the ex-wife, Clara. I knew about their daughter. He had never tried to hide them. “Michael, are you sure this is a good idea?” Clara’s voice was laced with a practiced hesitancy as she held the little girl’s other hand. “As Michael Ashford’s legal wife, I understand that I have a role in raising his daughter,” I said, my voice cutting through the evening air. I stepped into the doorway, my expression a mask of cool indifference. “That does not, however, grant you an invitation to forget your place.” Clara’s face flushed with embarrassment. She lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry. It’s just… today was the Children’s Festival, and Lily really wanted to…” The little girl, Lily, suddenly let go of her father’s hand and charged at me, kicking my shin with a surprising amount of force. Her voice was thick with tears. “You’re the mean lady who stole my daddy!” A sharp pain shot up my leg. I winced, but I couldn’t bring myself to scold a three-year-old. “Lily,” Michael’s voice was firm but held no trace of impatience. “That’s not polite.” I stood there, a perfect stranger on the other side of their perfect family portrait. The absurdity of my situation was almost comical. “Michael, you and I both know this marriage is more than just you and me,” I said, pulling my composure back around me like a shield. “It’s Ashford and Rhodes.” Clara saw her opening. “Mrs. Ashford, we were just—” “I am speaking to my husband,” I said, my gaze flicking to her with a clear warning. “When did I ask for your opinion?” Michael sighed, scooping his startled daughter into his arms. “Audrey, it was just a family day at the zoo. I’ve already handled the press. There will be no fallout.” His voice, a low, magnetic baritone, was as cool as ever. My heart clenched. A bitter, mocking taste filled my mouth. No fallout. So that’s what I was. My feelings, my humiliation… they were just variables in his risk assessment. The ones that required the least consideration. I saw the flicker of triumph in Clara’s eyes. I narrowed mine. “Audrey, Lily will be staying the night. Have the housekeeper prepare one of the guest rooms.” “And her?” I asked, my voice flat, my gaze fixed on the woman at his side. Michael paused for a beat. “She can stay in the adjacent room. Just for tonight.” I nodded. My upbringing had instilled in me a deep aversion to making a scene. That evening, the sound of laughter and games echoed from the guest wing below. Meanwhile, I, the lady of the house, lay wide awake in the cavernous master suite, the bed feeling colder and emptier than ever. Around midnight, a restless energy in my chest forced me downstairs for a glass of ice water. “Mrs. Ashford.” Clara’s voice emerged from the shadows of the living room, dripping with newfound confidence. “Lily is Michael’s flesh and blood. As long as she exists, he and I can never be truly disconnected.” I calmly set my glass down on the marble countertop and turned to face her, my height giving me a slight but satisfying advantage. “And?” Her composure flickered. She took a small step back. “And… you should give him back to me. We only broke up because I was young and foolish. It was never because we didn’t love each other.” A short, sharp laugh escaped my lips. “Love?” I twisted the large emerald on my finger, the Ashford family heirloom. “For people like us, ‘love’ is the most irrelevant commodity there is.” The contempt in my voice made her flinch, her breath catching in her throat. I gave a small, dismissive smile and turned to leave. “Audrey!” Clara’s voice was sharp now. She closed the distance between us, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “Does it not bother you at all? Knowing that he and I… that we could have…” She pulled down the collar of her silk pajama top. There, against the pale skin of her collarbone, was a collection of angry, purple marks. My fingers, hanging by my side, curled into a tight fist. But my face remained a mask of serene indifference. “Carnal novelty,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, “has a notoriously short shelf life.” I left her standing there, her face a burning red, choking on her own impotent rage. Back in my room, my hand went to the emerald ring, the symbol of my status as the Ashford matriarch. A wave of despair washed over me. He was Michael Ashford. A man of his caliber, his presence… after three years of sharing a life, a bed, it was inevitable that I would develop feelings. But affection is built up over time. And so is the lack of it. Three strikes, Michael, I thought. That’s the rule. Don’t make me call strike three. 2 The next morning, the door to the master suite opened. Michael stood there, with faint, bruised-looking smudges under his eyes. He must have been up half the night entertaining them. A familiar tightness constricted my chest. Michael was a man of almost pathological self-discipline. For years, even the most intense moments of passion between us, the ones that left a flush on his high cheekbones, were never enough to disrupt his rigid sleep schedule. “Do you like children?” I asked, getting out of bed. I took his tie from the valet stand and began to knot it with practiced precision. He looked down at me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “They’re fine.” “Let’s have one,” I said. Michael stared at me, his expression unreadable. But he nodded. “Alright.” I knew he wouldn’t refuse. It was a logical, strategic move for our dynasty. Downstairs in the dining room, Clara was holding Lily in her lap. The moment the little girl saw her father, she scrambled down and ran to him, sobbing. As she passed me, she grabbed a piece of still-scalding French toast from my plate and threw it at my silk blouse. “I hate you! You’re a mean lady! Why are you in my daddy’s house?” The sticky heat seeped through the fabric. I frowned, looking directly at Clara. “Control your child. She has no manners—” “Audrey,” Michael’s voice cut in, sharp and cold. “That’s enough. She’s just a child. Clara has been raising her alone for years. I’m the one who owes them.” The words caught in my throat. I felt a dizzying sense of displacement. In three years of marriage, he had never, not once, taken that tone with me. “That’s between you and her,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even, but the anger was already boiling over. “She’s a child, which is precisely why she needs to be taught. What will people say? That Michael Ashford’s daughter is some kind of feral little—” “Audrey Rhodes!” Michael’s warning, laced with an icy fury I had never heard before, snapped me back to reality. I took a deep breath, realizing I shouldn’t have directed my anger at a child. But the man standing before me was a stranger. His eyes were filled with a cold rage. “When Lily was born, Clara was my wife. The woman I married in a church, before God and everyone. You will choose your words more carefully.” With that, he lifted Lily into his arms and turned to leave. Clara rushed to his side, tucking her arm into his. He didn’t pull away. Just before they walked out the door, Clara glanced back over her shoulder. Her smile was pure, unadulterated triumph. I told you, her eyes screamed. He still loves me. The house fell silent. The housekeeper, ever discreet, began clearing the guest rooms, a quiet sigh escaping her lips. I sank onto the sofa in the foyer, my breath coming in ragged, angry gasps. That’s strike two, Michael. Three years ago, after a fundraising gala, Michael and I had both ended up in the wrong hotel suite. Two powerful people, fueled by too much champagne and the magnetic pull of ambition, lost control in the dark. When we woke up, despite our extreme caution, a photographer had caught us leaving the room together. To quell the impending scandal, the Rhodes and Ashford families proposed a merger of the most permanent kind. Before we were married, he told me everything. About his ex-wife, about his daughter. I hadn’t cared. I wasn’t in love with him. After the wedding, he gave me everything a Mrs. Ashford was due: respect, status, a life of impeccable luxury. “Audrey,” he’d once said, his voice low and serious, “you are my wife. You will always be my wife.” But looking back now, it was clear. I was the only one who had ever been truly invested in this marriage. … The following week was the annual Ashford Holdings corporate gala. As the wife of the CEO, my attendance was non-negotiable. Michael drove us, the silence in the car thick and heavy. “Audrey,” he said finally, breaking the tension. “You don’t need to worry. I married you. The title of Mrs. Ashford will always be yours.” I stared out the window at the blur of city lights, saying nothing. My silence was shattered the moment we stepped into the ballroom. A familiar figure approached us. “Mr. Ashford.” Clara was wearing a black evening gown with a neckline that plunged daringly low. Michael gave a curt nod. Only then did she turn to me, her expression a perfect picture of timid deference. “Mrs. Ashford.” I took a slow, deep breath, turning my gaze to my husband. “What is she doing here?” “Clara just moved back to the city. She needed a job. I gave her a sinecure in the marketing department,” he said, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. My hands, hidden in the folds of my gown, began to tremble. I stared at him, my voice a furious whisper. “You put your ex-wife on your payroll? What am I, Michael? A decoration?” He blinked, as if the thought had genuinely never occurred to him. But I knew better. Michael Ashford was no fool. This wasn’t an oversight. He was indulging her. I would not lose my composure in a room full of sharks. I took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, downed it in one go, and pasted a polished, corporate smile on my face. Hooking my arm through Michael’s, I began to navigate the crowd. An hour later, my head felt thick and heavy. I excused myself to the terrace for some fresh air. I found a wrought-iron bench near the gardens, the cool night air a welcome shock to my system. “Hiding out here all alone? Where’s Ashford?” A warm cashmere jacket was draped over my shoulders, smelling of sandalwood and pine. I turned. Carter Shaw. The formidable head of Shaw Industries. “Thank you,” I said, pulling the jacket tighter. The warmth was unexpectedly comforting. He sat down beside me. “His ex is back. What’s your play?” he asked, his voice low. He looked at me, his gaze unnervingly direct. “If you want her gone, Audrey, I’ll be your blade.” The casual way he spoke of making a person disappear, as if discussing a line item on a budget, didn’t faze me. I turned my head slightly. “Not necessary. I don’t want you to dirty your hands.” Suddenly, he leaned in, invading my space, his face so close I could feel the warmth of his breath. “Forget him. What about me? You know I’ve been a perfect gentleman for you all these years.” His intensity was overwhelming. For a moment, I was at a loss for words. “Carter,” I said softly. “Not right now.” I stood up, leaving him there with a shadow of disappointment in his eyes, and walked back to our car. The gala ended soon after. From the moment Michael got behind the wheel, his eyes were on me. “You and Carter Shaw seem close.” I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “We grew up together, more or less. Our families—” Before I could finish, Michael, the man who lived by rules and restraint, unbuckled his seatbelt. He lunged across the center console, his body pressing me into the leather seat. A kiss, tasting of whiskey and desperation, crushed against my lips. It was fierce, possessive. After a long moment, he pulled back, his dark eyes, usually so calm, now wild with an emotion I couldn’t place. “Audrey,” he breathed, his voice ragged. “You’re mine.” 3 This sudden, raw display of possession didn’t flatter me. It infuriated me. He could carry on a tangled affair with his past, but I was expected to remain a pristine, untouched asset? “Let go of me,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet. Michael didn’t move. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Are you jealous?” I turned my head away, the petulant gesture feeling childish even to me. “Fire her.” The smile vanished. He pulled back, settling into his seat, the cool, familiar mask of Michael Ashford sliding back into place. “Audrey,” he said, removing his gold-rimmed glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose with a weary sigh. “I’ve told you. You will always be Mrs. Ashford.” “And she still needs to support Lily,” he added. I turned to face him fully, my brow furrowed. “I never said you couldn’t send her money.” He sighed again. “But Lily needs her father. And you know your family—and mine—would never agree to me bringing her to live with us.” I stared at him, a knot of disbelief and hurt tightening in my stomach. “Are you forcing me to choose?” Michael reached across the console, his warm, dry hand covering my own chilled fingers. “I’m just asking you not to make this difficult for her. I promise you, Audrey, your position is secure.” His words, meant to reassure, felt like a slap. He was defending her. And all he thought I cared about was the damned title. The sadness of it was overwhelming. Perhaps, in his eyes, our marriage had never been about anything more than a title. Just then, my phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. Mrs. Ashford, Michael had a bit too much to drink tonight. Just a reminder, he’s allergic to honey. Please don’t use it to sober him up. Attached was a photo. Michael, leaning against a wall in a dimly lit corner of the gala, his tie loosened and the top button of his shirt undone. I laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. I tossed the phone into his lap. “What is this? Some kind of sick power play?” He frowned, looking at the screen. He sighed, but his voice was calm. “She’s my executive assistant now. This is part of her job.” That was it. The last thread of my control snapped. “Do I need an outsider to remind me of my own husband’s habits? Who the hell does she think she is?” “Audrey,” Michael’s voice was sharp with impatience. He rolled down the window and lit a cigarette. “You’re losing your composure. Clara is the mother of my child. The least you can do is show her a basic level of respect.” I thought I had misheard him. A cold, derisive laugh escaped me. “Respect?” I spat the word out. “She’s earned nothing of the sort.” This time, the look in his eyes stopped me cold. “Audrey Rhodes, watch your tone.” The wind whipping through the open window felt like a thousand tiny needles against my face. It was strong enough to steal the breath from my lungs, and in that moment, it felt like it took my pride with it. I turned to him, my voice cracking almost imperceptibly. “Michael, I am your wife.” “Why do you keep making exceptions for her? Why do you break your own rules for her, again and again?” He just frowned, his expression one of genuine confusion. “The first year we were married, I had a fever of 103. You said you had an important meeting the next day and couldn’t afford to lose sleep. You left me alone in the emergency room. But you can stay up all night playing games with them?” “You knew having her around would upset me, yet you brought her into the company, made her your assistant. You couldn’t just wire her the money?” “And that night, Michael. What happened that night? Did those marks just appear on her neck by magic?” A thousand other small betrayals, like scattered grains of rice, were lodged in my heart. Picking them up one by one was exhausting. The wind stung my eyes, making them water. The pain was immense, yet impossible to articulate. Michael’s composure finally broke. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. He looked completely lost. “I…” He wanted to explain, but he had no words. We arrived home. He parked the car, but neither of us moved. “Leaving you at the hospital was wrong,” he finally said, his voice strained. “But I sent my assistant to stay with you, didn’t I?” He sounded almost frantic. “I just wanted to compensate Clara for taking care of Lily all these years.” “And I swear to you,” he said, turning to cup my face in his hands, “nothing happened between us.” “I’m sorry, I—” His words were cut off by a child’s cry from outside the car. “Daddy! Come play with Lily!” 4 I snapped back to reality, pushing his hands away from my face. We got out of the car. Clara stood there, holding Lily’s hand, her expression timid. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Ashford. Lily just missed her daddy so much. I couldn’t stop her.” Michael glanced at my rigid, icy expression. He took Lily inside, handed her off to the housekeeper, and then returned to the living room where Clara and I stood in silence. He sat on the sofa, his face a mask of cold fury. “Explain,” he said, tossing his phone onto the coffee table. The sound made Clara jump. Seeing the thunderous look on his face, she seemed genuinely flustered. “What do you want me to explain?” “Sending these manipulative texts to Audrey. What was your goal?” Tears instantly welled in Clara’s eyes. Her voice trembled. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking! I just remembered that both you and Lily are allergic to honey, and I just… I acted on instinct.” She turned to me, wringing her hands, a picture of remorse. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Ashford. I overstepped.” I rose from my chair and walked over to her. I tipped her chin up with my finger, my touch conveying utter disdain. “In what capacity, exactly, did you feel the need to ‘remind’ me of anything?” My eyes were like chips of ice. I released her chin as if touching something unclean. “Lose the act. I’ve seen countless women try to claw their way into the Ashford family. Trust me, you don’t want to know what happened to them.” Clara’s face went white, the humiliation of my gesture stinging her more than a slap. Michael, hearing the explanation about the allergy, seemed to relax. The tense line of his jaw softened. “That’s enough. Take Lily and go home. And from now on, you are not to come here without my explicit permission.” He positioned himself slightly between us, breaking our standoff. Clara’s tears fell freely now. With a choked sob, she collected her daughter and left. But the next evening, my world tilted on its axis. A frantic call from Michael summoned me to the hospital. Lily was in the ICU. I stood there, stunned into silence. “Audrey!” Clara, her face a mess of tears and rage, shoved me hard. “I took her away! I left! Why did you have to hire someone to run her down? She’s only three years old!” I stumbled, catching my balance, my voice sharp with disbelief. “Are you insane? You can’t just invent accusations out of thin air!” Michael, his face dark with a terrifying mix of grief and suspicion, stepped forward. He pushed a tablet into my hands. It was a video of a police interrogation. “It was Audrey Rhodes,” a grimy-looking man said, his words tumbling out in a rush. “She gave me a hundred thousand dollars to hit the kid with my car. Said she’d give me another hundred when it was done.” I stared at the screen, my heart hammering against my ribs. “He’s lying! This is a setup!” I looked at Michael, my voice pleading. “You don’t actually believe I did this, do you?” He closed his eyes, his voice heavy with defeat. “I don’t want to. But the man is the distant nephew of a Rhodes family chauffeur, Audrey. Are you telling me that’s a coincidence?” His roar of accusation echoed in the sterile hallway. And in that moment, something inside me broke. It was a clean, quiet snap. Some people, I realized, were simply not worth the fight. “That’s strike three, Michael.” He looked at me, confused. I met his gaze, all the pain and hurt in my own eyes now gone, replaced by a chilling clarity. “Believe whatever you want. But know this: I, Audrey Rhodes, do not resort to such pathetic, low-life tactics.” I then turned to the sobbing Clara. “You’re just like Medea, aren’t you? Willing to sacrifice your own child to destroy the queen. You’re a monster.” I took a deep breath, refusing to show any weakness. Then I turned and walked away. In the car, I made two calls. The first was to my lawyer. “Prepare the divorce papers and a full asset division. I want them on my desk by tomorrow.” The second was to my executive assistant at the Rhodes Corporation. “Starting in three days, I want a full-scale corporate assault on Ashford Holdings. Liquidate everything. I want them bleeding.” I looked up at the dark, bruised sky. My heart was cold. “Michael Ashford,” I whispered to the empty car. “Betraying me comes with a price.”

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