Category: English

1 The film crew had just finished shooting at my ancestral manor for a new interactive game. I never expected the game to go viral. Soon, I saw videos of tourists lining up for blocks. Frowning, I called my boyfriend Franklin. His voice was cautious. “Willow, the producers are good friends. I couldn’t say no. After the holiday, the estate won’t be bothered again.” I didn’t argue, just reminded him to ensure tight security. Returning from a business trip, I stopped by the manor and found it swarmed. As I pushed through the crowd, someone grabbed my arm, yelling about “cutting in line.” I tried to explain, but was met with laughter. “Everyone knows Mr. Anthony gave this manor to Aria! How else could they film here?” I froze. Aria Lin was the game’s lead actress. As insults grew louder, a cold smile touched my lips. If this was how things were, there was no point waiting in line at all. … “Hey guys, welcome back to the stream! I’m live at the entrance to Willow’s Peak Manor, and as you can see, the line is absolutely insane today.” The man standing behind me held his phone up, narrating for his audience. “I heard that Aria Lin, the star of The Gilded Throne, is actually inside the manor today. Lucky fans might even get to meet her! No wonder it’s so packed.” He was on his tiptoes, craning his neck, chattering nonstop. The line suddenly lurched forward, and in the chaos, someone stomped on my foot twice. After a sixteen-hour flight, the throbbing pain in my temples intensified. I took a deep breath and addressed the two girls in front of me, who had been particularly rude. “I’m going to say this one last time. This is my home. I’m just here to pick something up.” The girl with pink hair rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh my god, seriously? Did the loony bin let out for the holidays or something? Lady, has standing in line melted your brain?” My brow furrowed. “I’m going to ask you to be respectful. This is a private residence, and I have every right to have all of you removed.” This time, others in the line chimed in. “What’s that supposed to mean? We all paid for tickets.” “Just ignore her. She’s crazy. Pretty face, but not a whole lot going on upstairs.” My frown deepened. I turned to the man who had just spoken. “You’re saying you had to buy tickets to get in?” Franklin had explicitly told me it was a free event for a few lucky fans, a favor to the production company. The pink-haired girl seized on my question, her voice rising to a shrill taunt. “So not only are you a line-jumper, you didn’t even buy a ticket? Trying to sneak in for free? A ticket is only thirty bucks. Are you that broke?” Her constant jabs were making my head pound. I glanced at the massive, snaking line of people. Thirty dollars a ticket… that was a significant amount of money. So where was it all going? I had no interest in arguing with them. I took out my phone and dialed Franklin’s number again. It rang and rang, but he didn’t pick up. The pink-haired girl, Trish, crossed her arms. “I can’t stand cheapskates like you. No money, but all the nerve in the world.” A bitter laugh escaped me. The clothes I was wearing were custom-tailored. How on earth did I look like a “cheapskate” to her? I had only agreed to let people visit the manor as a favor to Franklin. Now, it was clear that favor had been abused. My expression hardened. “Where is the head of security? Tell him to come see me. Now.” The sudden shift in my tone must have startled her. Trish flinched. Other tourists turned to stare, and the livestreamer swiveled his camera to focus on our confrontation. A man in the crowd snickered. “What’s the big deal? It’s just a line. Hey sweetheart, you call me ‘daddy,’ and you can come stand with me. I’ll even buy your ticket.” The crowd erupted in laughter. I met their leering gazes, my fists clenching. Franklin, what the hell have you done behind my back? Just then, a girl in an elegant, flowing gown, like something from the game, spoke up. “We’re all here because we love The Gilded Throne. We’re all fans. There’s no need to be so mean.” She then turned to me. “But you really shouldn’t have cut the line and then lied about it. We all know this manor belongs to Aria.” There was her name again. Aria Lin. The Gilded Throne was a new interactive game from FireStorm Studios, using live actors for its story. Franklin had mentioned it a few times, and my company, Apex Group, had even invested a small amount in it. That was the only reason I’d reluctantly agreed to let them film at the manor. But since when did my home, Willow Reed’s home, suddenly belong to someone else? As if on cue, a man in a security uniform pushed his way through the crowd. “What’s all the noise about?” I stared at him, stunned. When had the security staff been replaced? 2 The new guard was a stranger, tall and broad-shouldered, with an impatient scowl on his face. He scanned me dismissively. “What’s all the shouting for? Can’t you see everyone’s in line? If you’re here for the tour, get in line. If not, get lost!” A hot surge of anger flared in my chest. I had specifically told Franklin to ensure security was tight, and this was the kind of person he hired? I forced my anger down, trying to keep my voice even. “Are you new? Where is Captain Miller?” Captain Miller had been in charge of the manor’s security for years. He would never speak to me this way. The guard’s eyes darted away for a second before he puffed out his chest, his tone growing even more hostile. “Captain who? I’m in charge here now! Who do you think you are, ordering people around?” He paused, then sneered. “Oh, I get it. You must be Miller’s little piece on the side. Well, he pissed off Ms. Lin. Got himself fired.” He gave me a lewd, appraising look that made my skin crawl. Trish, who was enjoying the show, howled with laughter. “And here I thought you were someone important. Turns out your big shot connection is a fired security guard.” The new guard stepped closer, his voice dropping to a greasy whisper in my ear. “You’re a real looker, though. How about you stick with me instead? I’ll get you inside, no line. What do you say?” To be humiliated like this, so brazenly… I was trembling with rage. How could the manor’s security fall into the hands of someone like this? I spoke each word slowly and clearly. “I am Willow Reed. The owner of this estate.” The crowd went silent for a beat, then erupted in an even louder wave of ridicule. “Hahaha, she’s really committed to the role!” “What a drama queen!” “Hey, security! Get her out of here! She’s holding up the line!” Trish was doubled over, laughing so hard she could barely speak into the livestream camera. “You guys, you have to see this! A live-action case of delusional grandeur! She actually thinks this manor is hers! I’m dying!” The camera was practically shoved in my face, the chat comments scrolling by in a blur. The guard’s face hardened. He waved a hand at me as if shooing away a fly. “You hear that? Get lost! If you don’t move now, I won’t be so nice!” He took a step forward, his hand raising as if to shove me. The exhaustion from a sixteen-hour flight, the sting of baseless insults, the anxiety from Franklin’s unanswered calls, and the sheer absurdity of the situation—it all crashed together, pushing me to my breaking point. I sidestepped his hand in a swift, sharp movement, my gaze turning to ice. “Not so nice? And how, exactly, would that be?” “You replace my security staff without my permission, allow trespassers onto my private property, have the audacity to charge an admission fee, and now… you’re going to lay a hand on the owner?” With every accusation, I took a step forward. The air of authority I usually kept suppressed, the kind of command that comes from years at the top, was now on full display. It was enough to make the guard instinctively take a half-step back. “Wh-what are you talking about? What fee? What owner?” I gave a cold laugh and took out my phone again. This time, I wasn’t calling Franklin. I was calling the property manager of the entire exclusive community. My estate had its own security team, led by Captain Miller, but the management company had all their contact information and records on file. The phone connected almost immediately. A hesitant, troubled voice answered. “Ms. Reed? But… Mr. Anthony terminated our company’s service contract last month.” My heart sank into a cold, dark pit. Seeing my expression, the guard smirked. “Done with your little act? Just be a good girl, and I’ll get you inside.” I took a deep breath, done with explanations. If even the property management had been changed, I had to see for myself what had become of my home. I pushed through the crowd and walked toward the main gate. 3 Perhaps it was the look on my face, but the jeering crowd fell silent, parting to let me through. Trish hesitated for a moment before following, along with the livestreamer, who quickly told his audience, “Uh… okay, looks like she’s making a move. I’m gonna follow her and see what happens.” I walked straight to the front of the line. The people waiting there started to protest. “Hey, who do you think you are, cutting in front of everyone?” I ignored them, pulled out my key card, swiped it, and the gate clicked open. I stepped inside. A stunned silence fell over the crowd behind me. Then, the whispers started. “No way… she actually has a key card?” “Who is she? I’ve never seen her before.” I walked past the ornate entrance corridor and stopped dead. The wall here used to hold a masterpiece by a renowned artist, a scroll I had won at auction years ago. It was gone. In its place hung a massive, grinning Labubu pop-art figure, its garish colors a jarring insult to the serene, classical style of my manor. Behind me, I heard Trish gasp in delight. “It’s a Labubu! Aria said in an interview that they’re her favorite!” I walked further in. The water lilies in the pond had been ripped out. The stone table and benches were now covered with tacky, oversized Louis Vuitton print cushions, as if to scream to the world that the new occupant was a tasteless nouveau riche. The entire estate was littered with fan signs and posters, all bearing the face of that actress, Aria Lin. Tourists were gathered around them, taking selfies. My temples were pounding. I pushed open the doors to the main courtyard. Just as I suspected, my master bedroom and study were filled with things that didn’t belong to me. Suddenly, a shriek of excitement came from behind me. I turned to see Trish rushing forward. There, sitting in my favorite wicker armchair, was Aria Lin, dressed in a delicate, hand-embroidered gown. She was surrounded by several burly, black-suited security guards who were keeping a crowd of adoring fans at bay. I looked closer. The rare celadon tea set she was casually using was a priceless antique I had acquired for three million dollars. The book lying on the table beside her, its corner carelessly bent, was a one-of-a-kind medieval manuscript. And there she sat, the center of attention, basking in the flattery and praise. The guard from the gate finally caught up, panting. He shot me a venomous glare before leaning down to whisper something to Aria. Aria smiled gently and rose, walking toward me. “Hello there. Are you a fan of mine? Thank you so much for your support, but it really wasn’t right of you to cut the line and force your way in.” Before I could speak, Trish jumped in. “Aria, don’t waste your time on her. She’s a psycho. Keeps insisting this manor is her home.” She then added with a sneer, “We all know that Apex’s Vice President, Mr. Anthony, gave this estate to you.” Aria lowered her head, a shy, pleased smile on her face. I let out a sharp, derisive laugh. “Is that so, Ms. Lin? Is this really your home?” Aria stiffened. “What is your relationship with Franklin Anthony? Tell him to get over here right now. Who gave you permission to enter my home? Who gave you permission to charge people money to turn my home into a tourist trap?” My voice was laced with fury. The gawking crowd fell silent. After a long moment, Aria bit her lip, her expression turning wounded. “Miss, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re the one who trespassed onto private property and now you’re interrogating me? Everyone here today is a fan of mine. If you’re not here in good faith, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” As she spoke, she gestured for her black-suited guards to close in on me. I laughed coldly. “I’d like to see you try.” 4 I took over Apex Group when I was eighteen. I’ve spent years navigating the cutthroat world of business. The authority I carried was not something to be trifled with. For a moment, everyone froze, hesitant to move. “Ms. Lin,” one of the guards muttered, “Mr. Anthony said we shouldn’t make a scene…” Aria’s face paled, as if she had been deeply wronged. She took out her phone and made a call. “Franklin… someone broke into the manor, and she’s being so unreasonable. I… I want to ask her to leave. You won’t think I’m being difficult, will you?” A familiar voice came through the phone, impossibly gentle. “Of course not, sweetheart. Didn’t I leave you with my best guys? You don’t need to bother me with little things like this. As long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters. I’m on my way to pick you up now.” Then, he told her to put him on speaker. I heard Franklin’s voice, now cold and commanding, fill the air. “Everything at the manor is to be done according to Ms. Lin’s wishes. Is that understood?” The guards immediately straightened up. “Yes, sir!” Aria shot me a triumphant smile. Trish looked like she was about to swoon, her face full of envy. “Aria, Mr. Anthony is so good to you.” My heart finally hit rock bottom. I had been making excuses for him, wondering if someone was using his name without his knowledge. That phone call was a slap in the face. He wouldn’t answer my calls, but for this other woman, he was gentle, attentive, and would grant her every wish. He was willing to use my home to feed her vanity. By what right? The guards started to move toward me, ready to throw me out. Suddenly, a panicked voice shouted from behind the crowd. “Stop! Stop right there!” I turned. It was Captain Miller. Aria frowned. “Captain Miller? What are you doing here? If I recall correctly, I fired you.” Captain Miller’s face was red with anger. “This is Ms. Reed’s home! You have no right to fire me! Ms. Reed trusted me to look after this estate. How could you do this?” He then turned to me, his eyes widening in recognition and then lighting up with relief. He was about to call out to me, but I gave him a subtle shake of my head, signaling him to wait. The livestream camera caught every word. I saw a flash of panic in Aria’s eyes. “What are you talking about? This manor belongs to Mr. Anthony.” “Captain Miller, I was being lenient with you,” she said, her voice turning sharp. “I didn’t call the police when you stole from the manor, I simply fired you. But if you continue to make trouble, I’ll have no choice but to involve them.” The honest, hardworking Captain Miller flushed with indignation. “I didn’t! I didn’t steal anything! You’re the one who’s lying! You and Mr. Anthony, behind Ms. Reed’s back, you stole—” Aria cut him off, turning to the cameras and the crowd with a soft, apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, everyone. I didn’t handle this well. Please excuse the interruption.” Her fans immediately rushed to her defense. “It’s not your fault, Aria!” “You’re just too nice!” The comments on the livestream were flying, all of them expressing disgust toward me and Captain Miller, painting us as the villains of the story. I looked at her, my gaze steady. “So, Ms. Lin, the man you were just speaking to on the phone… that was the Vice President of Apex Group, Franklin Anthony, correct?” Amidst the cheers of her fans, she blushed. I nodded slowly. “And do you know the name of this manor?” Aria paused, but someone in the crowd shouted, “It’s Willow’s Peak Manor!” A small, cold smile touched my lips. “It is. And do you know my name?” I looked directly into the livestream camera. “My name is Willow Reed.” Just then, a shocked gasp came from the edge of the courtyard. “Willow? What are you doing back?” I turned. It was Franklin, his eyes wide with terror, his body trembling. Behind him, all the color drained from Aria Lin’s face.

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My best friend was pregnant, so of course, the first thing I did was drag her to my ex-boyfriend’s hospital for her check-up. Dr. Leo Shen looked up as I practically bounced into his office, Chloe trailing nervously behind me. A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face as he took in my ridiculously wide grin. “Yours?” he asked, his tone completely deadpan. I stopped short, the giddy bubble of my excitement popping. “Huh? What did you just say?” He leaned back in his chair, enjoying my confusion. “Is the baby yours?” “No,” I said, shaking my head automatically. “Then what are you so happy about? You’re showing off every tooth in your head.” I was speechless. Utterly speechless. 1 My best friend was pregnant, and I was going to be a godmother. This was, without a doubt, a cause for monumental celebration. Which is how I ended up dragging her into Leo’s office. It was Wednesday during the lunch hour, his shift, leaving the room blissfully empty except for him. The thought of getting to be an auntie was intoxicating. I could already picture it: a tiny, chubby human I could spoil rotten and then hand back the moment it started crying. It was going to be the absolute best. I was so lost in this fantasy that my grin was probably splitting my face in two. Still recovering from his initial jab, I decided to restart, puffing out my chest with the kind of pride usually reserved for Nobel Prize winners. “Leo, my best friend is pregnant.” A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes, a clear sign he was going to continue messing with me. “Mine?” “What?” I blinked, my brain rebooting. I glanced at Chloe, then back at the man who had occupied far too much of my headspace for the past two years. A little huff of indignation escaped me. “What kind of joke is that? Of course not yours!” “So,” he leaned forward, steepling his fingers, the picture of cool professionalism except for that glint in his eye. “Is it yours?” “What?” I was floored again. The man was speaking my language, but I couldn’t seem to process the words. He’d already asked me this, and my brain still couldn’t compute the sheer absurdity. “Is the baby yours?” he repeated, his expression unwavering. “No,” I shook my head again. “Then why are you grinning like you just won the lottery?” he said, echoing his earlier sentiment and leaving me, once again, completely lost for words. Before I could formulate a comeback, he went on. “And if it’s not mine, and it’s not yours, what are you doing in my office?” That lit a fire under me. “Leo, does your family own this hospital? Since when do I need your permission to be here?” “They don’t,” he replied smoothly, not missing a beat. “The Dean’s name is Shaw. My name is Shen. No relation.” 2 I let out a couple of pointed, frustrated hums. “Well, there you go. You’re a doctor. I brought Chloe here for a check-up. It’s what people do at hospitals.” Leo’s smile finally broke through, warm and genuine for a second. “Riley, anyone who didn’t know better would think you were the one who’s pregnant. I don’t remember you ever looking this happy when you were with me.” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “I’m going to be the godmother, Leo. I’m allowed to be excited. Just because you’re incapable of joy doesn’t mean you can’t let other people celebrate.” A faint blush crept up his neck. “Riley, don’t talk nonsense.” I was enjoying myself far too much, about to fire back with another jab when the office door swung open. A man in a white coat walked in, and my good mood evaporated, replaced by a cold dread. Oh, God. It was over. It was all over. All three of us—me, Chloe, and Leo—shot to our feet, a triangle of sudden, awkward tension. “Dr. Evans,” I managed to say, my voice a squeak. “Dr. Evans,” Leo said, his tone respectful. “Dad,” Chloe whispered, her voice barely audible. Leo’s head snapped toward me, his face a perfect mask of confusion. His eyes were wide, practically screaming three giant question marks. Dr. Evans is Chloe’s dad? he mouthed silently. I ignored him. Chloe had just called the man “Dad.” What more confirmation did he need? “Riley? Chloe? What are you two doing here?” Dr. Evans asked, his brow furrowed with concern. “Is everything alright?” Chloe’s hand found mine, her grip like a vise. I shot a panicked look at Leo, frantically trying to use my eyes to tell him to hide the patient file on his desk—Chloe’s file. But he just stood there like a deer in headlights, completely missing my desperate telepathic signals. Useless. My teammate was completely useless. 3 “Dad… I…” Chloe stammered, her eyes darting around the room. Then, she took a deep breath and delivered the line that would seal my fate. “Riley’s pregnant. I’m just here with her for her appointment.” My knees went weak. I felt a sudden, intense urge to drop to the floor and bow before my best friend’s treachery. Chloe, Chloe, Chloe. How could you? I come here to support you, and you throw me right under the bus. She gave my sleeve a tiny tug, her eyes pleading with me to play along. Fine. For the sake of twenty-three years of friendship, from scraped knees on the playground to navigating our first heartbreaks, I’d take the fall. My face flushed a deep, humiliating red. I squeezed my eyes shut. “Yes, Dr. Evans. It’s me. I’m… I’m pregnant. I asked Chloe to come with me for support.” Chloe let out a shaky breath of relief. I did, too. Okay. The lie was out. Surely her dad wouldn’t suspect anything now, right? Just as I thought we were in the clear, the door opened again. “What’s going on? Is there a party in here?” “Dad,” I croaked, a new wave of panic washing over me. “Dean Shaw,” Leo said, his voice laced with shock as he glanced from the newcomer back to me. Your dad? he mouthed, his eyes wider than before. I didn’t have time to answer him. “Dr. Shaw,” Chloe whimpered, stumbling slightly. I had to grab her arm to keep her from collapsing into me. This wasn’t just a complicated situation anymore. This was a five-car pile-up of awkwardness. A full-blown disaster zone. “Well, Bill,” Dr. Evans said, a huge smile spreading across his face as he turned to my father. “Congratulations. Looks like you’re going to be a grandfather.”

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Five years into my marriage with Adrian Vaughn, he brought his piano accompanist home. He cornered me at the funeral home, just moments after my mother’s cremation, to tell me he wanted a divorce. The scent of wilting lilies and antiseptic hung in the air, a sickening cocktail. “I connect with someone like Hailey,” he said, his voice devoid of the warmth I once cherished. “Someone with an artist’s soul. Being with you, Cora… it’s just dull.” Grief was a physical weight, a stone in my chest. I could barely breathe, let alone process his words. Tears I thought I’d run out of pricked at my eyes again. “Can’t we talk about this another day?” A cruel, dismissive smile touched his lips. “No. Today.” I took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded, the fight draining out of me. “Fine.” What he didn’t know was that “Aria,” the anonymous, masked pianist currently taking the classical music world by storm, was me. And that next month, my debut tour was scheduled to begin, where I would finally show my face. Later, much later, Adrian would be laid up in a hospital bed after a car wreck, his arm in a plaster cast. He’d find me on the day of my wedding, his eyes wild with desperation, and cry, “Can’t it be another day?” And I, echoing the ghost of his past cruelty, would look at him with a cold smile and say, “No. Today.” 1 Adrian was a pianist. It was the core of his identity. In the years we were married, his life was a blur of concert halls and international tours. Our home was little more than a place for him to store his things between flights. A few weeks ago, he had a performance in our city. I didn’t tell him I was going; I bought a ticket online and slipped into a seat in the back, just wanting to feel close to him for a night. But as I was leaving the venue, I heard the familiar banter of his friends echoing from the green room. “Damn, Adrian,” one of them crowed, “you’re really getting the full service from that accompanist of yours. Hailey’s what, twenty-two? You lucky bastard.” A young woman’s voice, feigning modesty, followed. “Adrian is the brilliant one. I’m just happy to be near him…” Before she could finish, Adrian’s voice, the voice I knew better than my own, cut in. “Alright, guys, lay off. Hailey’s sensitive. Don’t want to scare her away.” The jeering continued. “Ooh, protective, are we? What about the ball and chain at home? Isn’t she going to lose her mind when she finds out?” The air went still for a second. Then came Adrian’s cold, dismissive laugh. “Why would you even bring her up? She’s the housekeeper’s daughter. Do you really think I don’t come home because I’m busy? The woman is a bore. Seeing her face is a chore. I’m ending it as soon as I get back.” The world went flat and gray. I don’t remember walking home. I remember the buzzing in my ears, the way the streetlights smeared into meaningless streaks of light. Then, the phone rang. It was the hospital. My mother was gone. I knew it was coming. The cancer had been relentless. But for both blows to land on the same day felt like a special kind of cosmic cruelty. There was no time to process Adrian’s betrayal. I threw myself into the grim logistics of death, the endless paperwork and phone calls. The funeral was a blur of hushed condolences and sympathetic looks from people I barely knew. I had just walked out of the chapel, clutching the small, heavy box of my mother’s ashes, when I saw him. He wasn’t there for my mother. He was there for himself. And standing beside him, her hand clutching his arm, was the other woman. Hailey. She looked at me with wide, supposedly innocent eyes, pressing herself into Adrian’s side as if I were a threat. He instinctively stepped forward, shielding her. The gesture was a gut punch, a perfect, painful mirror of a time long ago when he had shielded me from the snickering heirs and heiresses who called me the charity case, the girl from the wrong side of town. Back then, I was the one he protected. “Cora,” he started, his voice clipped and businesslike. “I brought Hailey here today because I wanted to be direct. We’re getting a divorce.” He continued, his words like polished stones, smooth and hard. “We were young. I made a mistake. I’ve realized the kind of woman I need is someone who understands art, who is graceful, who understands me. You can’t offer any of that.” He softened his gaze, turning it to the girl beside him. “You came to my family’s house from nothing. You never learned an instrument, your whole personality is just… small. I admire someone with an artist’s soul, like Hailey. Being with you is just plain boring.” The man I married, or the man I thought I’d married, was there in the gentle look he gave her. But it wasn’t for me. Not anymore. My eyes, already raw from weeping, filled again. “Can’t we talk about this another day? Today is my mom’s…” I thought he might, for her sake. My mother had practically raised him, had cooked his favorite meals and soothed his childhood fevers. But he cut me off with that cold smile. “No. Today.” A bitter taste filled my mouth. I forced it down, drew a breath that felt like swallowing glass, and met his gaze. “Fine.” 2 My mother was the Vaughns’ housekeeper. To keep me close, she brought me with her to their sprawling house after school every day. I became a permanent fixture, Adrian’s shadow and his study partner. We were two halves of a whole, our lives intertwined in a way no one else could understand. When he told his parents he wanted to marry me, they weren’t thrilled, but they agreed. His mother, especially, had watched me grow up. She knew my character, even if my bank account was empty. The Vaughns had been good to us. When my mother got sick, they paid for the best doctors, the most advanced treatments. They gave her a chance she never would have had otherwise. But the outside world saw a different story. They saw the celebrated pianist who never went home to his wife. They whispered that I’d used my mother’s position to claw my way into a world where I didn’t belong. They said Adrian was so repulsed by me he wouldn’t even have a child with me, afraid it might inherit my “poverty.” I endured it all, telling myself their kindness was worth the price of the world’s scorn. When the loneliness and the whispers became too much, I would retreat to the basement. Down there sat an old, dusty piano Adrian had long since abandoned. It was out of tune and worn, but the sound it made was mine. On weekends, I’d enter amateur competitions, always wearing a mask, collecting small trophies and accolades in secret. Adrian never knew. He never knew that the piano was my first love, long before he was. That my mother had saved for a year to buy me a cheap electronic keyboard when I was seven. This love I had nurtured for over a decade, my deepest secret, remained invisible to the man who shared my bed. The irony was suffocating. I wiped the last of the tears from my face. No more looking back. I just needed to pack my things and leave that house forever. But when I got home, the keyboard was gone. My heart hammered against my ribs. I called Adrian. His voice was casual. “Oh, that? I took it.” It wasn’t valuable, not to anyone else. But it was the last piece of my mother I had left. It was sixteen years of my life. The keys were already fragile; if it was handled carelessly… I couldn’t finish the thought. I arranged to meet him, my voice tight, demanding he return it. A few minutes later, my phone buzzed. A notification from the high school alumni group chat. It had mostly become a fan club for Adrian. Someone had posted a video: Adrian and Hailey, on our living room sofa, locked in a passionate kiss. A minute later, it was deleted. “Oops, wrong chat!” the person wrote, but the damage was done. The chat exploded. Before I could leave the group, a private message popped up. Leo: You divorced? The name surprised me. Leo Sterling. In high school, he was the quiet, intense one who never ran with Adrian’s popular crowd. Now he was one of the most respected music critics in the country, easily the most successful person from our graduating class. I hesitated, then typed back: Yes. A moment later, his reply came. Leo: Congratulations. I frowned, puzzled, but my phone started buzzing incessantly. I’d been tagged back in the main group chat. “Cora, is it true you guys divorced because you couldn’t have kids?” “Honestly, you can’t blame Adrian. Cora was always so uptight. A guy’s got to have some fun before he gets too old!” “I always thought Hailey was a much better match for him. She’s so elegant. They’re a perfect pair!” “Wishing them the best!” The messages were a flood of criticism aimed at me, followed by a tidal wave of congratulations for him and Hailey. Adrian ignored the jabs at me, methodically replying “Thank you” to each message of support. My teeth clenched. I didn’t reply. I just left the group and silenced my phone. None of it mattered. I just needed to get my keyboard back. 3 The next day, I walked into the private room at the restaurant he’d chosen and was immediately drenched in a cascade of ice water. My eyes snapped up. The room was filled with the same friends from high school, circled around a large table. In the center, like a king and his new queen, sat Adrian and Hailey. I was lucky I’d worn a thick cotton sweater; otherwise, I’d have been completely exposed. Someone laughed. “Oh, it’s Cora! We made a rule in the group chat—last one to arrive gets a shower! You must have missed it since you left. Our bad!” My gaze, cold as the ice water soaking my clothes, found Adrian. The time, the place—it had all been his idea. This was a setup. He cleared his throat, the orchestrator of my humiliation. “It’s a class reunion. You’re part of the class. Just sit.” I didn’t move. “I’m not interested. If you don’t have my keyboard, mail it to me.” I turned to leave, but Hailey’s soft voice stopped me. “Cora, don’t go. Is it because of me? I know this is a reunion for you guys… I shouldn’t have come. Please, you stay. I’ll leave.” I glanced back. She made a show of standing up, only to be pulled back down by Adrian, who wrapped a protective arm around her. “You’re not going anywhere,” he murmured into her hair. “Everyone loves having you here.” A chorus of agreement went around the table. Hailey dabbed at the corner of her eye, her performance complete. “Cora, the keyboard is on its way,” Adrian said, his tone sharp with annoyance. “Just sit down and stop ruining the mood.” I only cared about one thing. So, I sat. The party atmosphere returned. Hailey charmed them all, laughing and blushing at their questions. “Hailey, isn’t being a piano accompanist exhausting?” someone asked. She shook her head, her expression beatific. “Not at all. It requires skill and patience, and you don’t get the spotlight, of course. But to be immersed in music with the person I love… I think that’s its own kind of happiness.” She gazed adoringly at Adrian, who practically glowed. His friends laid it on thick. “That’s amazing, Hailey. The people behind the scenes are just as important!” “Exactly! At least you understand music. You’re good enough to be Adrian’s accompanist. Unlike some people, who probably don’t even know what an accompanist is.” The table chuckled, their eyes flicking to me. I ignored them, staring at my phone. Then Hailey turned to me directly. “Cora, you were Adrian’s wife, so you must know about pianos. The masked pianist, Aria, is revealing her identity next month. She’s a friend of mine, actually. She gave me some tickets. Would you like to go?” My head snapped up. A friend of yours? That’s news to me. Her question opened the floodgates for more ridicule. This time, Adrian joined in. “You can keep the tickets, Hailey. Cora doesn’t go to things like that. Don’t waste your kind gesture.” “Seriously! Can you imagine someone who only listens to country radio at a classical concert? She’d fall asleep!” “Give her a break. She didn’t grow up with this stuff. How would she even know who Aria is?” Laughter filled the room. A cold, sharp smile formed on my lips, though I kept my head down. I wasn’t going to say a word. Just wait until you see who’s under that mask, I thought. I wonder what your faces will look like then. 4 “You said it was on its way. Where is it?” My patience had evaporated. I looked directly at Adrian. He had the grace to look momentarily sheepish. “Oh, right. I forgot where I put it. That was just an excuse to get you to sit down and stop making a scene.” A roar filled my ears. I slammed my hand on the table, the plates and glasses rattling as I shot to my feet. “So you have no idea where it is?” The room fell silent. Hailey tugged on Adrian’s sleeve. “What is she talking about?” she whispered. “Nothing. Just some old, broken electronic piece of junk.” That was the spark. The room erupted again. “It’s a broken keyboard? Is that what this is about? What, you decided you want to learn piano now? Trying to turn from a crow into a phoenix to win Adrian back?” Adrian raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “It’s not worth anything, Cora. I’ll buy you a new one. Look, you can’t play, so just drop it. I’ve moved on.” The cold atmosphere was gone, replaced by their jeering laughter. But I couldn’t hear it anymore. I walked straight up to Adrian, swung my arm back, and slapped him hard across the face. The crack echoed in the sudden, dead silence. Everyone stared, their faces masks of shock. “A piece of junk?” My voice shook with a rage I didn’t know I possessed. “That was the last thing my mother ever gave me. Do you have any idea what it means to me?” Adrian, holding his reddening cheek, just stared. He had never seen this side of me. “Cora, I…” “Is this it, Cora?” Hailey’s voice cut through the tension. She held up her phone. On the screen was a picture of my keyboard. My name, carved into the plastic by my mother’s own hand, was clearly visible. I fought to control my breathing, my eyes burning as I walked towards her. “Why do you have it?” “I was using it to practice with Adrian a few days ago,” she said lightly. “But it didn’t work very well.” I took a deep breath. “Where is it now?” Hailey put her phone away. The pretense of innocence vanished, replaced by a smug, triumphant smile. “I threw it out.” The dam inside me broke. All the grief, the humiliation, the years of quiet resentment, erupted in a single, violent surge. I lunged, grabbing a fistful of her hair and slamming her against the wall. My other hand closed around her throat. “Ah!” Her face began to turn red as my grip tightened. The fear in her eyes was real now. She choked out pleas for mercy. Adrian, seeing me truly unhinged for the first time, finally snapped out of his shock. He grabbed me from behind, his arms like iron bands, forcing my fingers to uncurl. “Cora, stop! I’ll find it for you, okay? Just calm down!” I didn’t listen. I wrenched myself free and drove my heel into his shin. “This is your fault! You never should have let her touch it!” I left him clutching his leg, and fled the room, leaving their shocked faces behind. Outside, the cold wind was a brutal shock against my soaked clothes. Tears streamed down my face, hot against my frozen skin.

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The world snapped back into focus with Caleb Vaughn walking toward me. And in that instant, I knew I hadn’t made it home. The ninth failure. The tenth beginning. He stopped a few feet away, a lazy, cruel smirk plastered on his handsome face. “You just don’t give up, do you? I’ve never met anyone so pathetic. Now, be a good girl and go…” His words blurred into a meaningless drone. I was done listening. I looked up, my gaze locking onto his, and for the first time in a long time, it was perfectly clear. My hand moved, a fluid motion, pulling the pin from the knot of my hair. In the space between one heartbeat and the next, the sharpened metal point was buried in his throat. He gasped, his hand flying to his neck, his eyes wide with a question I had no intention of answering. A spray of warmth misted my face. “You’re the pathetic one,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “You don’t even deserve to live.” I had been reborn nine times to win Caleb Vaughn’s heart. Success was my only ticket back to my own world. But it didn’t matter what I did—the outcome was always the same. Failure. This was the tenth time. I was done trying. I just wanted Caleb Vaughn dead. 1 My eyes opened again. Caleb was walking toward me, a storm cloud of irritation on his face. A familiar, sterile tone chimed in my head. Ding! New objective issued: Successfully win the affection of Caleb Vaughn and ensure his happiness. Upon completion, the Host will be returned to their original world. The tenth time. The first seven loops were a masterclass in dying. Car accidents. Cliff falls. Drowning. Some were the result of his cruel pranks, some happened while I was trying to save him, and once, he killed me with his own two hands. On the eighth loop, I considered a new strategy: maybe he just hated me. For his “happiness,” I tried to disappear. I left the country. But he hunted me down, dragged me back, and locked me in a basement to starve. All so I would stay by his side. On the ninth loop, I endured. I swallowed his insults, bandaged the bruises from his rage, and stayed. I became his perfect, docile wife. I held his hand as he died of old age, having devoted my entire existence to him. I had suppressed every urge to run, to fight back, to end my own life or his. I thought, finally, that had to be it. As I closed my eyes for the last time in that life, I let myself dream of my real parents, of the joy on their faces when I reappeared. God, I was so tired. I missed them so much. I would have killed for a plate of my mom’s cooking. But the universe had other plans. And now, seeing Caleb’s face again, I felt nothing. A complete and total void. He stormed toward me, his voice a low growl. “Ava, you are so fucking pathetic. Can’t stay away, can you? One call and you come running.” I remembered this night. He’d made a bet with his pack of jackal friends. He bet that I’d drink three bottles of champagne for him, even though he knew—everyone knew—I had a deadly allergy to alcohol. Behind him, his buddies were laughing. “Damn, Caleb, you’ve got her trained. Didn’t even change out of her pajamas.” “Guess she was in a hurry to get into your bed.” “The girl’s desperate. No way she doesn’t drink it. Shit, looks like I owe you a G-Wagon.” I have a severe alcohol allergy. In my real life, a bad stomach ulcer from my college days meant my mom had spent six months consulting with nutritionists and cooking special meals just to heal me. In my last life, my ninth life, I drank the champagne. I wept while I did it, apologizing to my mom in my head, but I had to. I wanted to go home so badly. They ended up removing half of my stomach. Caleb’s face was a mask of impatience, his handsome features twisted with a familiar, simmering violence. “Are you deaf? Go drink the champagne. And don’t give me any of that allergy bullshit. The bet’s for my car. I’m not losing.” Last time, when I tried to explain, he’d slapped me so hard my ears rang. He’d grabbed my hair and dragged me to the table. He’d shattered a bottle and held the jagged neck to my throat. “Don’t be a bitch, Ava. You came here, so you’re going to drink. Don’t embarrass me, or I swear to God I’ll kill you.” I drank it all. His only comment was, “Pathetic.” After that night, in that ninth life, he married me. Our life together was a special kind of hell. My skin was a constant patchwork of bruises. He was a monster. He hit me when he was drunk, he hit me when he was angry, and sometimes, he hit me for no reason at all. My fists clenched at my sides. I ground my teeth. This time, I wasn’t going to endure it. This time, he was going to die. Seeing my silence, his brow furrowed. He took a step closer, raising his hand. It was moving toward my face, an all-too-familiar trajectory. My eyes narrowed, my focus absolute. My hand shot up to my hair, pulling the metal pin free. With all the force I could muster, I lunged forward and plunged the sharpened end deep into his throat. Blood erupted, hot and wet against my skin. His eyes bulged, his hand clawing at his neck, a look of pure disbelief on his face. “Ghk! Ghk! You… you…” He tried to speak, but only a torrent of red spilled from his lips. 2 Gritting my teeth, I pushed the pin in deeper. “You’re the pathetic one,” I whispered, the words like acid. “You don’t deserve to live.” That sterile, digital voice only ever spoke once per lifetime. I wished I could ask it, just once, why a monster like Caleb Vaughn deserved happiness. He didn’t. He deserved to die. His body slid to the floor, his eyes wide open, frozen in a mask of indignation. Screams finally erupted around me. People scrambled, knocking over chairs and tables in a chaotic rush for the exits. The world dissolved. When it reformed, I was standing in an airport terminal, the air thick with the murmur of a thousand conversations. In the distance, I saw him. Caleb, his face a thundercloud, flanked by two imposing bodyguards, stalking toward me. I had been reborn. This was the eighth life. This was the life I had finally accepted he would never love me, that he was a monster. I’d decided to leave the country to escape his torment. But he was a demon you couldn’t outrun. He found me, dragged me back to a cellar, and pulled my hair until my scalp screamed. “You can never leave me, Ava. You’ll die by my side, and nowhere else.” And I did. I starved to death in that darkness. Now, he was getting closer. I calmly reached up, my fingers closing around the hairpin in my hair. I watched him approach, my expression a perfect blank. He spread his arms wide, a mocking, triumphant smile on his face. “Ava, Ava. Did you really think you could leave without my permission? Be a good girl and come home with me. If you do, I promise I’ll go easy on you.” A faint smile touched my own lips. I said nothing. I just took a step forward, grabbed the front of his expensive silk tie, and with a motion that was becoming second nature, drove the pin into his throat. Blood sprayed across my face. Again. “Aahh!” Panic exploded around us. He clutched his neck, his eyes filled with genuine terror this time. I looked down at him as he collapsed, my voice flat. “You will never have the chance to hurt me again. Just die.” Caleb Vaughn choked on his own blood and lay still. 3 The world twisted, and I blinked. I was standing beside a shimmering pool, soaked to the bone and shivering violently. Caleb stood before me, looking impossibly handsome and utterly contemptuous. “Well? Get back in there and find my ring.” The woman clinging to his arm, a girl with a deceptively sweet face, pouted. “Oh, Caleb, be nice. I mean, Ava’s your girlfriend now, isn’t she? And I don’t think she can swim. This seems a little mean.” A cruel smirk played on Caleb’s lips. “Girlfriend? Please. She’s a pathetic stray who follows me around. She’s my girlfriend when I say she is, and she’s trash when I say she is.” I remembered. This was the seventh life. The woman was his childhood friend, a snake named Maddy. A few days earlier, Caleb had cornered me and told me he loved me. Desperate for a new angle, a new path to success, I had agreed to be his girlfriend. It had all been a bet, of course. In this life, he killed me. I couldn’t swim, so I refused to jump back into the pool. He kicked me in. As I thrashed in the water, screaming for help, he forbade anyone from moving a muscle. He let me drown in front of a dozen people. He found me, he pursued me, I did nothing, and he still murdered me. Now, seeing me just stand there, shivering and silent, his patience snapped. He strode toward me. “What the hell, did my words stop working? I told you to get back in the goddamn pool and find it. You’re not leaving here until you do.” My eyes, red-rimmed and burning, stared up at him. As he reached out to grab me, my hand darted to a nearby cocktail table. I snatched a small paring knife left on a fruit platter and lunged, burying it in his stomach. Once wasn’t enough. I ripped it out, the sound slick and wet, and plunged it in again. And again. And again, with all the strength I had, driving it to the hilt. Blood splattered across my face, obscuring my vision, but the more I saw, the more satisfying it felt. Caleb clutched at the wound, his face a mask of agony and rage. He staggered back, crashing into a lounge chair, a river of red pouring from his designer shirt. He stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You… you…” The party guests were screaming, running in every direction. A cold, harsh laugh escaped my lips. I didn’t want to hear his pathetic last words. “You’re the pathetic one, Caleb. You’re the one who told me you loved me, then you told everyone I was a slut who chased you. You lied.” “I did nothing to you,” I screamed, my voice cracking, “and you were still going to kill me! Just die! Die!” My strength gave out, and I collapsed onto the blood-soaked pavement. Caleb’s body slid from the chair, his blood turning the crystal-clear pool a sickening shade of crimson. 4 My eyes stayed open for this transition. The world warped, colors bleeding together, until I found myself standing in the center of a grand ballroom. A string quartet played an elegant waltz as couples glided across the polished floor. The sixth life. Tonight was the annual Vaughn family gala. Caleb had personally invited me. He’d even sent a dress to my apartment. He would force me to dance in the center of the room. The moment I raised my arms, the entire dress, held together by a single, dissolving thread, would fall to the floor. Wearing nothing but pasties, I would try to run, but Caleb and his friends would block my path, their phones held high. They would film everything. The pictures and videos would be online before I even made it home. I would become the laughingstock, the slut of the city. I remember Caleb holding his phone up to my face, a vicious grin splitting his face. “Well, well, Ava. Who were you trying to seduce with this little number? Damn, nice tits. So white.” Overnight, the entire world had seen my body. I barricaded myself in my apartment, and a week later, I swallowed a bottle of pills. Now, across the crowded room, I saw him. He was leaning against a marble pillar, the picture of bored arrogance, watching me. He looked like a predator, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce and tear me to shreds. Our eyes met. I mouthed the words silently. Long time no see, Caleb. He saw me standing frozen in the middle of the dance floor and muttered a curse under his breath, pushing himself off the pillar to stalk toward me. I lifted the hem of my gown slightly and moved toward a passing waiter, deftly plucking a heavy dinner fork from his tray. Caleb reached me, his face tight with anger. “What the hell are you waiting for, you bitch? Start dancing. How long do I have to…” My gaze was locked on his, unwavering, as if he were the only person in the universe. “Go to hell.” “What?” Before he could process it, I lunged. I drove the tines of the fork deep into his eye. I ripped it out and, in the same motion, plunged it into the soft flesh of his throat. Once again, that familiar hot spray. He stared at me, his face a canvas of horror, trying to pull my hand away, but I only pushed the fork deeper. “Aaargh!” A choked, agonizing scream tore from his throat. The guests scattered, their own screams echoing in the vast ballroom. He clutched his neck, his one good eye bulging. “Why… why would you…” I looked at him, my expression cold as ice. “Because you’re a monster. And you deserve to die. This dress? The one you were going to humiliate me with? You gave it to me. You thought this was all a fun game. Well, I decided to play, too.” I twisted the fork. Up on the mezzanine, Caleb’s parents were rushing toward the staircase, their faces panicked. They were monsters, too. In that life, after the video went viral, I had gone to them. I had knelt on the floor and begged them to make him take it down. I told them he had given me the dress, that it was a setup. His mother had looked down at me with pure disgust. “That sounds like your problem. Maybe you should have thought about that before acting like a whore.” “For all we know, you wore that dress on purpose, hoping to trap a rich man,” his father had added. “Don’t come here playing the victim.” Everyone looked at me with that same contempt. They all saw a gold-digging slut. That was the moment my last hope had died. Of course. Only monsters could raise a monster. This wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. They all deserved to die. 5 In a blink, I was in a dark, grimy room. A heavy shovel was in my hands. On the floor lay a man with a bloody head. Across from me, Caleb stood, his face pale with fear. The fifth life. A business rival of the Vaughn family had kidnapped Caleb for revenge. I’d been with him, so they took me, too. The man on the floor had been about to cut off Caleb’s arm. I’d snuck up behind him and knocked him out with the shovel. As we were escaping, Caleb used me as a diversion. I’ll never forget it. We were almost at the door, my hand in his, when he suddenly shoved me to the ground, scrambled outside, and slammed the heavy door shut. I heard his muffled voice from the other side. “Ava, they’re coming back! You have to stall them! I’ll get help, I promise!” Then his footsteps faded, and he was gone. Of course, they caught me. They weren’t just kidnappers; they were animals. They took me back to their hideout and… I will never forget that pain. Never. I don’t know if Caleb ever came back with help. They killed me on that filthy mattress before I could find out. Now, in this dark room, I took a deep breath. I glanced at the unconscious man on the floor, then raised my eyes to meet Caleb’s. He crept forward and checked the man’s pulse. “He’s alive. Come on, let’s go!” He ran to the door and peeked out. “Damn it. I swear, nothing but bad luck ever happens when you’re around, Ava. When we get out of here, I’m going to kill you.” I almost laughed. A bitter, broken sound. I’d just saved his life, and the animal thought I was the problem. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t getting out of here. He was going to die right here. Suddenly, the synthesized voice screeched in my head, frantic. “Warning! Warning! Host must complete the objective. The death of the target will result in a loop reset and mission failure. The Host will never return home.”

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Countless iterations of the word “slut” had been gouged into the obsidian black paint of my brand-new car. I was in the owner’s lounge at the dealership, the security footage cued up on a tablet, when I saw her. Chloe. My fiancée. Who was supposed to be two states over visiting her sister. Standing right next to her, looking painfully awkward, was Evan, her childhood best friend. “Leo, it’s just a car. Do you really have to make such a big deal out of this?” She tossed a service estimate onto the glass table in front of me. “Just sign it. Insurance will handle everything. Let’s not be late for our movie.” My eyes were glued to the tablet. To the pixelated image of Evan, key in hand, grinning as he carved a deep gash across the Porsche emblem on the hood. I felt a slow, cold smile spread across my own face. “You want me to just let this go?” “Yes,” they both said, their faces masks of entitled impatience. “Alright,” I said, picking up my keys from the table and tossing them so they landed with a soft clack in front of Evan. “Buy me a new one.” I leaned back, meeting their stunned expressions. “And we’ll pretend this never happened.” 1 The color drained from Chloe’s face. “Leo, what the hell are you talking about?” Evan, the man who’d been laughing like a hyena in the video, now adopted the look of a kicked puppy. “Leo, man, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight, I’d had a few drinks. My hand just… slipped.” I picked up my phone, found the video file, and turned the volume all the way up. His voice, tinny but clear, filled the quiet lounge. “Watch this, Chloe. I’m gonna leave him a little souvenir.” The shriek of metal on metal that followed was excruciatingly loud. Every other customer in the room turned to stare. Chloe’s face cycled through shades of red, white, and a sickly green. She lunged for my phone, trying to wrestle it from my grasp. I was faster. I locked the screen and pulled it away. “What do you think you’re doing?” “Are you trying to humiliate us?” she hissed, her voice a furious whisper. “Humiliate you?” I stared at her, genuinely baffled. “He’s the one who did something disgusting. How does that turn into me humiliating you?” Evan tugged on Chloe’s sleeve, putting on a show of remorse for our audience. “Leo, I’ll pay for the repairs. Double, whatever they cost. Okay?” “I said, a new car.” My voice was flat, devoid of any warmth. “Don’t push it, Leo!” Chloe finally snapped. “It’s a car that costs, what, a few dozen grand? You’re going to throw away our entire relationship for that?” “A few dozen grand?” A laugh escaped my lips, but there was no humor in it. “Chloe, this car, with all the options, was two hundred and eighty thousand dollars. And that’s what it is in your mind? A rounding error?” “More importantly,” I said, my voice dropping, “this isn’t about the money.” I pointed a finger at Evan. “It’s about him. Maliciously destroying something of mine, right in front of you. And you? You didn’t just hide it. You were going to let me walk in here like an idiot and sign that paper, none the wiser.” “I…” Chloe faltered, her mouth opening and closing with no sound. Evan, seeing his damsel in distress, stepped forward to play the knight. “Chloe, don’t get upset. It’s all my fault.” He turned to me, his eyes glinting with a challenge. “Leo, this is between us men. Don’t drag Chloe into it. Just tell me what you want.” The way he framed it, he was her noble protector, and I was the unreasonable villain. A chihuahua trying to pass for a Doberman. “It’s simple.” I scooped my keys off the table and dropped them back into my pocket. “A brand-new, identical car. Delivered today. If you can’t manage that, then we have nothing left to talk about.” I turned and walked away. Chloe’s shriek followed me. “Leo! Don’t you walk away from me! If you walk out that door, we are over!” I didn’t even break stride. 2 Back home, the first thing I did was back up the video. I made a dozen copies, uploading them to every cloud drive and encrypted email account I owned. The moment I finished, my mom called. “Leo, what’s this I hear about you and Chloe fighting? Honey, you’re the man, you have to be the bigger person sometimes.” Before I could even answer, the phone was passed to someone else. It was Chloe’s mother. “Leo, dear, it’s Diane. I heard what happened, and I am so sorry for what Evan did. I apologize on his behalf.” Her voice was syrupy sweet. “But you know Evan. He and Chloe grew up together, they’re like brother and sister. He was just fooling around, playing a prank on her. Scratching your car… it’s not that serious.” “Chloe told me we’ll cover the repair costs, of course. Please don’t hold this against her. We can’t let this affect the wedding.” I clutched the phone, a chill spreading through my chest as I listened to her spin a web of nonsense. A prank? Maliciously vandalizing a piece of property worth nearly three hundred thousand dollars was a prank? “Diane, I’ve seen the security footage. Your daughter, Chloe, knows perfectly well whether or not he was joking.” The other end of the line went silent. When she spoke again, her tone had hardened. “Leo, what is that supposed to mean? Do you think our Chloe isn’t good enough for you? You’re going to call off the wedding over a stupid car? Do you have any idea what we’ve invested in the down payment for your house…?” I hung up. Listening to another word felt like drinking poison. Five minutes later, my doorbell rang. It was Chloe, with Evan in tow. She must have assumed I’d have cooled down, because she entered with a face full of carefully crafted, tear-stained regret. “Leo, I’m so sorry. I know I was wrong. I shouldn’t have hidden it from you.” “Please don’t be mad at me. My mom already yelled at me.” Evan trailed behind her, holding a sad-looking fruit basket, a pathetic grin plastered on his face. “Hey, man. Look, I came all the way here to apologize in person. Can you just… let it go? Forgive and forget?” He set the basket on my coffee table with the air of someone bestowing a great honor. I remained on the couch, not moving, my gaze fixed on the wall behind them. “Where’s the new car?” Chloe’s performance faltered. Evan’s smile froze. “Leo, do you have to be like this?” Chloe’s patience evaporated, the tears vanishing as if on command. “I already said I’m sorry. What more do you want?” “I want a new car. Or a check for two hundred and eighty thousand dollars.” I finally looked at her. “Am I not speaking clearly?” “You’re insane!” she shrieked. “Where are we supposed to get that kind of money?” “That sounds like a ‘you’ problem.” I stood up. “If you don’t have the money, then get out of my house. The door is right there.” Evan’s face turned a blotchy red. He took a step toward me, puffing out his chest. “Don’t be an asshole, Leo.” My eyes were ice. “You want to do this? Fine. But I should warn you. If you lay a single finger on me today, this will be about a lot more than just a car.” He stared into my eyes, searching for a bluff he couldn’t find. He backed down. Seeing that aggression had failed, Chloe switched back to her soft approach. She grabbed my arm. “Leo, baby, we’re about to get married. We’re family. If you make Evan pay that much, how will he ever recover? How can we all stay friends?” “Family?” I yanked my arm away. “Does family conspire with an outsider to lie to me? To cheat me?” “And as for friends,” I shot a contemptuous look at Evan, “I have no interest in being friends with a petty criminal who destroys other people’s property.” My words hit their mark. Evan’s face flushed a deep crimson. “Watch your mouth, Leo!” “Or what?” I laughed. “Let’s talk about consequences. You have three days. In three days, I either see an identical new car in my parking spot, or I see two hundred and eighty thousand dollars in my bank account.” “If I don’t, I’m sending that video to everyone. Our entire families, all our mutual friends. I’ll even send it to the alumni networks for both of our colleges.” “Let’s let everyone see what a loyal ‘big sister’ you are, Chloe. And what a righteous ‘little brother’ you are, Evan.” The color drained from both of their faces. They were utterly, devastatingly pale. 3 They’d met in college. The alumni network was vast and active, including dozens of current colleagues and even a few of their senior managers. If that video got out, they’d be socially and professionally crucified. That was their real weakness. “You… you’re despicable,” Chloe stammered, her body trembling with rage. “Not as despicable as you two.” I gestured toward the door. “Three days. The clock starts now.” They left, practically tripping over each other in their haste. The silence that followed was a relief. I thought they would finally grasp the severity of the situation and figure out the money. But I had, once again, underestimated their capacity for stupidity. The next day, I got a call from our wedding planning agency. “Mr. Hayes? This is Jessica. I’m just calling to confirm, Ms. Vance came in this morning and cancelled the wedding. She said it was a mutual decision, so we will be retaining the deposit as per the contract.” I stood there, momentarily stunned. “She also,” Jessica continued, her voice hesitant, “transferred the venue booking to a friend of hers? For a birthday party, she said.” And just like that, I understood everything. Chloe was calling my bluff. She was using the wedding as leverage, betting that the shame of being left at the altar would force me to back down. And the final insult? She’d already promised our wedding venue to Evan for his birthday. My wonderful, loving fiancée. I suppressed the inferno in my chest and kept my voice calm. “What was her friend’s name?” “An Evan… I think the last name was Croft.” Of course it was. “Okay. Thank you for letting me know.” I hung up and sent Chloe a single text. Wedding’s off? Her reply was instantaneous, laced with smug triumph. Yup. Since you obviously care more about a car than you do about me, there’s no point in getting married. Another message followed immediately. I gave the venue to Evan for his party. He’s inviting all our friends. Hope that’s okay with you. The provocation was blatant. She was gambling that my pride, my fear of public humiliation, was my weakness. I smiled. Not at all. Tell him happy birthday for me. After sending the text, I blocked her number. Blocked her on every social platform. Then, I packaged the security footage, a screenshot of our text exchange, and the confirmation from the wedding planner into a single folder. I sent it to a friend of mine who runs a popular local gossip blog. I even gave him the perfect headline. Bride-to-Be Bails on Six-Figure Wedding, Gifts Venue to ‘Childhood Best Friend’ for Birthday Bash! My friend, who lives for this kind of drama, replied almost instantly. He promised to handle it with the care and attention it deserved. As I put my phone down, a strange lightness settled over me. You want to play games, Chloe? Fine. Let’s play. 4 The story exploded faster than I could have imagined. In less than twelve hours, the article had over a hundred thousand views. We weren’t named, but the details—the venue, the make of the car, the “childhood best friend” trope—were more than enough for anyone who knew us to connect the dots. The comments section was a war zone. “Is this woman for real? Ditches her fiancé for her ‘guy best friend’?” “LOL, this isn’t a ‘best friend,’ this is the side piece getting a promotion.” “Can someone get me the fiancé’s number? A good man like that deserves better!” My phone blew up. Texts from friends wanting confirmation. DMs from old classmates wanting the gossip. A few carefully worded messages from mutual friends, gently suggesting I should be more “magnanimous.” I ignored them all. Chloe, finding her number blocked, started calling from her parents’ phones. I finally answered one. It was her father. His voice was tight with barely controlled fury. “Leo! What the hell do you think you’re doing? Are you trying to drag my family’s name through the mud?” “Mr. Vance, from the very beginning, all I wanted was to resolve the issue,” I said calmly. “But what did you all do? You covered for them, you lied, and you threatened me. Now that it’s public, you’re blaming me?” “You…” He was sputtering, choking on his own anger. “If you want this to go away, it’s very simple,” I repeated my terms. “The car or the money. Once I have it, I’ll have my friend take the post down.” “In your dreams! Leo, I’m telling you, we are not a family to be messed with! You keep this up, and you’ll regret it!” He slammed the phone down. I waited to see what his “regret” would look like. Thirty minutes later, my boss called me into his office. “Leo, is everything alright at home?” he asked, his face a mask of paternal concern. A knot formed in my stomach. “Everything’s fine, sir.” “Well,” he shifted uncomfortably in his leather chair. “I just got a call from Richard Vance. Over at Vance Industries. He mentioned… some unpleasantness in your personal life. Said it was creating a bad image.” Vance Industries. Chloe’s father’s company. And one of our firm’s most important clients. I saw it all with perfect clarity. They were threatening my job. “Sir, it’s a private matter. It has no bearing on my work.” “I understand that,” he sighed, “but Richard… well, you know how important his account is. I’m just thinking, maybe you should reach out, have a conversation, clear up this misunderstanding?” He leaned forward, his meaning unmistakable. “Because if your personal issues start affecting the company’s business… my hands will be tied.” It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a threat. Compromise, or you’re fired. I walked out of his office, my face a blank slate. My colleagues watched me with a mixture of pity and morbid curiosity. I ignored them. Back at my desk, I opened my laptop and logged into an old, rarely used email account. There were only a few unread messages. I clicked on one from a few years back. The sender was a senior V.P. at Vance Industries, a mentor from my college alumni network. The email contained a single attachment: a detailed report on three years of Vance Industries’ internal financial discrepancies. A second file detailed a slush fund they used for “client incentives.” Bribes, in plain English. My mentor had prepared it as leverage before leaving for a better job. He’d since landed safely, and the file had remained with me, forgotten. I never thought I’d have a reason to use it. I never imagined Richard Vance would personally hand me the knife. I bundled the files, encrypted them, and sent them from an anonymous address to the tip line of the IRS criminal investigation division. Then, I called Chloe’s father. He must have thought I was calling to surrender, because his voice was dripping with arrogance. “Have you come to your senses?” “I have,” I said, a small, cold smile on my face. “Mr. Vance, I’m just calling to give you a friendly tip. You might want to get your accountants to work overtime. Make sure all your books are in order.” “What are you talking about?” “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking how unfortunate it would be if a company as prominent as yours were to be investigated for, say, a few million in tax evasion. It would look terrible, don’t you think?”

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1 My fiancée seemed to forget I didn’t become her fiancé by luck. When she called me “polished” on our third anniversary, I knew—she’d fallen for that rugged intern. I watched them grow close and did nothing. I simply warned her before the engagement party: fire him, or it’s over. She hesitated and ran off. She returned later, a handprint faint on her cheek. “The engagement is on.” But at the altar, in her wedding gown, she froze when she saw me. “You’re not the man I want,” she said, trembling. She lifted her skirt and ran—right into Rhys, the intern, at the door. They clung together, kissing wildly, leaving me alone before the crowd. Phones lit up the church with flashes and laughter. In ten minutes, “CEO Jilted at Altar” trended everywhere. She wanted love? Fine. But was she ready for the cost? Thirty minutes later, Habsburg Corp. was collapsing. … My secretary burst into my office. “Mr. Blackwood, news of the Habsburg Corporation’s capital chain snapping has hit the media. Their stock is in freefall.” “If this continues, they’ll start layoffs by tomorrow and declare bankruptcy within the week.” “Too slow,” I said, my voice flat. This was merely an appetizer. “I’ll push them harder.” As my secretary left, I looked at a news photo of Chloe Habsburg’s ecstatic face in Rhys’s arms. I gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. I had given her a choice. She chose to lie. My reputation—Liam Blackwood’s reputation—is worth billions. My finger tapped the screen of my tablet, swiping to the stock market app. The Habsburg Corporation’s ticker was a sea of red. A notification popped up. It was Chloe. “Liam, you can’t force feelings. Just because I won’t marry you, you’re going to destroy my family’s company?” “If you ever loved me, you should be happy I’ve found true love. Can’t we just part amicably?” Amicably? Why didn’t she think of that before she made a spectacle of me? I swiped her message away and sent a text to my secretary. “Dig into Rhys. Everything.” Ten minutes later, my phone lit up with his file. I studied it for a long moment, a ghost of a smile playing on my lips. A sharp knock came at my office door. Chloe strode in, her heels clicking on the marble floor. She slapped a file down on my desk. “Liam, I never realized how petty you could be.” “This is your compensation. Let’s consider the matter closed.” I picked up the file. A stock transfer agreement. Ten percent of her family’s failing company? A paltry three million dollars? She thought that could appease my fury? I let the papers flutter to the floor. “Is this a joke?” I sneered. “Are you trying to tip a beggar?” Her face hardened. “Don’t be so greedy, Liam.” With a flick of her hips, she turned to leave. At the door, she naturally linked her arm with Rhys, who had been waiting for her. They leaned in close, whispering, their lips almost touching. My phone buzzed. A message from my secretary. “The Habsburg Corporation has officially filed for bankruptcy.” “Begin the acquisition,” I texted back. I switched off the screen. Outside, the sky had grown heavy, and a soft rain began to fall. It was on a rainy day three years ago that I’d saved Chloe from an arranged marriage she’d desperately wanted to escape. She’d claimed it was love at first sight. She’d sworn she would never betray me. Now, it was clear she was not only disloyal but a fool. She wasn’t fit to be my dog. My phone rang, the sound jarring in the quiet office. Chloe’s voice, sharp and accusatory, cut through the silence. “It was you, wasn’t it? Liam, I know you’re doing this because you’re hurt, but it only makes me despise you more! It proves I was right to leave you!” I set down my pen, my posture relaxed. “Ms. Habsburg, these are just normal market fluctuations. Why must you blame me for everything? As for being hurt…” I chuckled, my tone dripping with contempt. “You really do flatter yourself.” There was a pause on the other end, then her voice came back, hoarse. “If you spare the company, I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you.” I hung up. The Habsburg Corporation was finished. The only way she could make it up to me was to be reborn. But in a civilized society, I couldn’t be quite so violent. My secretary entered again, his expression hesitant. “Sir, you should see what’s happening online.” I opened my browser. There was Chloe, weeping, her face a mask of tragic beauty. The headline read: “Groomed CEO’s Dark Secret: ‘He Has… Issues.’” The article was a thinly veiled hit piece. “Liam Blackwood seems perfect on the surface, but he’s a deeply damaged man,” she was quoted as saying. “Do you think I would give up being the wife of a CEO if our life together was even remotely bearable?” The rumors spread like locusts. A new text from her arrived. “Men care about their pride more than anything. Stop this attack on my family, and I’ll clear your name.” A smirk touched my lips. She was an idiot. The prize in my hand versus the buzzing of gnats. The choice was obvious to anyone but her. Only a fool would trade substance for reputation. I was about to leave for the Habsburg Corporation to finalize the acquisition when Rhys appeared at my office door. “Mr. Blackwood, stop tormenting Chloe! If you have a problem, take it out on me!” he declared dramatically. “It’s all my fault. I’ll pay with my life. I hope that after I’m gone, you’ll be kinder to her.” Before anyone could react, he scrambled onto the windowsill of my top-floor office. Employees in the hallway stopped, their faces a mixture of shock and morbid curiosity. My own face was a mask of ice. My corporate headquarters had become a circus. Who were these people who thought they could just walk in and put on a show? Sirens wailed from the street below. Police cars were already arriving. A crowd was gathering. Just then, the elevator doors opened and Chloe rushed out, a gaggle of reporters in her wake. The moment she saw me, she collapsed to her knees, tears streaming down her face. “Liam, please, let us go! I know you hate me, but Rhys is innocent!” “Yes, you’re rich and powerful! You’ve already destroyed my family’s company, isn’t that enough?” she screamed. “My father is on the verge of a heart attack, my mother is in the hospital, and now you’re going to drive Rhys to his death? Are you that heartless?” Phones were raised. Whispers filled the air. Even the reporters behind her looked at me with pity. One of them spoke up. “Mr. Blackwood, surely you can show some mercy.” On social media, the hashtag #LiamBlackwoodTheBully was skyrocketing. I took a step forward, looking down at Rhys, who was still perched precariously on the ledge. “You really think I’m the one pushing you?” Rhys didn’t answer, but a flash of triumph crossed his face as he leaned in and hissed, “It doesn’t matter what I think. You’re finished.” He smirked. “Chloe chose me, even if it meant losing everything. How pathetic does that make you? If I were you, I’d have jumped long ago.” I had no intention of jumping. But he, on the other hand, slammed his head against the window frame. Blood trickled from his temple. “Liam, your threats won’t work!” he cried out, his voice trembling, his eyes red-rimmed. “Do you need to see me dead before you’re satisfied?” Gasps erupted from behind me. Chloe, as if on cue, scrambled to her feet and lunged for the window. “If he dies, I die! Life has no meaning without Rhys!” Together, they tumbled out into the open air. Panic and screams filled the hallway. I walked to the window and looked down. A massive inflatable safety cushion had been deployed on the street below. They landed squarely in the middle of it. So that was their plan. No wonder they were so bold. The reporters went into a frenzy, their cameras flashing, livestream feeds focused on the two lovers embracing on the cushion below. How tragically beautiful. Star-crossed lovers. A testament to true love. Those became their labels. And I was the cold-blooded villain, the corporate monster who crushed them. Blackwood Holdings’ stock began to slide. I was a pariah. Protesters gathered outside my building every day, throwing trash at my car whenever I came or went. My private residence was flooded with funeral wreaths sent by anonymous “well-wishers.” Other tenants in my building demanded my eviction. My secretary was worried. “Sir, morale is plummeting. We’re seeing a wave of resignations.” I narrowed my eyes. “Let them go.” A text from Chloe came through, dripping with smugness: “Scared yet? Apologize publicly, restore my family’s company, and give me a billion dollars, and I might consider helping you.” I tossed the phone onto my desk and ignored it. To think she could force my hand with such a cheap, pathetic melodrama was laughable. Even if Chloe Habsburg was ground to dust, Blackwood Holdings would not be affected in the slightest. Then, new photos surfaced online. Chloe, “escaping” after an alleged “kidnapping.” Her hair was a mess, her clothes were torn, and she tearfully accused me of orchestrating it. She also posted a photo of Rhys, unconscious and covered in fake blood, with the caption: “Leave us alone, Liam! Take my life if you want, but don’t you dare touch Rhys!” The public outrage exploded anew. The comments were a firestorm of people tagging the police, demanding an investigation into my “criminal empire.” Amateur essayists wrote passionate screeds about the injustice of it all. At the next board meeting, the shareholders were restless. They demanded my temporary suspension. I leaned back in my chair, unruffled. “If I step down, who do you propose to take my place?” They exchanged uneasy glances. Finally, my own uncle, Marcus Blackwood, stood up. “Liam, the company needs a scapegoat. This all started with you. The honorable thing to do is resign.” “As for the company,” he added with false magnanimity, “I can manage things in your stead for a while.” A cynical smile touched my lips. Before I could speak, a young woman stood. “If Blackwood Holdings refuses to distance itself from Mr. Blackwood’s actions, I will be forced to take my division and secede from the parent company.” The woman leading the revolt was none other than Chloe’s best friend, Isabelle Reed. “I cannot, in good conscience, be a part of such a morally bankrupt enterprise,” she declared. I stared at her, amused. If Chloe hadn’t begged me on her knees, this woman, with her community college degree, would never have risen to her current position. She knew it, yet she put on this grand show of righteousness. The boardroom doors opened, and Chloe walked in, Rhys at her side. “Well, Mr. Blackwood? It’s not too late to accept my terms,” she said, her voice filled with triumph. “Get on your knees and apologize. If I’m in a good mood, I might even leave you with some pocket money.” On the projector screen, our stock price continued to plummet. The shareholders grew more desperate. I pushed the papers on the table into a neat pile. “Are you finished?” I asked calmly. “Then it’s my turn.” Chloe stared at me, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. I pressed the enter key on my laptop.

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The last box was in. I’d just finished helping my sister, Hannah, move into her dorm when I collapsed onto her bed, scrolling through my phone. A trending post on the campus forum caught my eye: [Help! I’m falling for my roommate’s boyfriend.] The original poster was vowing to make a move on him. Wow, kids these days are bold, I thought with a smirk. Just as I was thinking that, I looked up. And there she was. Hannah’s beautiful roommate, Ava. She knelt, her voice a soft melody. “Thank you so much for all your hard work today.” “You look exhausted. I have some muscle relief patches. Should I get a couple for you?” 1 [Help! I’m falling for my roommate’s boyfriend.] [It’s move-in day. My roommate showed up with her boyfriend, and it turns out he’s the guy I had a massive crush on in high school. I was heartbroken when I heard he’d gone to study abroad. Now he’s my roommate’s boyfriend? She’s not as pretty or as thin as me. How did she land someone so handsome and kind? I just feel like she doesn’t deserve him at all.] I raised an eyebrow. Was this for real? I kept scrolling. The comments were flooding in—some flaming her, others fanning the flames. [“Not as pretty or as thin as me.” Classic. OP, your confidence is blinding.] [OP replied: Aesthetics are subjective. I just think I’d look better standing next to him.] I couldn’t help but let out a snort of laughter. Where did this girl get her nerve? Probably just another case of unwarranted self-confidence. [If you like him, go for it. All’s fair in love and war.] [OP replied: Mmm… I don’t want to ruin their relationship, but I really, truly believe I could treat him better.] My lips twitched. The sheer audacity was almost impressive. A masterclass in passive-aggressive maneuvering. [Go for it. Win him over, kick your roommate to the curb. You’d be a way better girlfriend, right?] [OP replied: You’re right. I’m going to talk to him right now. But just to be clear, he was my high school crush, not yours. You might want to watch your tone.] This poster was something else. I was completely hooked, utterly fascinated by the unfolding drama. The comment section was a goldmine of absurdity. As I was laughing, I looked up and froze. Someone was standing by the bed. It was my sister’s gorgeous roommate. Ava, I think her name was. I cleared my throat and sat up, smoothing my voice. “Hey, what’s up?” A small smile played on her lips, her beautiful eyes crinkling at the corners as she crouched down to my level. “Thank you so much for all your hard work today,” she said softly. “You look exhausted. I have some muscle relief patches. Should I get a couple for you?” Her voice was so sweet, so different from the way Hannah usually shrieked my name like a banshee. This girl was a breath of fresh air. I found myself acting a bit more reserved. “Oh, no, it’s fine. But thank you.” Ava’s expression faltered for a second, a flicker of disappointment in her eyes. Then she smiled again, though it seemed a little forced. “Your hands are all red and scraped up. If you don’t treat them, they’ll hurt more tomorrow.” She placed the patches on the nightstand. “Well, I’ll leave them here. Just use them if you need to.” With that, she walked back to her own desk. I watched her go, a strange sense of melancholy hanging around her. Nah, I’m probably just imagining things, I thought, shaking my head. Time to get back to the post. I flopped back onto the bed and saw the OP had updated. [Update: I just went over and talked to him. He seemed a little cold and didn’t accept my offer of help. I guess he doesn’t remember me…] So, the first attempt was a failure. [Don’t give up, OP! To be the other woman, you gotta have thick skin. I support you!] [OP replied: You’re right, thank you. I shouldn’t let one little setback get me down. I’ll keep trying!] 2 When it was time for dinner, I offered to take Hannah and her roommates out. I was determined to be the best big brother ever and help her get along with her new friends. I picked a nice restaurant near campus and told them to order whatever they wanted. Hannah, never one for subtlety, proceeded to order half the menu. While we waited for the food, I pulled up the post again. Another update. My interest piqued, I started reading. [I’m so mad for him. My roommate is basically using his money for everything. I just don’t get what’s so great about her. If he wanted a gold digger, I’m way more qualified.] The comments exploded again. [Honey, if she can get him to pay for everything, that’s her skill.] [OP replied: I don’t think I’m any worse than she is. Anything she can do, I can do better.] A small laugh escaped me. Now this was the kind of drama I lived for. Let the games begin. [Am I the only one worried about the roommate?? What if they’re actually in love? This is a savage move, OP…] [OP replied: You sympathize with her weakness. I sympathize with his exhaustion. We are not on the same level. You clearly don’t understand true love, but I don’t have time to explain it to you.] [Disclaimer: This post is for sharing and discussion only. Anyone who tries to sabotage my future relationship with him is not welcome. I will delete your comment on sight.] Sure enough, a few seconds later, that critical comment vanished. I was so absorbed I was shaking with suppressed laughter, my throat suddenly parched. I reached for my glass of water, but my hand slipped, knocking it over. Water spilled across the table, rushing toward the edge. Just before it could drench my pants, a hand shot out, quickly sopping up the mess with a stack of napkins. I let out a breath of relief and turned to thank my savior. It was Ava again. “Thanks,” I said with a smile. The more I saw of this girl, the more I liked her. She nodded, her voice as smooth and pleasant as ever. “No problem. Watch your pants.” 3 The food arrived, and I put my phone away. I ate a few bites and then stopped, wanting to make sure the girls had enough. Hannah, however, was stuffing her face while simultaneously piling my plate with all the things I hated. “This is so good, you have to try it! Eat up!” “…” I bit back a retort, deciding to give her a pass. Getting into a brawl with my sister on her first day with new roommates probably wasn’t the best look. The girls were hitting it off, chatting away. I couldn’t really jump in, so I went back to my phone. And what do you know, the OP had updated again. [Major progress! He accidentally spilled his water during dinner, and it almost got on his pants. Luckily, I was quick enough to clean it all up with a napkin. He even smiled at me when he saw it was me!] I raised an eyebrow. What a coincidence. [He’s treating all of us to dinner… and my roommate is just burying her head in her food, not paying any attention to him at all. He does so much for her. I feel so bad for him.] The rest were just comments from other users. The OP hadn’t posted anything else. I sighed, a little disappointed. As I was about to close the app, my thumb slipped and I accidentally opened the OP’s profile page. Hmm? The background photo looked familiar. It was a picture of the tree-lined path in front of my old high school. So we were alumni. Interesting. I was about to look for more clues when a sharp pain shot through my wrist. Probably from hauling all those boxes this afternoon. I suddenly remembered the muscle patches Ava had given me, which I’d shoved into my pocket. I fished them out and stuck one on. Just then, my phone screen lit up. [New update on a post you’re following: ‘[HOT] Help! I’m falling for my roommate’s boyfriend.’] I tapped it open. [I’m so happy! He put on the muscle patch I gave him! So amazing… His girlfriend is the worst, making him do all that heavy lifting. If I had a boyfriend as amazing as him, I’d never let him lift a finger.] 4 I froze. This was too much of a coincidence. Holding my breath, I kept my eyes glued to the screen, but I snuck a glance at Ava across the table. She didn’t have a privacy screen on her phone. I could just make out what looked like a forum page. Could it be…? My suspicion growing, I glanced at her a few more times, then casually typed out a comment. At the same instant, Ava’s phone screen lit up. She looked down, a slight frown on her face, and then her fingers started flying across the screen. When she stopped, I refreshed the post. Sure enough, there was a new reply. [I don’t believe you. You’re just jealous of your roommate.] [OP replied: You can’t talk about the ocean with a frog in a well. You’ve probably never experienced real love, so you can only interpret it as jealousy. It’s okay, I don’t blame you.] A slow grin spread across my face. The spilled water, the muscle patch, the same high school, the synchronized timing. There was no doubt about it. The original poster was Ava. 5 So, Ava thought I was my sister’s boyfriend. Now that was hilarious. I put down my phone and propped my chin on my hand, studying her. She must have sensed my gaze because she looked up, her eyes meeting mine. A flash of panic crossed her face, and she instinctively flipped her phone screen-down on the table. A dead giveaway. I immediately looked away, pretending I hadn’t noticed anything, my fingers drumming a light rhythm on the table. A smile I couldn’t suppress tugged at my lips. If she really wanted to steal me away… Well, that could be interesting. 6 I went back to scrolling through the post. [OP, if your credentials are as good as you say, just go for it! Shower him with attention, find every little opening. There’s no way he won’t fall for you.] [OP replied: Mmm, I think so too. But the problem is, I don’t have his number yet…] His number? That was easy. Using the excuse that it would be easier to get in touch with Hannah in the future, I had them all scan a QR code to create a group chat. A few moments later, a friend request from Ava popped up. I didn’t accept it right away. I waited until after dinner, after I was back in my own apartment. Then, I leisurely accepted her request. A message from her came through almost instantly. [Hi, it’s Ava.] [Hey.] I typed back. I thought for a moment, then decided to add a little fuel to the fire. [It was fun tonight. And thanks in advance for looking after Hannah in the dorm~] No immediate reply this time. The “Ava is typing…” indicator at the top of the screen blinked on and off, on and off. I crossed my legs, relaxed, and poured myself a glass of red wine. A full minute passed before her reply came. [I will. It’s what I should do.] Her tone was perfectly sweet and obedient. Not a single thing to fault. Such a master of the sweet-girl act. I checked her post. Another update. [I got his number! So happy! But he seems to really love his girlfriend… he was even asking me to take care of her. Do I even have a chance?] The comments were a mix of people telling her to give up and others cheering her on. I was getting into it when my phone buzzed with an incoming voice call. It was Ava. That bold? A smirk played on my lips as I answered. “Hello?” I pressed the phone to my ear, waiting for her to speak first. All I heard was her slightly ragged breathing against a faint whisper of wind, as if she were on a balcony or outside. After a moment of silence, her voice came through, softer than it was in person, laced with a delicate, almost imperceptible caution. “Stuart?” “I’m so sorry… I-I think I hit the call button by accident.” “You’re not asleep, are you? I didn’t wake you, did I?” An idea, a wicked little idea, sparked in my mind. “No,” I said coolly. “But if that’s all… I’m going to hang up.” “Wait!” 7 I arched an eyebrow. “Is there something else?” “I heard… I heard you go to Stanford. I was hoping to apply there, and I was wondering… if you could give me some advice?” I smiled to myself and agreed. Then I dangled the bait. “Sure. Just hit me up whenever.” “What about tomorrow afternoon? Would that work?” Her voice on the other end was tight with a nervous energy. I paused for effect before answering. “Tomorrow at two. I’ll text you the address.” “Thank you, thank you so much!” Ava’s voice was practically bubbling with excitement. Her joy was so infectious I felt my own lips curve into a smile. “So… should I bring Hannah along?” she asked, her voice dropping a little, testing the waters. “Do you want to bring her?” I countered. “Well, I…” I cut her off before she could finish. “She doesn’t know much about this stuff anyway. It’ll just be the two of us.” “Ah. Oh.” She sounded taken aback, managing only a stunned little reply. “Okay. If there’s nothing else, I’m hanging up.” “…Okay. Goodnight, Stuart.” I hummed in response and ended the call. A moment later, I got the notification. A new update on the post. [So excited!! I have a private meeting with him tomorrow! PRIVATE! Without my annoying roommate. He’s such a good person—smart, handsome, and kind. I really don’t know what he sees in her…] The comments poured in. [How good can he be? It’s probably just love goggles.] [OP replied: He is amazing. He’s brilliant, handsome, and incredibly smart. If you met him, you’d be stunned too. He was the light of my gloomy high school years. But thank you for implying we’re lovers.] [Seize the opportunity! Use your feminine charms!] [OP replied: Isn’t that a bit much? But… I’ll consider it. Thanks for the tip.] 8 I had the admissions materials ready and was waiting for Ava to arrive. The doorbell rang at two o’clock sharp, not a second early or late. I opened the door and smiled at her. “Come on in.” “Sorry to bother you,” Ava murmured as she slipped past me. A faint, fruity-floral scent wafted into the air. Taking a closer look, I realized she’d made an effort. She was wearing light makeup, and her hair had been carefully curled. I chuckled inwardly and pulled a pair of slippers from the shoe cabinet. “These are Hannah’s. Hope you don’t mind.” Ava’s expression froze for a split second before she recovered, her face resuming its sweet, well-behaved look. “Not at all. Thank you.” Once inside, she sat primly on the sofa and asked a few very proper questions about the application process, which I answered one by one. “Wow, you know so much,” she said, her gaze fixed on me, the admiration in her eyes so blatant it was almost searing. I felt a flicker of heat and looked away. “Any other questions?” She turned her laptop screen toward me, then stood up, walked around the coffee table, and sat on the sofa right next to me. “I don’t quite get this part. Could you take a look?” Her tone was sincere, as if she were genuinely confused. But her body leaned in slightly, her warm breath ghosting against my neck. So that was her game. I explained the section to her, subtly closing the distance between us even more. “Got it now?” I asked, deliberately turning my head. My lips almost brushed her cheek. Ava froze, her gaze dropping from my eyes down to my lips. I saw a flash of delight in her eyes. I smirked, then stood up. “Want some water? Or something else to drink?” She snapped back to reality, the tips of her ears turning a bright red. “Water… water is fine. Thank you.” 9 The sky darkened outside. The afternoon had slipped away without us noticing. “Have I taken up too much of your time?” Ava asked, looking apologetic. I glanced at her. Her words said one thing, but her body language screamed that she had no intention of leaving. I suddenly remembered what she’d said on the phone last night. “How did you know I went to Stanford?” I had assumed she’d heard it from Hannah. “You probably don’t remember me,” Ava said with a small, pretty smile, “but I was your junior in high school.” She admitted it that easily? I gave her a surprised look. “I was a freshman when you were a senior,” she continued, pausing for a moment. “I was the one they sent to give you flowers after your speech.” I frowned, trying to recall. The memory was vague. “When was this?” “At the graduation ceremony, for the valedictorian speech.” I wracked my brain and a faint image surfaced. “And at your English speech competition your senior year,” she added, looking at me. “I was in the front row.” Her voice was soft. “You were shining so brightly back then… like a star, totally out of reach.” I was momentarily stunned, caught in her gaze. Her bright, clear eyes seemed to hold a galaxy of starlight. I opened my mouth, then closed it again, at a loss for words. The calm, still lake of my heart suddenly felt a ripple spreading across its surface. 10 That night, the post was updated again. [I went to his apartment today! And I told him I was his junior from high school. He didn’t seem to remember, but that’s okay. We’re one step closer. Defeating my roommate is just a matter of time!] I laughed out loud. Ava really was a master of deception. In front of me, she was the sweet, innocent girl. Behind my back, she was the conniving home-wrecker. After that day, Ava messaged me almost every day. Sometimes it was to ask a question. Other times, it was just to check in. [The forecast says it might rain today. Don’t forget to bring an umbrella when you go out!] [I noticed you were drinking a matcha latte the other day. I know a really great matcha place. We should go try it sometime!] [Hannah just asked me to play video games with her. Too bad I’m not very good at them, I guess all my brainpower went into studying…] Tsk. Now she was the sweet girl who subtly put others down. That afternoon, Hannah sent a message in the group chat asking if I wanted to come to their badminton match the next day. I was about to type “no” when Ava’s message popped up. [It’s our school against the one next door. Hannah and I are both playing. You should come watch!] I deleted my message and typed a new one. [Okay.] 11 The sun was blinding. I arrived at the gym carrying a bag full of drinks and snacks Hannah had demanded I bring. The place was already packed. I overheard a couple of guys talking nearby. “I wonder when Ava’s playing. Can’t wait to see her!” “Dude, she looks amazing in normal clothes. I can’t even imagine how good she’ll look in a jersey…” “Hey, does she have a boyfriend?” Another guy shrugged. “Heard a guy from the athletics department asked her out—he’s even kind of an influencer—but she turned him down. Said she already likes someone.” … After a short wait, Hannah and Ava finally came over. Ava rushed ahead and took the heavy bag from my hands. I heard one of the guys next to me gasp. She frowned at Hannah. “Why didn’t you help him carry some of this?” Hannah just looked bewildered. “What’s the big deal?” I held back a sigh. “Where am I sitting?” Hannah pointed me to a seat with a perfect view of the court. When I got there, I found a paper bag waiting for me. Inside was an iced matcha latte. My phone buzzed. A text from Ava. [That’s from the shop I told you about. Hope you like it.] I smiled and popped the straw in. The rich, earthy flavor of matcha blended perfectly with the creamy milk. The match started soon after I sat down. To be honest, I couldn’t care less about badminton. My eyes were glued to Ava. On the court, she was a whirlwind of youthful energy, her movements swift and fluid. She leaped into the air, her right arm swinging down in a powerful smash. The crowd erupted in cheers. Ava broke into a wide, triumphant grin, her eyes flicking almost imperceptibly in my direction. During the halftime break, I grabbed a bottle of water and a towel from the bag and headed toward the players’ rest area.

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It was the fifth year of our relationship when Seraphina finally said yes. But on the day of our engagement party, she vanished. No calls, no texts. I waited all night, only to be greeted the next morning by a trending photo on social media: Seraphina at a gala, arm-in-arm with her childhood friend, Marcus Thorne. In the high-resolution image, I could see them pressed close together. I could also see the distinct, angry purple of a hickey on her neck. I laughed. I laughed at how blind she was. To have a king by her side for five years and mistake him for a pawn. 1 “Explain this,” I said, sliding my phone across the table. The headline glowed in stark red letters. I was hoping for some kind of explanation, any kind. She barely glanced at it, a frown creasing her perfect brow. “What’s there to explain, Jason? It was a work event.” Her casual dismissal was a shard of glass in my heart. “A work event? So, working with Marcus Thorne is more important than our own engagement party?” Seraphina rubbed her temples, the picture of annoyance. “Jason, I don’t have time for this drama. We can always have another party. This career opportunity won’t come again.” She stood to leave for the bedroom. I let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “And the hickey on your neck? Was that a ‘career opportunity’ too?” Her steps faltered. She turned, her voice sharp with anger. “What are you even talking about? Are you jealous of Marcus again? God, can’t you stop being so insecure? We’re just friends. Don’t project your own dirty mind onto everyone else!” “If there was really something between us, do you think you would have ever had a chance to be my boyfriend?” she scoffed. “You’re just too sensitive.” A leaden weight settled in my chest, making it hard to breathe. I pressed a hand to my heart and sneered, “Oh, you’d love for there to be something, wouldn’t you? But can that frail body of his even handle it?” CRACK. The sound of her palm connecting with my cheek echoed in the silent apartment. She was trembling, her eyes blazing like a cornered leopard. The movement was so violent that an invitation slipped from her coat pocket and fluttered to the floor. It read: We cordially invite Mr. Jason Vance and Ms. Seraphina Dubois to the Starfall Art Gala. It was always like this. Every invitation that came for the two of us, she went to alone. “You’re the artist, Jason,” she’d always say. “You belong in the studio, behind the scenes. Let me handle the schmoozing.” So, we never appeared at a public event together. Just as she’d never publicly acknowledged me as her boyfriend. Just as she’d never once said she loved me. “Jason, you’ve disappointed me so much,” she seethed, her voice dripping with contempt. “If you have a problem, go see a therapist. Stop inventing things about me and Marcus. You know he’s not well. How could you say something so vile?” “Take a good look at yourself. Who are you to judge him? I get it—a washed-up painter being jealous of a true genius. But don’t you dare cross the line!” Every word was a dagger, twisting in the fresh wound. Her look of disgust was the salt, searing and agonizing. Seraphina grabbed her purse and walked toward the door without a second’s hesitation. “I’m not coming home tonight. I have to be with Marcus for the gala tomorrow.” The words to ask her to stay died on my lips. Normally, this is when I’d swallow my pride, chase after her, and beg for her forgiveness. This is when I’d apologize for her mistakes. When she needed a painting for a show, I’d work day and night, ignoring the searing pain of the arthritis that was already setting into my hands—a gift from the countless sleepless nights spent creating masterpieces for her exhibitions. On rainy days, I could barely hold a brush. But today, I was just… tired. Too tired to even form a single word of protest. My cheek throbbed, a bright red handprint blooming on my skin. I managed a weak, broken smile. “Seraphina… we’re done.” “Don’t be so dramatic,” she called back, her voice cold and distant as she opened the door. “We’re not children anymore. You’re making a scene over nothing. You’ve changed, Jason. You never used to be like this.” 2 Watching her figure recede down the hallway until it was just a blur, I remembered the first time we met. It was love at first sight—for me, at least. She had burst into my world holding a canvas, a whirlwind of energy and charm. She was like a little sun, orbiting me, begging me to help her with her art. She would grab my arm, swaying it back and forth as she cooed, “Jason Vance, you’re going to be the greatest painter in the world.” “And I’ll be the greatest curator,” she’d promise. “I’ll give you the grandest exhibitions. The whole world will know your name!” But she never did. She never gave me a single exhibition. She never let anyone know my name. My phone buzzed, shaking me from my thoughts. It was a notification. An invitation from Marcus Thorne. Marcus Thorne—An Exclusive Exhibition by the Maestro “V.” You are cordially invited. My eyes locked onto the bottom of the invitation, on the name of the organizer: Seraphina Dubois. A text message from him followed: [Sera just insisted on throwing me a welcome-home exhibition. You know how she is, I could never say no to her. It’s in three days. Hope you can make it. You should get out of the house more.] Every word dripped with condescending triumph. He was flaunting their connection, painting a picture where they were the destined couple, and I was just the third wheel, the placeholder who had slipped in while he was abroad for his “treatments.” A temporary amusement for a bored Seraphina. Five years we were together, and she never once offered to host an exhibition for me. But for him, it was her idea. The one thing I had yearned for was something he was handed on a silver platter. It was pathetic. Utterly pathetic. A slow smile spread across my face. My fingers danced over the screen as I typed a reply. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He wanted to call himself the Maestro “V”? Fine. I was dying to see how he planned to produce my life’s work. I scrolled down. A message from my online friend, Lex. [Painted anything new lately? Eager to see the master’s latest!] During my years with Seraphina, my own work had taken a backseat. I was too busy running her studio, managing her business. I only picked up a brush a few times a year, producing a pitiful two or three paintings annually. Lex was a fellow artist I’d met online three years ago. We’d bonded over sketches and techniques. He was the only person I ever shared my real work with, the only one I could talk to when the frustration became too much. His message was a small comfort. Just then, the studio’s number flashed on my screen. I answered. “Jason? It’s the office. Seraphina asked me to tell you to come by tomorrow and clear out your things.” A knot of confusion and anger tightened in my stomach. “Why?” There was a pause on the other end. “…She said she’s turning your office into a new studio. For Mr. Thorne.” 3 When I arrived at the studio, Seraphina’s assistant was already hauling my belongings out into the hallway in cardboard boxes. The atmosphere was thick with tension. The other staff members whispered amongst themselves, shooting me looks of disdain. “Ugh, he actually showed up. I can’t stand seeing that freeloader here.” “Right? We’re swamped as it is, and now we have to deal with him.” “Mr. Thorne is so much better. His art is incredible, and he’s so kind. He and Sera are the perfect match.” I listened, my face a mask of indifference, but inside, a bitter acid churned. All those late nights I’d worked alongside them, all the deadlines we’d met together… and this is what they thought of me? A demanding mooch. The assistant shot them a look, and they fell silent. I strode towards Seraphina’s office, determined to get an answer from her. The assistant stepped in my way, her expression pained. “Jason, please. Mr. Thorne is creating in there with Sera. You can’t disturb them.” I pushed past her and reached for the doorknob. Just as my fingers closed around the cold metal, I heard their voices from within. “Sera, my inspiration has run dry. You have to be my muse.” Through the crack in the door, I saw Seraphina hesitate, chewing on her lower lip. Marcus pressed on, his voice like honeyed poison. “You’ve always been my muse. If you model for me, I know I can create another masterpiece that will stun the world.” Her hesitation vanished. Before my widening eyes, in the sliver of space I could see, Seraphina began to slowly undress. Until she was completely naked, sitting on the velvet chaise lounge opposite him. She was posing nude for him. My hand trembled on the doorknob, shaking so violently I couldn’t even find the strength to turn it. “It’s been so long, Sera,” Marcus murmured. “You feel so distant. Did getting a boyfriend make you forget all about me?” Panic flashed across her face. “Of course not!” she said quickly, her voice a little too loud. “I’ve never forgotten you, Marcus. I… I was only with Jason because he looked a bit like you. And he was a painter.” My body reacted before my mind could process it. A wave of nausea rose from the pit of my stomach. I swallowed, the taste of bile burning my throat. I stood frozen, a statue of stone, and slowly, deliberately, let my hand fall from the door. I thought, even if we didn’t last, that what we had was real. That we had, at some point, loved each other. Reality was a cruel joke, and I was the punchline. Seraphina… she had been using me as a stand-in for Marcus all along. The truth was so sudden, so brutal, it almost knocked the wind out of me. I stood there for a long time before the cold tide of reason washed back in. The moment I let go of that door, Seraphina, was the moment I let go of you. In the taxi on the way back, I made a call. It was to a rival curatorial firm that had been trying to sign me for years. I gave them the exclusive rights to every painting I had ever created under my pseudonym. When they asked what my conditions were, I took a deep breath. “I want the exhibition to open in two days,” I said, my voice like ice. “And I want it billed as the one and only exclusive exhibition of the artist ‘V.’ And make it clear: V will be there in person.” Two days. The same day as Marcus Thorne’s exhibition. He wanted to be the master? Fine. Let’s hold two shows, side-by-side, and let the world decide who the real artist was. That evening, I met with the curator, and we planned late into the night. When I finally got home, I was surprised to see Seraphina sitting on the sofa, waiting for me. The moment I walked in, she was on her feet. “Where have you been? You didn’t even make dinner!” When I didn’t answer, her voice grew sharp with impatience. “What’s wrong with you? Are you mute?” She stormed over to me, then stopped short. Her nose twitched, and her eyes narrowed. “Why do you smell like another woman’s perfume?” I must have brushed against the curator during our meeting. The hypocrisy was breathtaking. She could get naked for another man, but a hint of perfume on my jacket sent her into a rage. “What’s the matter?” I said, my voice devoid of all emotion. “You’re allowed to be a naked muse, but I’m not allowed to stand near another woman? Don’t be such a hypocrite, Seraphina.” Her face paled, a flicker of panic in her eyes. “That’s different! That was for work! For art! Stop being so disgusting!” “Don’t you trust me?” she demanded, her voice wavering. I looked into her eyes, saw the guilt she was trying so hard to hide, and nodded. “No, Seraphina. I don’t.” “And when I said we were done,” I added, my voice as final as a death sentence, “I wasn’t joking.”

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The day my stepson was bullied into permanent disability, I called my star lawyer husband. He vowed revenge. But at his firm, I found the case assigned to his intern Molly. He was coaching her for the bar exam while she “accidentally” deleted the key security footage. He sighed, “You can’t be so careless,” then told me: “Not enough evidence. We can’t win.” I argued, but he cut me off: “I’m the lawyer! And you spoiled him—that’s why he was targeted!” He then took Molly out for “fresh air.” Soon, she posted online: “So lucky to have someone who always has my back.” I laughed bitterly. Did he think the victim wasn’t my biological son? My phone vibrated, an unfamiliar number. I answered. “Are you Nathan Holden’s guardian?” “Yes, I am.” “To save the boy’s life, we had to perform an amputation.” The doctor’s voice was a cold, clinical blade over the phone. “Additionally, due to severe nerve damage, he will likely have permanent incontinence.” I hung up, my fingertips ice cold. My assistant, Cathy, watched me with worried eyes. “Ms. Wolf, should I… try to find another lawyer for you?” she asked tentatively, afraid to touch a raw nerve. “There’s a specialist in school bullying cases, I hear he’s one of the best in the city…” “Suing the bullies can wait.” My voice was calm, without a ripple of emotion. “First, contact the legal department. I need them to draft a divorce agreement.” Cathy’s eyes widened for a second, then she gave a firm, determined nod. We drove towards the school. My phone screen lit up. It was Molly. A video popped up. In it, my husband, Grant, was with her in a store overflowing with stuffed animals—a saccharine pink place designed for little girls. He gently placed a fluffy pair of bunny ears on her head. She, in turn, stood on her toes to fit a comical brown bear headband onto his. They flirted without a care in the world, laughing like two fools in the throes of first love. When I didn’t reply, Molly sent another message. “Has Mrs. Holden ever seen this side of the professor?” It was followed by a playful, tongue-out emoji. I felt nothing. It was laughable. I was genuinely curious. When Grant found out that the only son he had with his deceased, sainted first wife had been amputated and turned into a disabled boy who couldn’t even control his own body… Would he still be able to smile then? The moment I stepped into the principal’s office, the greasy-faced man rushed to hand me a settlement agreement. “Mrs. Holden, about this matter… the other family is, well, quite influential. Their father made time in his very busy schedule to come discuss it…” His words were laden with implication. “And, between us, your husband has already unofficially agreed to a settlement.” He paused, his voice turning paternal. “Boys will be boys, you know. A little roughhousing is inevitable. It’s best to keep the peace, let sleeping dogs lie.” I glanced at the document without even bothering to touch it. “In that case, could you please contact his father to come and sign it?” I lowered my gaze, injecting just the right amount of helplessness and sorrow into my voice. “As a stepmother, it’s not really my place…” The principal’s expression froze. I didn’t give him a chance to persuade me further, instead moving on to my next request. “Oh, and since this is being settled privately, it would be… awkward for my younger son, the first-grader, to continue attending here. Perhaps you could help expedite a transfer?” This was exactly what the principal wanted to hear. Within the hour, all the paperwork was done. Just as the final bell rang, I was standing outside the first-grade building. I watched my son, Leo, come flying towards me. “Mommy!” I opened my arms and caught him in a steady embrace. Leo snuggled into my arms, then looked up. “Where’s Daddy?” The smile on my face faded. He understood instantly, muttering under his breath, “Oh. He’s with his student again, isn’t he.” The casual acceptance in his voice was a needle to my heart. I stroked his hair, my resolve to leave Grant hardening into steel. In the car, I didn’t start the engine right away. I opened an app on my phone and, with practiced ease, scheduled the earliest available divorce appointment at City Hall for the day after tomorrow. [Divorce filing submitted. Please arrive with all relevant documents by 9:00 AM on the scheduled date.] I took a screenshot and sent it directly to Grant. [Are you free at nine, the day after tomorrow?] 2 When I got home with Leo, the message still just said [Read]. I stared at the two words for a long moment before dialing his number. It rang for a long time before he picked up. “You can handle the situation with Leo yourself. I’m busy.” I blinked, realizing he hadn’t even bothered to look at the picture. “It’s not about Leo. I want to talk to you about—” “Then I’m even busier!” he snapped. “Are you holding a grudge about today? Is that why you’re trying to drag me away on the day of Molly’s first court appearance?” His voice dripped with contempt. “Linnea, with a mother as paranoid and jealous as you, it’s no wonder the kid gets bullied! Honestly, he deserved it!” His words hung in the air. I started to laugh, a cold, sharp sound, and nodded. “You’re right. He absolutely deserved it.” Then I hung up. My son, who was sipping from a cup, saw the look on my face and watched me with wide, worried eyes. I knelt down and gently wiped a drop of water from his chin. “Sweetheart, Mommy and Daddy are getting a divorce.” “We’re going to move out, and you’re going to a new school.” He stared at me for a second, and then his face lit up. “Really? That’s great!” He cheered, then leaned in close like a little spy and whispered, “Mommy, I have a secret. Nathan used to bully me, too.” “He would rip up my homework, and one time he secretly pushed me down the stairs!” I went rigid, my heart seizing in my chest. I had always thought Nathan’s hostility was directed at me, his stepmother. I never imagined he would torment a first-grader behind my back. A tidal wave of guilt and rage washed over me. What had I been doing all these years? Seeing the undisguised joy in my son’s eyes, I clenched my fists and immediately booked the next available flight. The divorce could wait. Grant could be worn down. But I would not let Leo spend one more day in this house. With that thought, I pulled open the closet and began stuffing my son’s clothes into a suitcase. As I packed, memories of my life with Grant flooded back. We’d met on a blind date. His first wife had recently passed away, and he was drowning in grief, yet still managed to run his law firm and care for his young son. Everyone said he was a devoted, responsible man. I was fooled by the facade, believing a man so loyal to his deceased wife must be a good person. I believed the kindness he showed me was real. After we married, I treated his son, Nathan, as my own. When he had a raging fever in the middle of the night, I was the one who rushed him to three different hospitals while Grant offered a lukewarm “thanks for your trouble” over the phone. When he wanted a rare, out-of-production LEGO Star Wars set that Grant dismissed as childish nonsense, I was the one who called in every favor to import it for him. I thought kindness would beget kindness. Instead, I had raised two vipers. And nearly sacrificed my own son’s future in the process. What a joke. Leo’s suitcase was packed. As I turned to my own closet, I heard a click at the front door. It was being opened from the outside. Grant’s tall frame filled the doorway, blocking the light. His eyes swept over the packed suitcase in the living room and my perfectly healthy son standing beside me. His brow furrowed. “Linnea, what do you think you’re doing?” 3 “I’m taking Leo away for a few days. For a change of scenery.” I met his gaze, offering a plausible excuse. “You’re busy with Molly’s case, right? Don’t worry about us.” My words were like a match to a fuse. Grant’s face instantly darkened. He stormed over and slammed a file onto the table in front of me, the papers scattering. “Linnea, you’ve really gone all out with this little drama, haven’t you? All to get my attention. How pathetic!” The edge of a paper cut my cheek, a small, stinging pain. I looked down and saw it was a signed settlement agreement. He pointed a finger at me, his voice shaking with rage. “And I actually fell for it! I thought something had really happened to Leo at school. I canceled a meeting to rush back here!” “And for what? For you to play games with me!” His gaze shifted from my face to my healthy son hiding behind me, then to the suitcase on the floor. His expression was a mask of derision. “What’s next? You’re going to run away from home?” “Linnea, your tactics are getting more and more pathetic.” Just then, a soft, hesitant voice came from the doorway. “Professor, please don’t be angry with Mrs. Holden.” Molly stood there, holding a beautiful fruit basket, peering in like a frightened fawn. “I’m sure she was just worried about you… It was all just a misunderstanding. The important thing is that Leo is okay.” Her words were gasoline on the fire. The look Grant gave me was filled with even more contempt. “You hear that? Even Molly, a student, has more sense than you!” He pulled her to his side, his arm protectively around her. “And you? What are you good for, besides throwing tantrums?” He looked down at me, his voice dripping with disgust. “And if you leave now, what about Nathan? Who’s going to take care of him?” The irony of him shielding Molly while lecturing me about my responsibility to his other son was so absurd I almost laughed. Molly, sensing her advantage, gently tugged on his arm. “Professor, it’s getting late. I still need to prep for tomorrow’s hearing. Could you help me go over the materials one more time?” Grant’s expression immediately softened. “Of course,” he said, his voice now full of affection. As they headed for the stairs, he threw one last, cold command over his shoulder. “And don’t forget to pick Nathan up from his tutoring class at nine.” Just before they disappeared, Molly, still clinging to Grant’s arm, looked back at me. She smiled, and her innocent eyes were filled with the triumphant gloating of a victor. I watched them go, my heart a sea of calm. Pick up Nathan? I thought of the boy lying unconscious in the ICU and raised an eyebrow. If Grant hadn’t reminded me, I might have actually forgotten about the little prince in the ICU waiting for someone to wipe his ass for him. I wasn’t doing that dirty work anymore. I took out my phone and sent a text to Grant’s parents. [Mom, Dad, there’s been an accident with your grandson. Could you please come to City Hospital tomorrow?] With that done, I checked the time, then called a car. Leo and I were going to the airport. That night, after watching his small figure disappear through security with a flight attendant, I finally breathed a sigh of relief. Once Leo landed safely with my parents, I would have nothing left to hold me back. I didn’t sleep. The moment I got into a cab back to the city, the hospital called. The nurse sounded frantic. “Is this Nathan Holden’s guardian? The boy is awake and extremely agitated. You need to get here as soon as possible.” When I arrived, the private ward was in chaos. The moment Nathan saw me, his eyes turned bloodshot. He looked like a cornered animal. “You! It was you, you evil bitch! You’re the reason I lost my leg!” He screamed hysterically, grabbing whatever he could from the bedside table and hurling it at me. “I’m gonna have my dad kill you! I’m gonna have him get you and everyone who bullied me arrested and executed!” The head nurse, trying to restrain him, couldn’t help but retort, “What are you talking about, son? Your father already signed a settlement. He’s not pressing charges against anyone.” Another, younger nurse muttered under her breath, “Some people are just crazy for money. Your own son is disabled, and you settle for cash…” “Impossible! You’re lying!” Nathan thrashed even more violently, breaking free from the nurses’ grip. He snatched an empty vase and threw it at me with all his might. I couldn’t dodge in time. It struck me on the temple. A sharp, blinding pain, followed by the warm trickle of blood down my face. The nurses rushed to pin him down and administer a sedative. Finally, the world was quiet. The head nurse helped me to a bench in the hallway and began cleaning my wound. “Mrs. Holden, please don’t take it too hard. It’s normal for patients to be emotionally unstable after an amputation.” I didn’t answer, just gritted my teeth against the sting of the antiseptic. Two figures rushed out of the elevator. Grant’s parents. My mother-in-law saw the gash on my forehead and, instead of concern, her face hardened with blame. “What is wrong with you? You can’t even watch a child? Getting yourself injured in a hospital, you’re utterly useless!” She looked me up and down with undisguised contempt. “I told you to quit your job and be a stay-at-home mother, but you wouldn’t listen! Now look at you!” My father-in-law chimed in. “Exactly. Can’t handle one simple thing. It’s a good thing it was Leo who got into a little trouble this time. If it had been our Nathan, you’d be in for it!” They went on, their words dripping with disdain for me and my son. “I heard about that little fight Leo got into at school… honestly, boys will be boys, what’s the big deal? And you had to bother my son about it! Sometimes you just have to let things go. Now you’ve made it so awkward, how is Leo supposed to face his classmates?” The head nurse, who had heard enough, finally interrupted. “Excuse me, but this wasn’t just a scrape. The boy had an amputation. He won’t just have trouble going to school… he may never live independently again.” The expressions on their faces froze. A second later, my mother-in-law shrieked like a scalded cat. “Amputation? He’s a cripple?!” She shoved me away, her face contorted in disgust. “We don’t raise cripples in our family! Linnea, you’re a jinx! A curse on this house!” I let her push me, pressing the gauze to the bleeding wound on my head. I smiled faintly. “You’re right, Mom. The Holden family certainly doesn’t support freeloaders. That’s why I’m divorcing your son and called you both here, so you can take proper care of your precious grandson.” “Why should we have to take care of your crippled son?!” she shot back without thinking. I looked at her face, twisted with fury, and my smile widened. “Who told you it was my son who was hurt?”

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For eight years, Bryan despised my best friend. “What right does she have to comment on our lives? Stay away from her.” But then, he was the one who started getting close to her. The engagement ring I’d waited eight years for became his Children’s Day gift to her. When I confronted him through my tears, he just sneered. “Isn’t she your best friend? Why are you being so hypocritical?” 1 Leaving the lab, I scrolled through my social media feed and saw that a senior from my program had gotten engaged. My thumb hovered over the screen for a moment. Finally, I liked the post and sent a screenshot to Bryan. It took him a long time to reply. When he did, it was just two words: “That’s nice.” I stopped walking. “Are you busy right now?” Another long pause. Then, another message: “Yeah.” The carelessness, the indifference—it bled through the screen, even in a single word. “Okay, I won’t bother you then.” I had been about to ask him, half-jokingly, “So, when are we getting engaged?” But staring at those two cold messages, the courage I had mustered evaporated. I couldn’t bring myself to type a single letter. This was the eighth year of our relationship. I was in my first year of a PhD program. Bryan’s company had just secured over a hundred million in funding. “When do you think he’s going to propose?” I had asked my best friend, “Is he just too buried in work to even think about it? Should I drop a hint?” “Absolutely not!” she had insisted, shaking her head. “No girl should ever have to bring that up. It’s so desperate.” “Just be patient,” she’d said, her tone sincere. “You’re still in school. Maybe he wants his career to be even more stable before he asks you.” 2 On the way home, a sudden downpour started. I didn’t have an umbrella, so I used my textbook as a flimsy shield, dashing for cover. I missed a step, my foot slipped, and I went down hard into a deep puddle. Soaked and limping, I dragged myself under an awning and tried to call Bryan. No answer. I typed out a message: I fell and hurt myself. Can you come get me? Just as I was about to hit send, my eyes drifted to the restaurant across the street. And through the large plate-glass window, I saw him. Bryan. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He was looking at the person across from him with an expression of relaxed, genuine pleasure. Sitting opposite him was my best friend, Stella Lin. She was holding a small, red velvet box. Inside, a pink diamond ring glittered under the restaurant’s soft lighting. The rain was a deafening roar, and the glass muffled all sound, but I could read her lips. “Thank you, Bryan. I love it.” I stood frozen outside the window, the cold from my soaked dress seeping into my bones. My textbook and all the papers inside were ruined. I started to shiver uncontrollably. Just as a tear was about to fall, Bryan seemed to sense something. He turned his head, and his eyes met mine through the rain-streaked glass. He shot to his feet. “…Jenna.” 3 A hostess led me inside. A cello played a mournful, elegant melody. I was a complete mess, and nearly everyone in the restaurant turned to stare. “Jenna, what are you doing here?” Stella asked, her expression perfectly normal. She linked her arm through mine as if nothing was wrong. “I was just telling Bryan that it’s Children’s Day. I told him he should wrap up this celebration dinner early so he could go home and spend it with you.” I stared at her. “Celebration dinner?” “Yes! The company landed a huge contract today, so we were supposed to have a big party. But everyone else had plans, so it was just us two, left all alone.” “What’s there to celebrate about Children’s Day?” Bryan scoffed, a slight frown on his face. “Don’t assume Jenna is as childish as you are.” Even though she was just an intern at his company, Stella wasn’t intimidated by him at all. She just rolled her eyes. “Right, right. I’m the childish one. You’re the mature, all-powerful CEO.” Their banter was so familiar, so practiced. It wasn’t hostile; it was flirtatious. I blinked away the raindrops clinging to my eyelashes, my gaze locked on Bryan’s face. “The ring.” “Why did you give her a ring?” He was silent for a moment. “It’s Children’s Day. It’s just a toy for a little girl.” I turned to look at Stella. Just for a second, I saw a flicker of a smile in her eyes. It was cold, mocking, and laced with malice. But when I looked again, it was gone, replaced by her usual innocent warmth. “Oh, this?” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “It’s not a real diamond. It’s just a toy.” “I confessed to a guy I have a crush on the other day, and he rejected me. I was heartbroken, so Bryan bought this to cheer me up. Right, Bryan?” Something flickered in Bryan’s normally cool, unreadable eyes. But in the end, he just nodded. “Right.” There was an undercurrent between them, a shared secret I wasn’t privy to. I stood there, my lips pale, my hands twisting the hem of my ruined dress. I couldn’t stop the burning sting in my eyes. “…Is that really it?” “Of course it is. I should get going.” Stella dropped the ring into her purse. She took a few steps, then turned back, a bright smile on her face. “Happy Children’s Day, Jenna.” 4 The cello music continued to play. “Who’s the guy Stella has a crush on?” I asked. “I don’t know.” “…I want a ring like that, too.” “It’s a toy for a little girl. Are you going to whine about that, too? Can’t you be a little more mature?” Bryan sat across from me, his eyes glancing at my injured leg. “Have you eaten? Do you want me to take a look at your knee?” I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “Bryan, do you remember?” “In high school, I fell during a relay race. You didn’t even ask what happened. You just ran straight to the nurse’s office and came back with disinfectant and bandages.” His expression turned cold. “Jenna, what are you trying to say?” What was I trying to say? At sixteen, Bryan had been cool and aloof, but he had been so worried when I got hurt that his face had turned pale. At twenty-six, Bryan was successful and powerful, but sitting in front of me now, he felt like a stranger, an adversary. I dug my nails into my palm, forcing myself to speak calmly. “It’s a holiday. You’re having dinner alone with another woman, and you gave her a diamond ring. Am I not allowed to ask about it?” “Another woman?” Bryan let out a short, mocking laugh. “When I rejected her resume, who was it that begged me, going on and on about ‘my dearest Stella,’ insisting that I give her an internship?” “Today, she closed a deal, so we had a celebratory dinner. And now you’re starting a fight.” “Jenna, when did you become so hypocritical?” My eyes widened in disbelief. Tears instantly blurred my vision. We had been together for eight years, childhood friends for twenty-two. We had been through everything together. At his parents’ funeral, he had clung to me, his eyes red, unable to even cry. I had stroked his hair, crying with him, trying to find the words to comfort him. “You still have me,” I had whispered. “You still have me.” Later, when my own parents divorced and my father took all the money, leaving me with nothing for tuition, he had been the one to step up. “Jenna, you just focus on your studies. I’ll take care of the tuition,” he had said, his eyes serious. “I’m going to give you a good life.” We had navigated so many hardships together, and we had finally made it. I never thought he would ever speak to me like this. “We’ve been together for eight years, and you’ve never given me a ring. But you gave one to her.” “Am I not allowed to ask?” “Bryan, am I not allowed to ask?!” I was sobbing now, my questions raw with pain. He just looked at me, his expression flat. In the dim corner of the restaurant, under the warm yellow light, I covered my face, my breath catching in my throat. I looked up and saw him glance down at his phone. A dark emotion flickered in his eyes. He quickly turned the screen off when he saw me looking. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He suddenly stood up, towering over me. “Something came up at the office. I have to go.” “Since you’re not hungry, you can get a cab home.” 5 I limped home, the wound on my knee a sticky mess of dirt and blood. As I cleaned it, wincing in pain, tears streamed down my face. It wasn’t always like this between us. When we were kids, I was small and scrawny, an easy target for bullies. He would fight them for me, even when he was outnumbered, swinging his fists even with blood streaming down his face. They were so scared of him that they never bothered me again. In his junior year of college, he started his own company. I was right there with him, running around, meeting with clients. One night, after drinking too much at a business dinner, I ended up in the hospital with acute gastritis. That’s where I met Stella. She was an undergraduate in my department, and we bonded instantly. We became inseparable. At first, she couldn’t stand Bryan. “Jenna, you give so much to him. Does he even deserve it?” she would say. “He’s out there building his company, and his girlfriend ends up in the hospital from drinking for him. He’s useless.” Bryan hated her right back. When I was discharged from the hospital, he went straight to a lawyer and had half the company shares transferred to my name. “What right does she have to judge us?” he had said. “Stay away from her.” I was never one for confrontation, so I tried to play peacemaker, but it was no use. I remember one time, I was at a nail salon with Stella and missed a call from him. He drove all the way there in a rainstorm and stood outside the door, his voice like ice. “Jenna. Come here.” Stella, admiring her freshly painted nails, had just smirked. “What, does he need you to go get drunk for his pathetic little company again?” Back then, they were mortal enemies. Then, in Stella’s senior year, she needed an internship. By then, I was in my second year of my master’s program, and Bryan’s company was doing very well. She wanted to work for him. She clung to my arm, whining and pleading. “Bryan’s company is in an emerging industry. It’s a perfect match for my major.” “And, Jenna,” she’d added with a wink, “I can keep an eye on him for you. Make sure he’s not getting too friendly with any of his female employees.” I had just laughed and patted her hand. “That’s not going to happen. We’ve been together for five years. We’re solid.” That night, I brought it up with Bryan. He was reading a contract under the lamplight. He just chuckled mockingly. “Stella Lin?” “Tell her to send her resume to HR.” But Stella had failed a class, and her resume was immediately screened out. She sat across from me, chewing on her bubble tea straw, her eyes red. “I was going through a rough time then. Bryan knows that. Why is he being so strict?” “I’m his girlfriend’s best friend!” That night, I went home and pleaded with him. “Stella really wants to work for you, Bryan. Please? It’s just a three-month internship. Her family is well-off, she probably has other plans. She might not even stay after graduation.” He had looked at me then, a strange, dark emotion swirling in his eyes. “Are you sure?” I nodded and threw my arms around him. “Bryan, you’re the best.” But I was wrong. Stella’s performance during her internship was outstanding. After graduation, she was offered a full-time position. And she had been there ever since. 6 After cleaning my knee, I threw away the pile of bloody, dirty tissues. I hesitated, then called Bryan. He didn’t answer. An hour later, he called back. When I answered, there was only silence on the other end, punctuated by the sound of his slightly ragged breathing. “So,” I asked softly, “are we breaking up?” “Jenna, are you crazy?” His reaction was immediate, his voice sharp with accusation. “We have one little fight, and you threaten to break up with me? When did you become so unreasonable?” Tears instantly welled in my eyes. I remembered a time, a year into our relationship, when we’d had another fight. I had glared at him, my eyes red, and said, “If you’re not happy with me, we can just break up.” He had pulled me into a tight hug, his voice filled with panic. “I’m never unhappy with you.” “Jenna, we’re just fighting. You can’t say that to me.” And now… this. A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I said nothing, just quietly ended the call. When I woke up, the rain had stopped. The apartment was empty. Bryan hadn’t come home. Probably from being out in the rain last night, my throat felt like it had been seared with a hot poker. My stomach was cramping violently. I forced down a couple of pills and headed to the university. We didn’t speak for three days. Then, one afternoon in the cafeteria, I got a text from Stella. “Jenna, where are you? I’ll come have lunch with you.” 7 “Did you and Bryan have a fight? Jenna, don’t be mad. He didn’t mean it.” Stella sat across from me in the crowded cafeteria. “The company lost a big contract a while back because of a leak,” she explained. “He’s been really stressed, that’s why he snapped at you.” My eyes fell to her hand, to the delicate, pale fingers adorned with the pink diamond ring. My throat felt tight. I swallowed hard and said, my voice low, “…He never told me.” Stella’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “You’re so busy with your studies. He probably didn’t want to bother you.” But why did you know? As if she could read my mind, Stella just smiled. “Jenna, did you forget? I work at his company. Of course I know what’s going on.” She laughed, then glanced down at her phone as it lit up. “Looks like you’re done eating. Let’s go.” Just outside the cafeteria, a familiar black Porsche was parked. I froze. I watched as Bryan got out of the car, his expression neutral as he looked in our direction. His gaze flickered past Stella’s beaming face and landed on me. “Bryan, I brought Jenna out,” Stella said cheerfully. “I’ve got to run.” Bryan frowned. “Where are you going?” Stella stopped and turned back to him, her eyes crinkling into a smile. “The guy who rejected me the other day suddenly wants to talk. I’m on my way to meet him now.” With that, she walked away without a backward glance. Bryan’s jaw tightened, his expression unreadable but dark. When I got into the car, I could still feel the waves of his displeasure radiating through the small space. 8 “Are you still angry?” After I asked, Bryan turned to look at me, as if snapping out of a trance. “No.” He said it flatly, then started the car. The silence in the car was heavy, strange. My eyes darted around, then stopped on something glittering in the corner of the passenger seat. It was a small, crystal-encrusted hair clip, catching the sunlight from the window. A Miu Miu hair clip. The one Stella always wore. A wave of something dark and formless surged through me, a thick, viscous liquid that seemed to suffocate my heart. I clenched my fist, the sharp edges of the clip digging into my palm. I took a couple of deep breaths, trying to keep my voice steady. “Has… has Stella been in your car?” “She said she was coming to see you,” he said, his voice clipped. “I gave her a ride.” Then why was she in the passenger seat? And under what circumstances would her hair clip fall off, and she wouldn’t even notice it was gone? My voice trembled. “Bryan.” “What now?” He glanced at me, his impatience obvious. “Do you know the guy Stella likes? Does he… does he really exist?” The light turned red. Bryan slammed on the brakes. He turned to face me. “Jenna, are you starting with the paranoia again?” he said, his voice cold. “Isn’t she your best friend? If you’re so suspicious, why don’t you just ask her?” “Can’t I ask you?” My eyes were red. “Bryan, you’re the one who gave her a ring, using her supposed rejection as an excuse. Is it wrong for me to ask you about it?” “So that’s what this is about. You just want jewelry, don’t you?” The light turned green. Bryan stepped on the gas, changing lanes and heading for the nearest shopping mall. He strode ahead, pulling me by the wrist into a high-end jewelry store. “Since you’re so jealous, why don’t you just pick one for yourself?” The bright lights of the store glinted off the gems in the display cases. The sales associates, sensing the icy tension between us, hesitated to approach. A wave of exhaustion and despair washed over me. I had dreamed of this moment, of coming to a place like this with Bryan to choose our wedding rings, countless times. I remembered when we were in college, working part-time jobs, we had walked past this very store. We had pressed our faces against the glass, staring at the price tags. In the end, we had only been able to afford a simple pair of silver rings. Bryan had squeezed my hand, his voice thick with emotion. “Jenna, when we make it, I’m going to buy you the most expensive ring in this store.” I had just smiled and squeezed his hand back. “But I don’t even like the expensive ones.” “As long as it’s from you, it’s perfect.”

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