Category: English

In my last life, my best friend Ivy and I were a team. We married into the Harrison dynasty together, and we walked away from it together. The problem was, once we walked, we were broke. Utterly, hopelessly broke. We had no money, no skills, and no idea how to survive in the real world. Our grand finale? Asphyxiation from a faulty gas stove in a slum apartment. Meanwhile, our ex-husbands thrived. One of them married his childhood sweetheart, and the other went on to win a Grand Slam. So when I woke up back here, lying on a massage table in the mansion’s private spa, I just stared at her, my heart pounding in my throat. Ivy’s eyes met mine. “I’m not doing it,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Are you?” I thought of the divorce papers I’d once been so desperate to sign, and a wave of nausea washed over me. “Divorce?” I said, the word tasting like ash. “Not a chance in hell.” You have to stare death in the face to appreciate life. You have to taste real poverty to understand: the life of a pampered trophy wife isn’t a prison. It’s a goddamn cakewalk. 1 Who can understand the whiplash? One second, you’re in a slum apartment, feeling the strength drain from your limbs as the gas leak claims you, your last conscious thought a blur of regret. The next, you’re blinking awake in an 8,000-square-foot mansion, the scent of lavender oil in the air, the bliss of a deep-tissue massage soothing muscles you’d forgotten you had. Ivy and I can. We understand it all too well. We stared at each other from our respective massage tables in the spa room, tears welling in our eyes. A soft knock echoed on the door before it opened. It was my husband, Cole. “Ryan and I are waiting in the living room,” his voice was a low rumble, devoid of warmth. “I have a meeting later, and he needs to catch a flight.” Shit. I’d almost forgotten. In the timeline we’d just escaped, today was the day. After months of demanding a divorce, of navigating schedules and stonewalling assistants, today was D-Day. Ryan was a world-class tennis player, Cole was a CEO. It had taken three months just to get them in the same room. We scrambled into our clothes, minds racing. “Okay, plan B,” Ivy whispered, her voice tight. “We apologize, we beg, we grovel. We’re not too proud to bend, right?” “Bend?” I hissed back, pulling a silk blouse over my head. “I’ll break if I have to. We are not getting divorced.” Downstairs, Ryan sat on the cream-colored sofa, flipping through a coffee table book, his silence a heavy blanket. Cole stood with his back to us, staring out the floor-to-ceiling window, his posture radiating a chilling coldness. I nudged Ivy, a desperate plea in my eyes for her to go first. “So…” she started, her voice cracking. “You’re back.” Ryan snapped the book shut with a sound like a gunshot. His gaze flicked to her, sharp and dismissive. “Memory failing you? Weren’t you the one who told my agent you hoped I’d get knocked out in the first round so you could get this over with?” Ivy’s mouth snapped shut. She shot me a helpless look. My own voice trembled as I spoke. “Cole, maybe we could… not do this? The divorce?” He let out a short, bitter laugh, the sound scraping against my raw nerves. He didn’t even turn around. “And what about the 6’2” college athlete you’ve been keeping on the side? What happens to his promotion?” Right. I shut up too. In our frantic bid for freedom, we had said the cruelest things imaginable, aiming for the softest parts of these two men, just to get them to let us go. And it had worked. We’d walked away with our pride intact, refusing a single penny of their money. We were trophy wives, insulated by their dynasty. We knew nothing of poverty, nothing of the real world. We thought we were choosing freedom. We never imagined that freedom was just another word for broke. Job rejections. A bad investment that took the last of our savings. Eating ramen until we were sick of the sight of it. The two of us, who had once debated the merits of Michelin-starred restaurants, trying to cook for ourselves in a tiny, roach-infested kitchen. And in the end, a forgotten gas knob. A final, pathetic exit. The memory sent a shiver down my spine. Ivy was the first to move. She scurried over to Ryan’s side, her smile painfully bright. “Hey, I only said that because I missed you. I wanted you to come home to me.” I took my cue, rushing to Cole’s side and wrapping my arm around his. It was like hugging a marble statue. “He was just a lie, honey. Who needs a boy with abs when I have you?” It was the truth, at least that part. Whatever else our marriage had become, the nights were still… harmonious. We fought like enemies in the light of day, but in the dark, we… Cole flinched, then glanced down at my hand on his bicep as if it were a foreign object. That’s when I saw the deep, weary lines around his eyes. He looked exhausted. He peeled my fingers off his arm. “Leah, do you want stock options or a lump sum? Just name your price. I don’t have time for these games.” 2 We’d pushed too hard. Now, our sudden reversal just looked like a pathetic, last-ditch negotiation for a bigger settlement. I froze, words failing me as I tried to form a denial. But it was too late. Cole’s phone was already pressed to his ear as he walked away. Ryan was just as skeptical. He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “My schedule is tight. Just tell my lawyer what you want. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” A black car was idling in the driveway. His tournament wasn’t even over; he’d flown halfway across the world just for this. Ivy’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “I don’t want to get divorced,” she whispered. Ryan’s lips tightened into a thin line. He looked at her for a long moment, then said, “You’d better mean that,” before turning and walking out the door. Watching them leave, a wave of relief washed over me, quickly followed by a cold tide of fear. “What are we going to do?” I murmured, my voice hollow. “We have zero credibility with them.” I’ve followed Ivy’s lead my whole life. She was always the bold one, the decision-maker, and I was her loyal shadow. In moments like this, her thoughts were my anchor. She took a deep breath, her chin lifting with a familiar resolve. “The marriages might be on life support for now,” she said, her gaze firm. “We need a backup plan. A real one.” We were never going back. Never going back to that cramped apartment, to working minimum-wage jobs, to eating expired sushi from convenience stores. We would never again trade our dignity for survival. Not when we remembered what it felt like to live like this. Ivy turned to me, her expression all business. “Your husband… what’s his name again… how much does he give you for your allowance?” “Thirty thousand? Fifty? I lose track.” “A month? Perfect! You must have a couple million saved by now, right?” I winced. “It all sort of… became shoes. And bags.” Ivy stared at me, her look a perfect blend of horror and pity. “You spendthrift! You didn’t save a single dime?” I glared back. “The couture jacket you’re wearing right now? That was five grand of that allowance money.” Cole was generous, but I had nothing but time on my hands. Shopping was my only hobby. Ivy sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Okay, well, I’m no better. Every spare cent I had went to paying off my parents’ business debts.” Ivy’s family had been well-off once, but their business had been failing for years, and she was the only thing keeping it afloat. After our divorce in the other life, they’d declared bankruptcy. We collapsed onto the sofa, a symphony of synchronized sighs. Finally, Ivy slapped her thigh. “Okay, new plan. It’s not enough to just have their money. We’d just burn through a settlement anyway. We need to learn how to make our own. We stay married, we play nice, and we use this time to build real skills. Then, when we can stand on our own two feet, we can decide if we still want to leave.” It made sense. We were both graduates of prestigious universities, but we’d married into the Harrison dynasty right after college. The sheer, blinding luxury of it all had erased any ambition we once had. We hadn’t worked a day in our lives. We were completely useless, unemployable. The decision was made. Ivy would buckle down and study for the GMATs, aiming for a top-tier MBA program. I would leverage the Harrison name—our greatest asset—to get a job and gain corporate experience. It was shamelessly easy. The moment a potential employer saw “Wife of Cole Harrison” under the ‘Family’ section of my resume, the world rolled out the red carpet. I landed an offer from a mid-sized marketing firm without a single difficult question. I showed up for my first day in a Chanel suit, basking in the glow of my new boss’s sycophantic smiles. But there was a downside. Everyone was terrified of me. No one gave me any real work. I could have sat there naked and no one would have dared to say a word, let alone ask me to file a report. I wasn’t gaining experience; I was a decorative object. Just as I was about to give up, a task finally came my way. My boss asked me to deliver a file to a meeting in the main conference room. I pushed open the heavy glass doors and my heart stopped. There, at the head of the long table, sat Cole, looking severe and immaculate in a tailored suit.

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Four years of long-distance. I flew a thousand miles for our concert date. But she gave my ticket to her “friend” from school, and I watched them walk in, holding hands. They framed me as a scalper. I was beaten by the crowd. She just stood there, watching coldly, even backing their story. Afterward, her call was breezy and dismissive. “You’re such a good guy, you won’t blame me, right? Now be good, fly down to my city, and we’ll get married.” I laughed. Then I turned around, bought a ticket home, and blocked her on everything. Years later, she returned—a world-famous scientist—and stood before me, demanding I take her back as if it were her right. I just introduced her to my wife standing beside me and the son in my arms. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Have we met?” 1 The tickets were gone. After a four-year, long-distance relationship, my girlfriend Ava had suggested we finally meet in the middle, at a reunion concert for The Wanderers. I’d flown a thousand miles to a city I didn’t know, and when I got to the will-call window, the attendant gave me a pitying look. “Sorry, sir. These tickets have already been picked up.” I figured Ava must have grabbed them. But when I called her, it went straight to voicemail. Again and again. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. Dejected, I was drifting toward the main gate when I saw her. She was standing in the security line, her hand laced through the fingers of some handsome, clean-cut guy I’d never seen before. Something hot and sharp flared in my chest. I walked straight up to them. “Ava?” Before she could answer, the guy with her shot me a wounded look. His eyes were actually turning red. “Dude,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I paid you ten times face value for this ticket. What, you think you sold it too cheap? Today’s my one-year anniversary with my girlfriend. I’ll give you another twenty bucks, just leave us alone, man.” I stared at Ava, waiting for her to clear this up, to laugh it off as a crazy misunderstanding. Instead, she just looked at me, her expression hardening, and backed him up. She let him slander me. Suddenly, I was the enemy. The crowd around us, smelling blood, turned on me. “Scalper!” someone yelled. “Trying to rip the kid off on his anniversary?” another one shouted. Voices rose, people shoved, and before I knew it, a fist connected with my jaw. Someone kicked me from behind. They were all screaming about calling the cops, about parasites like me ruining everything. The concert ended hours later. Only then did Ava finally call, her voice breezy and casual, as if nothing had happened. “That was Ethan, a guy from my program. He just went through a really bad breakup, and The Wanderers are his all-time favorite band, so I just… let him use your ticket. You’re such a good guy, Caleb. I knew you’d understand, right?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Anyway, listen! I just have this one summer project left and then I’m done, I graduate. You should book a flight down to Miami, come to campus. I’ll show you around, and then… we can go home together. Go to the courthouse. What do you think?” “Okay,” I said, my voice flat. “Sounds good.” Then I hung up and bought a bus ticket. The destination wasn’t Miami. It was Maine. She had no idea that I never wanted to marry her again. “Caleb, I checked for you,” Ava’s voice had said through the phone, tinny and distant. “There’s a seat on the midnight Greyhound. You should book it now. It’s too loud to talk here with everyone leaving the stadium, I’m gonna go.” Click. I sat in the fluorescent hum of the bus station, my phone dead in my hand. I laughed, a bitter, hollow sound that pulled at the fresh cut on my lip. After she’d let a mob of strangers beat me up, I’d stormed off to the airport, intending to leave immediately. But a sliver of foolish hope kept me there, a fantasy that there was some noble, complicated reason for her betrayal. I’d sat in that sterile waiting area all night, waiting for an explanation that would make it all make sense. All I got was an excuse about some lovesick kid from her program. That was her reason for holding another man’s hand, for joining him in painting me as a greedy scalper? And her suggestion… her school was in Miami. The only way to get to my hometown in Maine from there, besides a flight, was a grueling three-day bus journey. She knew I got violently motion sick. The last time I took a long bus ride to save money, I was pale and useless for a week. The old Ava would have stayed up all night trying to find me a cheap flight. The old Ava, if she couldn’t find one, would have cried, apologizing over and over for making me endure that kind of misery. This new Ava didn’t even seem to care. Her carelessness was a shard of ice in my gut. I didn’t hesitate anymore. I booked the next bus heading north, back to Maine. It was leaving in twenty minutes. The bus had been on the road for a few hours, deep into the black of night, when she called again. “Ethan and I have to go out of town for that summer project,” she said, her voice rushed. “It’ll be at least a week. When you get to Miami, just find a hotel or something. It’ll give you a chance to heal up.” Right before she hung up, I heard his voice in the background, syrupy sweet. “Ava, I’ve got the whole road trip planned out…” My mouth twisted into a sneer. How thoughtful of her to invent a cover story for their little vacation. How considerate of her to remember that I was, in fact, covered in bruises and bleeding because of her. While strangers were screaming at me, calling me a scumbag, threatening to have me arrested, she had just stood there, watching, her expression as cold as a winter morning. The memory of it still chilled me to the bone. I opened my messaging app, my thumb hovering over the keyboard, ready to tell her I wasn’t coming. That’s when a friend request popped up. The username was “Ethan_G.” I froze. Ava’s username, for as long as I’d known her, was “Ava_My_Guy.” The request message read: Hey man, sorry about that. You just looked so much like the asshole who stole my last girlfriend, I just lost it for a second. I just said whatever to get you to leave, I never thought people would actually believe it and jump you. Ava made me text you to apologize! Then, a five-dollar transfer notification from a payment app popped up. For your medical bills. Get some ointment or something. Don’t worry about paying me back the change. It was him. Every word, dripping with condescending sarcasm, felt like another slap across the face. Until tonight, he had just been a name, a phantom in Ava’s stories from school. At first, she’d complained about some clueless junior in her lab group. Then, slowly, it shifted. When I’d ask what she was up to, she’d be having dinner with Ethan, playing tennis with Ethan. Soon, she was calling him ‘E.’ I’d admitted it bothered me, said I wanted to see a picture of this guy she spent so much time with. She’d brushed it off. “Oh, come on. He’s not as handsome as you. Besides, he has a girlfriend. Don’t be jealous.” I remember one time I called her on video, feeling low after my scholarship application was rejected. She was in the middle of an experiment but picked up anyway. Seeing my face, she immediately put on a goofy dancing bee filter to try and cheer me up. Then Ethan had popped into the frame. He’d snatched the phone from her, switched the filter to a kitten one, and said with a smirk, “Ava, that filter is lame. The one I picked for you is way better.” She’d laughed, calling him a pest as they playfully fought over the phone, the filters flashing wildly between bees and cats and aliens. I just watched, a silent, awkward third wheel. I couldn’t get a word in. When she finally won the phone back, her face framed by the kitten filter Ethan had chosen, she’d smiled at the screen. “E is so ridiculous. Caleb, why are you so quiet?” A sour, indescribable knot had formed in my throat. She must have sensed I didn’t like him, because she stopped mentioning him as much after that. Until tonight. At the concert. I finally put the face to the name. He was good-looking, I guess. But he wasn’t as handsome as me. But he had something I didn’t. He had the swagger, the unshakeable confidence of someone who knows they’re backed up by the person they love. And suddenly, the whole thing just felt… exhausting. I didn’t bother replying. I just blocked him. I turned my head and stared out the window. The endless black of night slowly gave way to the soft, grey promise of dawn. I’d taken hundreds of flights and bus rides over the past four years, but I’d never once noticed how beautiful the scenery was. I was always so consumed with the journey being over, with just seeing Ava again. The next morning, at seven o’clock, I was home. I tried to slip in quietly, but my parents were already awake. They were sitting in the living room, studying a neon sign I’d ordered that spelled out the word “MARRY ME?” in bright pink letters. They looked from the sign to my bruised face. “Honey, what happened to your face?” my mom asked, her voice tight with worry. “Why are you back alone? I thought you were going to the concert with Ava… and proposing? We were about to decorate the house to surprise her… Where’s Ava?” My hand instinctively went to the small, velvet box in my pocket. I’d bought the ring weeks ago, a simple, perfect diamond, convinced this trip would mark the end of our four years apart. I was going to ask her to marry me under the stadium lights. Instead, I was a joke. And the ring would never leave its box. Faced with their gentle concern, the dam inside me broke. A wave of humiliation and grief washed over me. I placed the ring box on the coffee table, my voice a raw whisper. “Just… return all this stuff, okay? We’re not getting married.” I escaped to my room before they could ask anything else. We’d been together since high school—seven years. My parents already thought of her as a daughter. I had no idea how to explain this to them. They must have understood. They left me alone until lunchtime, when a soft knock came at my door. “Caleb? Come on out and eat something, son.” The table was filled with all my favorites. Halfway through the meal, there was a knock at the front door. “Carol! It’s me! Can I borrow your car for a bit?” That familiar, booming voice belonged to Ava’s mom. Our families lived next door to each other; we’d been borrowing cups of sugar and lawnmowers our whole lives. My mom opened the door. Ava’s mom saw me sitting at the table and stopped short. “Caleb? Weren’t you two supposed to come back together?” I just stared at her, confused. She looked just as baffled. “Ava called. She said she’s coming in on the afternoon bus today. She asked me to pick her up from the station.” 2 I was stunned. Wasn’t she on a road trip with Ethan? Ava’s mom, oblivious, just smiled. “Well, since you’re here, Caleb, why don’t you come with me to get her?” The last thing I wanted was to worry our parents. I nodded. At the bus station, I smoked two cigarettes back-to-back, trying to find some semblance of calm. I decided I would face her, be civil, and get this over with. I wasn’t prepared for the sight of them walking out of the terminal, two figures leaning into each other, their hands intertwined. The moment Ava saw me, she dropped his hand like it was on fire. Her mother’s brow furrowed. “Ava, who is this with you?” Ava didn’t look at her mother. She stared straight at me, her voice sharp and defensive. “He’s a junior from my program. It’s too hot back home for him, and he doesn’t have the money to travel. What’s the big deal if I bring him to our town for the summer?” I didn’t say a word. I just dropped my cigarette, crushed it under my shoe, and got into the driver’s seat of the car. Ava’s mom smacked her lightly on the back. “What is wrong with you? The way you speak… Only Caleb is patient enough to put up with your temper!” Ava, furious, banged on my window. “Caleb, what the hell is this? Are you following me? I told you to go to my school in Miami!” Her mom cut in before I could. “He got back this morning. How could he have followed you?” The anger seemed to drain out of her, replaced by confusion. She did the math. It was impossible. Her lips parted, then pressed into a thin line. She pulled Ethan into the back seat without another word. The ride home was heavy with a strange, suffocating silence. When we parked, her mom, trying to salvage the situation, suggested a big family dinner. It was what we always did. I had no reason to say no. By dinnertime, nothing had changed. Usually, our parents would save two seats next to each other for me and Ava. Tonight, Ava sat down and pulled Ethan into the seat beside her. Every eye at the table flickered toward me. I kept my face neutral and took an empty chair on the other side. Ethan shot me a smug look, then launched into a loud, animated conversation with Ava about inside jokes from their campus, laughing obnoxiously. The whole spectacle turned my stomach. Halfway through the meal, I excused myself and went upstairs to my old room. I didn’t expect him to follow me. He walked in without knocking. With a single, deliberate motion, he swept the framed photo on my desk to the floor. It was a picture of me and Ava from our high school graduation, our arms around each other, making a heart shape with our hands. The glass shattered. I turned and looked at him, my voice dangerously quiet. “Wandering into someone else’s room? Breaking their things? Is that what they teach you at home?” Ethan just smirked, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket and slapping it down on the desk. “Cut the crap, Caleb. Do you really think she’s going to spend the rest of her life in this frozen wasteland with you?” “Sorry to break it to you, but she’s already applied for the graduate program at our university. She’s staying in Miami to take care of me, make sure I adjust to my senior year okay. But hey, if you want to keep being a pathetic leech, you can stick with her. Enjoy another three years of long-distance.” On the desk was a graduate school application. It was already filled out, signed by Ava at the bottom. My chest tightened. It felt like the air had been punched out of my lungs. I remembered Ava, years ago, crying into the phone. “Caleb, just give me four years. I promise. The second I graduate, I’m coming home. Even if I go to grad school, I’ll apply to the one back home!” The last ember of hope in my heart died out. I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “If you’re so desperate to have a mommy take care of you at school, nobody’s stopping you. But don’t worry, I have no interest in being this kid’s stepdad.” Ethan’s face turned crimson with rage. He pointed a trembling finger at me, speechless. Suddenly, the soft creak of footsteps sounded on the stairs. His ears twitched. Seizing the moment, he shoved me hard. Caught off guard, I stumbled back against the desk. He grabbed my head and slammed it down toward the sharp corner. As I fell, my hand instinctively shot out, grabbing the desk lamp and pulling it down with me in a chaotic crash of metal and broken glass. When Ava burst into the room, she saw me on the floor, my vision blurring, blood trickling down from my forehead.

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On my wedding day, my childhood sweetheart, a self-proclaimed bachelor for life, came to crash it. With a cigarette dangling from his lips, he told me, with unnerving seriousness, that he was the one I should be marrying. So I left everyone and everything behind to run away with him. But the moment we were outside, he let go of my hand, a lazy, mocking smile spreading across his face. “I told you she’d come with me,” he called out to his friends. “You all lost the bet. Pay up.” In that single moment, I became the laughingstock of the entire city. That night, my fiancé, Julian Vance, had his right hand shattered by my would-be husband’s men. He issued a warning: anyone who dared to whisper my name would suffer the same fate. Everyone said Julian was obsessed with me, that he would have me no matter what, even after I had so publicly humiliated him. Until the day after our rescheduled wedding. A woman showed up at our door, a small child in her arms. “If Julian’s grandfather hadn’t sworn to only let him inherit the family fortune if he married you,” she sneered, “why else would he agree to marry damaged goods and play the fool?” “We were legally married three years ago. So, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get the hell out.” I had them both bound and gagged within the hour. With the barrel of my gun pressed against the woman’s temple, I looked at Julian as he rushed in. “Her, or you,” I said, my voice flat. “Choose.” “Scarlett, if you have a problem, take it up with me! Rachel and the boy are innocent!” Julian stared at me, his eyes burning, as the black-suited guards behind him fanned out, surrounding me. Rachel was sobbing hysterically. “Julian, save me! This psycho is going to kill me and our son!” Her shrill voice grated on my nerves. I tapped her temple with the muzzle of the gun and threw the marriage certificate in Julian’s face. “Innocent? Then explain this.” I let out a cold laugh. “Making the head of the Thorne family your mistress… you’ve got nerve, Julian. More than your parents ever did.” A flicker of guilt crossed his eyes before he settled on a placating tone. “You were so… traditional before the wedding, you wouldn’t let me touch you. She was just a way to blow off steam. The kid was an accident. I swear, she’ll never bother you again.” “So you want me to just… live peacefully alongside her?” A bloody smile twisted my lips as I clicked off the safety. “An insult to the Thorne family is paid in blood.” “So, who is it going to be? You? Or her and that bastard child?” I saw the flicker of pained indecision on his cold, handsome face, and I knew. The scales in his heart were already tipping toward them. Suddenly, Rachel thrashed against her ropes. “You won’t hurt him!” she screamed. Years of training kicked in. I drew a concealed dagger as I kicked the back of her knee. She stumbled forward, right into the blade’s path. A raw, piercing scream tore from her throat as a deep gash opened on her cheek. “Rachel!” Julian’s eyes went red with fury. Without a moment’s hesitation, he drew his own gun and fired. I dodged, the bullet grazing my arm, and watched as he scooped Rachel into his arms and disappeared. The fire in my arm was a searing reminder of a promise he’d made when he was sixteen. “Scarlett, my gun will never be pointed at you. It will only ever answer to your command, and it will only ever be pointed at your enemies.” “Ma’am?” my most trusted aide, Marcus, asked quietly. “Should I go after them?” Go after them? My eyes were chips of ice. “Contact our board,” I said, my voice glacial. “The billion-dollar joint venture with the Vance Corporation… the Thorne family is pulling out. Effective immediately.” The next day, the public announcement was made. Without our tech and capital, the Vance Corporation’s stock plummeted, hitting rock bottom by noon. Julian called, his voice tight with rage. “Scarlett, are you out of your mind? Pulling out now will cripple both our companies! Are you really going to burn everything down over a tantrum?” I tossed a handful of food into the koi pond, a dangerous smile playing on my lips as the fish thrashed and fought. “I told you, Julian. An insult to the Thorne family is paid in blood.” “Out of respect for your grandfather, I’ll give you two options. Divorce her, or watch the Vance Corporation go bankrupt. Choose.” I could hear his ragged breathing on the other end of the line before he slammed the phone down. Thirty minutes later, a picture of a signed divorce decree arrived on my phone. I instructed my board to reinstate the partnership. Marcus handed me a towel to dry my hands. “Ma’am,” he said softly, “you’re still soft on him.” I pulled my hand back, a flicker of loneliness in my voice. “I don’t have much family left.” Julian moved Rachel and their son to a private Vance family hospital, terrified I would go after them. I had no intention of stooping to her level, but I hadn’t counted on her being stupid enough to provoke me again. She found my number and sent me a picture, a taunt. [Scarlett, Julian never loved you!] [All that talk in the press about his undying devotion? It was all an act to fool your parents! Now that your father’s dead, he doesn’t have to pretend anymore!] [He’s hired the best doctors and therapists to help me recover. One of the therapists was so arrogant, though, refused to even treat me!] [Julian said he’s going to have both her hands broken!] I stared at the photo. My dearest friend, Amy, was on the floor, her face bruised and her hands a bloody mess. A volcanic rage erupted in my chest. My family is small, and I protect them with my life. Julian knew this. He knew Amy was my weakness, and he had dared to touch her. A crazed light flickered in my eyes. I had been too reasonable these past few years. He had forgotten that I was, at my core, a monster. I took my men and stormed the private hospital. I kicked down the door to her room and, before Rachel could even scream, I grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head against the wall. “Did you forget how to spell the word ‘death’?” I snarled. “Did you really think Julian could protect you?” Her face was a mask of blood, but her eyes were triumphant. “So what if you’re an heiress? You’re still just a barren hen who can’t even lay an egg!” “You really think he divorced me to marry you? Pathetic!” “You’re a miserable, unwanted creature!” My mind went blank. I staggered back, the world dissolving around me, and I was sixteen again. It was supposed to be a fun night out. Julian had snuck me away from my bodyguards. But we were ambushed, kidnapped, and thrown into a filthy warehouse. In the darkness, we planned our escape. To give him a chance to get help, I created a diversion, drawing the kidnappers away from him. They caught me. They beat me until I was a bloody pulp. Five or six men surrounded me. They tore at my clothes with their grimy hands, blindfolded me, and violated me. It was the darkest night of my life. I woke up in a hospital, a doctor gently explaining that I would never be able to carry a child. Julian was a wreck. He knelt before me, his eyes red and raw, and swore an oath. “I’m sorry, Scarlett! My life is yours from this day forward!” “I will protect you for the rest of my days!” “If I ever break this vow, may lightning strike me down!” That night, the boy I knew vanished. In his place was a ruthless man who hunted down every single one of those thugs and silenced them permanently. He built his empire with a terrifying speed, driven by a single purpose: to become strong enough to protect me, to ensure I would never be hurt again. And now, he had taken my deepest, most painful secret and whispered it into the ear of a common whore. My eyes were bloodshot. I wrapped my hands around Rachel’s throat, a terrifying grin spreading across my face. “You want to die so badly? Fine. I’ll grant your wish.” Her face began to turn purple, and for the first time, I saw real fear in her eyes. “Stop!” A fist flew at me from behind. I spun, blocking it with my own, the impact jarring my arm. It was Julian. He grunted in pain but ignored his own injury, rushing to pull Rachel into his arms. I looked at the raw concern in his eyes, and for a moment, it overlapped with the desperate gaze of the sixteen-year-old boy. But the boy’s eyes had been filled with pain for me. The man’s eyes saw only her. A low, hollow laugh escaped my lips. I raised my gun and shot him in the arm. “That secret,” I asked, my voice devoid of all emotion. “Did you tell her?” Julian clutched his arm, his jaw tight. “I was drunk. It slipped out.” “Rachel’s young,” he continued, “she speaks without thinking. She didn’t mean any harm.” “You shot me. We’re even.” A humorless smile touched my lips. “Even?” I repeated, my voice dangerously soft. “Julian, what gave you the illusion that I would just keep backing down?” “The debt I owed your grandfather for his kindness? You’ve just used it all up.” Seeing the gun in my hand, Rachel shrieked, “Julian, she’s crazy! Kill her!” Julian’s patience finally snapped. “Scarlett, for God’s sake, think about my position! You can’t have children! The Vance Corporation needs an heir!” Every word was a dagger, twisting in my heart. The silence was deafening. An image of sixteen-year-old Julian flashed before my eyes, covered in blood, carrying me through the night, his voice choked with desperate sobs. “Scarlett, please, just hold on! We were supposed to be together forever! You can’t leave me!” “If you dare to harm Rachel or the boy again, Scarlett, don’t blame me for what happens next.” Julian’s cold voice shattered the memory. I watched him carry her away, and the image of the boy who swore to protect me for a lifetime fractured into a million pieces. So this is what loyalty was worth. The most fragile currency in the world. My spine was ramrod straight. “The engagement is off,” I said, my voice resonating with cold finality. “As of today, the Thorne and Vance families are cutting all ties. We are finished.” The news of our split sent shockwaves through the market. Our stock prices were in freefall. For two weeks, I was chained to my office, managing the fallout. Then, the door to my office was kicked open.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384564”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was at the hospital with my mother-in-law for a check-up when a frantic woman charged out of nowhere and stabbed her eighteen times. Every blow was lethal. Blood pooled on the floor, a gruesome tide, and she was dead before the paramedics arrived. Staring at her mutilated body in the morgue, my vision turned red with hatred. I swore I would make the killer pay in blood. But when I had gathered the evidence and the case went to trial, my husband, who was supposed to be on a business trip abroad, appeared in the courtroom—as a witness for the defense. A psychiatric evaluation, personally signed by my husband, Justin Bright, became the key piece of evidence. The murderer, Vivienne, was acquitted. “Luna, your mother-in-law was sixty. She lived a full life,” Justin said, his tone dismissive as he slid a blank check across the table. “Vivienne is only twenty-four. We can’t let one little mistake ruin her entire future.” “Name your price. How much will it take for you to sign the pardon?” I snatched the check from his hand and ripped it to shreds, my eyes burning. “Justin, that was your mother!” 1 Justin’s brow furrowed. He picked up his coffee cup. A searing, hot liquid cascaded down my head and neck as Vivienne, the woman beside him, emptied the cup onto me before smashing it on the table. “His mother is enjoying the sunshine in France, darling,” Vivienne sneered, her voice dripping with venom. “You should really think before you speak. Besides, even if I did touch Justin’s precious mother, he would only ever help me…” CRACK! I didn’t let her finish. My hand flew across the space between us, the slap echoing in the quiet café. Justin shot to his feet, his eyes like chips of ice. “Luna, don’t push it.” He moved to shield her without a moment’s hesitation, his gaze completely ignoring the angry, red blotches blooming on my skin from the burn. I tried to match his cold composure, but my fingers trembled as I spoke. “Justin, don’t you dare forget how the Bright family got back on its feet!” His expression froze. He grabbed Vivienne’s arm just as she was about to smash a wine bottle over my head. She wrenched free and brought the bottle down on his skull instead. “Justin, you bastard! You’re defending your wife?” she shrieked. “I was wrong about you! Go to hell!” The bottle shattered. He calmly brushed the glass from his hair, his hand gently circling her wrist to soothe her. Then, his cold eyes found mine again. “I’m giving you one last chance to reconsider.” His assistant immediately held a phone in front of my face. The screen showed my father, alive only thanks to a rare experimental drug, lying in a hospital bed. A man’s hand held the bottle of life-saving pills over a drain. He tipped the bottle. A few precious pills tumbled into the darkness. “Sign the pardon, or decide how many more days you want your father to live. Your choice.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. I tried to stand, but Justin’s hand clamped down on my shoulder, forcing me back into the chair. “Luna, are you really going to sacrifice your living father for a dead woman?” His words were like shards of glass, tearing me apart. Years ago, because of his and Vivienne’s reckless behavior, the Bright family had been targeted by a dozen rival companies. He was kidnapped. When the Bright family was powerless, it was his grandfather who came to my family, begging for help. My father, unable to stand by while his old friend’s son was in mortal danger, offered himself as a replacement hostage. He was shot by the captors, the bullet severing nerves and leaving him permanently disabled. To repay that debt, Justin, a brilliant biochemist, had personally developed the drug that kept my father alive. I remembered him kneeling by my father’s bedside, his hand gripping mine as he made a solemn vow. “I, Justin Bright, will love and protect Luna for the rest of my life.” Three years into our marriage, he had broken that promise. The day Vivienne returned from abroad and smashed the windshield of his car in a fit of rage, all his love and protection for me vanished. I trembled, my lips quivering as I stared at him. “Justin, do you remember that my father is like this because of you?” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Vivienne is practically your sister. There’s no need to be so vicious.” “Sign it. You and your father will be fine. Besides, your mother was over sixty. The maximum compensation you could get in court is less than a million. I’m letting you name your own price. You’re coming out ahead here.” The air was punched from my lungs. “It doesn’t matter whose mother she was! She gave birth to us, raised us! Is a bit of money supposed to make it okay to let her killer walk free while she can’t rest in peace?” “Just take the damn money,” Vivienne drawled, leaning against Justin and shooting me a malicious glare, utterly devoid of remorse. “This is the most cash a poor bitch like you will ever see in your life, unless another one of your relatives dies.” It was as if she hadn’t killed a human being, but had merely squashed an ant. Before the entire Bright clan had pressured me into this marriage, I had heard stories about Vivienne. She was Justin’s childhood friend, his rabid shadow. In the five years before our wedding, their relationship was a storm of pure, destructive obsession. He once chopped off her boyfriend’s fingers and sent them to her as a birthday gift. She retaliated by gouging out the eyes of a woman who got too close to him and presenting them as a New Year’s present. Other people’s lives were just stepping stones for their twisted love affair. Their families cleaned up one mess after another, a cycle of violence that had driven Justin’s own grandfather to a stress-induced stroke. I used to find the stories hard to believe. Now, I was trembling with the reality of it. “Justin, that was your mother’s life. A living, breathing person.” “Her body is still in the morgue. You can go see for yourself!” 2 Vivienne snorted, flicking her hair. “Why would I want to look at a dead body? Don’t try to stall, waiting for those old Bright sycophants to come and save you. They all died abroad yesterday trying to find some miracle cure for the old man.” Her words were disgusting, but Justin didn’t even flinch. He showed none of the cold fury he reserved for me when I stepped out of line. Instead, he just tapped the table and pushed the pardon toward me. “Sign it first, talk later. Otherwise, your father won’t live to see tomorrow.” On the phone screen, more pills disappeared down the drain. If this continued, my father wouldn’t last until the next batch of medication could be synthesized. My heart felt like it was being pierced by a dozen needles. The document in front of me was already signed by Justin. He didn’t care about the truth; he only cared about exonerating Vivienne. I forced the air back into my lungs, my voice laced with the bitter taste of disappointment as I signed my name. “Justin, I hope you don’t regret this.” “There, see? I knew you’d be reasonable.” A rare smile touched his cold lips as he snatched the document from my hand. “Tell my assistant whatever you want. He’ll buy it for you.” I laughed, a hollow, mocking sound. As if I wanted his money. Ever since Vivienne returned, I was nothing more than a gold digger in his eyes. He threw money at me to solve every problem, but for Vivienne, he gave his time, his resources, his loyalty—even his life. Now, with two lives on the line, his favoritism was sickeningly blatant. The thought of divorce, once a fleeting idea, now became a burning certainty. “Justin, you can come with me to the morgue now—” “The morgue? Are you trying to jinx me?” Vivienne cut in. “I was just wrongfully accused in court. The last thing I need is the bad luck of a morgue. It’ll ruin my whole year.” She turned to Justin, a challenging glint in her eye. “How about a race to celebrate my new lease on life? You and me?” Justin tucked the signed pardon into his jacket and raised an eyebrow. “For you? Anytime.” He turned to leave, tossing a final, careless sentence over his shoulder. “I’m busy today. You handle the funeral. Tell my assistant if you need anything. I’ll stop by on the anniversary if I have time.” He was always busy after Vivienne came back. Too busy to remember my birthday, our wedding anniversary, even the anniversary of our child’s death. And now, he was busy enough to go racing with the woman who stabbed his mother eighteen times, but not busy enough to see his mother one last time? I stood frozen, the world tilting on its axis. With the heads of the Bright family gone, it fell to me to handle the arrangements. At the morgue, the body was a mangled ruin of flesh and bone, barely human. The tears I had held back for so long finally fell. I remembered hearing how my mother-in-law had almost died giving birth to Justin, how she had screamed at the doctors to save the baby, not her. Now, she was a butchered corpse, and her son wouldn’t even look at her. “Prepare the casket. We’ll take her home,” I told the assistant. “And notify the rest of the Bright family abroad. Tell them to come home to pay their last respects.” The wake was set up quickly in the main hall. A photo of my mother-in-law, her expression kind and gentle, sat on the altar. Just then, my phone buzzed with a priority notification. It was a new, pinned post from Justin. He had ignored the message I’d sent him five hours ago, but he’d had time to post this: a video of Vivienne, behind the wheel of a five-million-dollar McLaren he’d bought her, winning a race. On the podium, she grabbed his tie and pulled him into a ferocious kiss. The look on his face—breathless, passionate, utterly consumed—was something I had never seen before. The crowd around them roared with approval. The caption read: To my rose’s new beginning. Washing away the bad luck! The words stabbed at my eyes. I unpinned his contact from my favorites and sent another message. Justin, the very least you could do is come home and see your mother one last time. The earliest the other family members could arrive was tomorrow morning. I couldn’t be the only one to sit vigil on the first night. Instead of a text back, I got a call. It was Vivienne. “Will you ever give it a rest?” she snarled. “Your mother-in-law is dead. Get over it and stop ruining our good time!” “Let me speak to Justin,” I said, my voice flat. “Or I will keep calling.” “Fuck, you persistent bitch! Hey, Bright! Your scheming, pathetic wife is on the phone again. Get rid of her!” A moment later, Justin’s irritated voice came through the line. “Luna, my mother is perfectly fine. Stop trying to curse her!” I sent him a photo of the funeral hall and spoke calmly. “The family’s oldest servants prepared this wake. Do you really think they’re blind enough to mistake my mother for yours?” 3 There was a silence on his end, broken by Vivienne’s sharp laughter. “Hahaha, is that the best fake picture you could come up with? His mom literally just sent me a voice message. As much as I might hate you, I would never hurt Justin’s family.” My mother-in-law’s familiar voice played through the speaker. I froze. Vivienne’s voice, dripping with scorn, followed. “What’s the matter? Feeling lonely, you pathetic housewife? Is this the only trick you have to get your man to come home? If you’re that desperate, I can send a few homeless guys over to keep you company.” Justin’s voice was tight with anger when he spoke again. “Luna, you are exhausting. This is what I can’t stand about you. You’re not daring and passionate like Vivienne. You’re not honest about what you want. You’re just… scheming and disgusting.” My hand clenched into a fist. After the accident that had nearly destroyed his family, when Justin Bright had gone from a golden boy to a disgraced drunk, it was me. I was the one who went to my grandfather and begged for the capital to rebuild. I was the one who pulled him out of his alcohol-soaked despair, who stayed up with him through endless nights as we hustled for clients and rebuilt his empire from nothing. Back then, he would hold me tight in the hours before dawn and whisper, “Luna, I can’t live without you.” And now… “Try to be more like Vivienne,” he spat. “Carefree, liberated. Stop being so damn suffocating.” My nails dug into my palms. My heart felt like it had been plunged into ice water. “This is the last time I will ever call you,” I said, my voice dead. “If you don’t come back, don’t you dare regret it later.” Then I hung up. At two in the morning, after kneeling at the wake for four hours, I finally heard the sound of a car pulling up. For a foolish moment, I thought his conscience had finally kicked in. But the person who strode in was Vivienne. “Who let her in here?” I shot to my feet, my voice a sharp command to the household staff. “Don’t you know she’s the murderer?” The servants trembled, their heads bowed. “She has Mr. Bright’s security clearance, ma’am. We had no choice.” Vivienne smirked. She kicked over the incense burner on the altar, smashed the framed photograph on the table, and ground the shards under her heel. “Why so surprised? You only became Mrs. Bright because I allowed it. Now get on your knees and thank me.” I didn’t move. I dialed the emergency number, but before I could connect, Justin rushed in, his head bandaged, and knocked the phone from my hand. “That’s enough. It’s a small matter, no need to involve the police. We can just set it up again. It’s not like the body is going anywhere.” The moment he finished speaking, Vivienne threw open the lid of the casket. She emptied a bucket of reeking, dark liquid—black dog’s blood mixed with urine—all over the corpse. The foul stench filled the hall. My mother-in-law, a woman who prized cleanliness above all else, was being desecrated in her own coffin. I lunged forward, but Justin’s grip on my wrist was like iron, nearly snapping the bone. “Justin, that is your MOTHER!” I shrieked, my voice raw, but he held me fast. “Vivienne went a little too far, I admit,” he said calmly. “But you faked my mother’s death photo. We’ll call it even.” Ptuh. Vivienne spat directly into the coffin, then turned and slapped me across the face. The force sent me stumbling to the floor, the taste of blood filling my mouth. “That’s for what you owe me. Don’t mess with me, or I’ll kill you next.” She raised her hand to strike me again, but Justin caught her wrist, his brow furrowed. “That’s enough. You’ll hurt your hand.” Vivienne spat in my direction one more time. “You’re lucky Justin’s gotten soft these last three years. Otherwise, I’d have your dying father chopped into pieces and fed to the dogs.” “Alright, alright,” Justin said, his tone one of weary indulgence. “I came back as soon as you called, didn’t I? You crashed my car, you trashed this place. Isn’t that enough to make you feel better?” He stood there, his shoes trampling the shattered remains of his own mother’s portrait, placating the woman who had defiled her corpse. Feel better? The memorial tablet was being scrawled with obscenities. The kind face in the portrait was shattered and smeared with filth. His mother’s body was covered in spit and reeking liquid. And this was all just to appease Vivienne’s temper? My throat felt like it was stuffed with wet cotton. “Justin, if you would just look at the hand on the corpse, you would know it’s not my mother!” He paused, his gaze finally shifting toward the open casket. 4 On the corpse’s finger was the Oppenheimer Blue, a one-of-a-kind diamond ring her late husband had given her. Vivienne’s eyes followed his. A flicker of greed crossed her face, and she shot me a venomous glare. “Aha! I knew it! I told you that you and your mother were nothing but common thieves! You took advantage of your mother-in-law’s absence to steal her ring and put it on a dead body!” Before anyone could react, she reached into the coffin, brutally snapped the dead finger off at the knuckle, and wrenched the ring free, clutching it in her fist. She looked down at Justin with a mocking sneer. “You’ve really lowered your standards, Justin. Marrying a gold-digging thief with sticky fingers. I’ll hold onto this for you, before she pawns it.” Justin, who had been about to look closer, turned his suspicious gaze back to me. “I always suspected your father had an ulterior motive when he saved me. It’s only been a few years, and your family is already showing its true colors. I’m glad I listened to Vivienne and didn’t let you keep that child.” I was being helped to my feet by a maid, but his words froze me solid. I stared at him, my body turning to wood. “Justin… what did you just say?” Vivienne cackled, pointing a finger at me. “What did he say? He’s talking about your dead baby! You thought you could trap him, use a child to swallow the Bright family fortune whole, didn’t you? You already have so much company stock, you greedy bitch.” A gaping wound opened in my chest. Her voice was a relentless drone in my ears. “So, we arranged a little ‘car accident’ for you. Hahaha, you idiot, did you really think he was sending someone to save you? He couldn’t wait for that baby to die!” The room went black. As I collapsed, my mind went completely blank. Justin frowned and hauled me to my feet. “It was my child, too. If you weren’t so manipulative…” CRACK! I slapped him again, my vision swimming in red. “And you knew it was your child?” He turned his head slightly, his jaw tight, his expression cold. “When you learn to behave, we can have another.” Vivienne, who had been laughing, froze. A toxic, resentful look flashed in her eyes. “There won’t be a next time, Justin,” I said, my voice hollow. “You don’t deserve one.” I pulled free from his suddenly tight grip and knelt, mechanically gathering the broken pieces of the portrait. Justin stood over me, looking like he wanted to say something. Suddenly, the doors were kicked open. A group of grim-faced, middle-aged men holding knives stormed in. Justin went pale. He immediately shoved Vivienne behind him, leaving me completely exposed, a blade instantly pressed against my throat. The man in the lead had dark, menacing eyes. “Justin Bright. Is this Vivienne?” “What do you want?” Justin demanded. The man gave a chilling, humorless smile. “My daughter was kind enough to give you directions once. For that, Vivienne had a dozen men rape her! My little girl… she wasn’t even eighteen! They left her to die next to a dumpster!” He slammed his knife into the altar table. The other men closed in on me and Vivienne, their hands reaching for our clothes. “I’m only here for revenge, not to harm the innocent,” the man said, turning on a camera. “Take your wife and get out.” “Honey, save me!” Vivienne shrieked. Justin hesitated for a second, then walked toward me. To my utter shock, he leaned in and whispered an apology in my ear. “Luna, look, you’ve been pregnant before, you’ve had a miscarriage. Your body can handle it. But Vivienne is different. I have to protect her. Just be understanding. I’ll make it up to you later.” With that, he slapped me hard across the face and shoved me into the arms of the waiting men. He turned, wrapping his arms around a trembling Vivienne, and yelled at me with righteous fury. “You did this! You did all those terrible things, and you deserve to have your mother-in-law die and her funeral desecrated!” Vivienne clung to him, a picture of terrified innocence, but the look she gave me over his shoulder was one of pure, ecstatic triumph. “That’s right,” she purred. “Maybe with all these men, you’ll finally stop lusting after my husband.” Seeing the men hesitate, Justin roared, “What are you waiting for? Get on with it! Look at her, she’s obviously been through a few pregnancies. My Vivienne would never be so promiscuous!” I clutched the sharp shards of the portrait in my fist, my heart turning to absolute stone. CRASH! Before the men could touch me, the doors burst open again. A flood of security guards poured in. One of them grabbed Justin by the hair, forced him to his knees, and delivered a brutal slap across his face. Justin was stunned. He looked up, his eyes blazing with fury, ready to retaliate—but when he saw the face of the man standing before him, his pupils shrank to pinpricks. “You!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384580”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Marcel was a trust-fund kid playing poor to date me. It was all a cruel little game, something for him and his buddies to laugh about. I knew all of this. I knew the script by heart. But even knowing Marcel was a liar, even as I worked three jobs to support his lazy ass, I didn’t complain. How could I? My entire online brand was built on being the “ultimate ride-or-die girlfriend,” the girl who’d do anything for her man. And let’s be honest, with a face like Marcel’s, he was premium content. But I’m also a realist. In the world of internet fame, you have to keep things fresh if you want to stay relevant. So, when Marcel finally decided to drop the act, pulling his childhood sweetheart, Amy, into a nauseating embrace right in front of me, I was ready. I simply pulled out my phone—already live-streaming—and let the waterworks begin. “Hey fam,” I sobbed into the camera, “this is the ninety-ninth time he’s cheated on me. I think… I think I’m finally done.” “Drop some hearts in the chat if you think I should dump him for good!” … Crestwood had been drowning in rain for weeks. I stumbled home, soaked and miserable, just in time to overhear Marcel on the phone. The door to our rundown apartment was so flimsy his voice bled right through it. “Yeah, she’s out delivering food even in this downpour. Says she makes more during peak hours.” A pause. “For my birthday a few days ago? She got me a bottle of designer cologne. She must be totally broke now.” Another chuckle. “Her birthday? I gave her a plastic ring from a gumball machine. You’d think I gave her the moon, she was so touched.” He was really getting into it now. “Friends? Please. She doesn’t have any. Her entire world revolves around me.” “Honestly, though, it’s getting a little boring. She’s just… too easy.” “I’ll give it a little longer. Once I’m completely tired of her, I’ll dump her.” His voice was a lazy, self-satisfied drawl. And why wouldn’t it be? He had a complete doormat worshiping the ground he walked on, a doormat who worked herself to the bone to pay his bills and validate his ego. Instead of anger, a different kind of thrill shot through me. I waited patiently for him to hang up before turning the key in the lock. When I walked in, he flinched, quickly pocketing his phone. “You… you just get back?” he asked, a flicker of panic in his eyes. I played my part, feigning ignorance as I collapsed onto the worn-out welcome mat. “Yeah, I’m exhausted.” Then, I beamed, a perfect picture of naive devotion. “But I made an extra fifty bucks today! We can get something nice for dinner!” I threw my arms around him, and I felt the tension leave his body as he realized I hadn’t heard a thing. Later that night, as Marcel washed the dishes from our takeout spicy noodle bowls, I snuck a picture from behind him. The photo captured half of my face, smiling softly, and the sharp, beautiful line of his jaw. I crafted the perfect caption: “With you, even a cheap bowl of noodles feels like a feast. ” Marcel was used to my constant photo-ops and gushing social media posts. It was all part of the act. A girl this pathetically devoted was a rare find, and he was more than happy to play along, encouraging my obsession. I posted the photo, set my phone to silent, and curled up next to him on the lumpy sofa to watch some dumb TV show. Within the hour, the post was already gaining traction. Most of the comments, as usual, were calling me an idiot. A few defenders would pop up: “She’s just having noodles with her boyfriend… why is everyone being so mean?” And they’d be immediately shut down: “Dude, you need to check her post history. This girl is a case study in terminal desperation.” “She works three jobs to support this guy, even after catching him sexting his ‘childhood friend.’ She’s a lost cause.” Soon, the thread was a waterfall of people pitying me, disgusted by my lack of self-respect. I couldn’t have cared less. A new message had just popped up in my DMs from a potential sponsor. “Hi Mae, we love your content! Would you be interested in promoting our new couples’ app?” “Compensation is negotiable.” I snuggled deeper into Marcel’s arms, a genuine smile gracing my lips as I typed back a reply. He nudged my chin. “What are you smiling about?” I squeezed his hand, my voice full of manufactured excitement. “I just got an offer for a one-day gig tomorrow! Another fifty bucks!” I declared proudly. “Once I save up enough, I’m taking my baby out for a proper dinner!” Marcel was hiding his real life from me, and I was hiding my real job from him. Seemed fair. I’d known from the start what a nasty piece of work Marcel was. I knew this whole relationship was a game to him. But damn, that face of his was a work of art. Among the guys in my orbit back then, he was on another level. My name is Mae. The matron at the orphanage gave it to me. I was left on their doorstep in the dead of winter, right when the single, stubborn plum tree in their courtyard decided to bloom against all odds. So yes, I was genuinely poor. No trust fund, no magic wand. I grew up in the system, bounced around rural foster homes, with no family connections and no knack for academics. When I first tried to make it as a content creator, I got zero traction. So when a guy like Marcel wandered into my life, even knowing his motives, I was more than willing to play his game. After all, any video with his face in it got an insane amount of views. But I’ve been poor for too long. It makes you greedy. So, not a single penny of the money I earned online ever made its way to Marcel. If he knew, he’d find a way to make my life a living hell. He fed on my misery, like a handsome parasite. Whenever I shared good news, he’d cut me down. “That dress is hideous on you. Makes your waist look thick. Return it.” “God, can’t you just relax? It’s only a few hundred dollars! So what if I bought some new clothes? Not my problem if we can’t afford groceries now!” “You’re the one who promised to love me forever! That was the deal when we got together!” “What, are you thinking of backing out now? You want to leave me?!” Every time, without fail, he’d use my initial promises against me. And every time he saw me miserable, he’d soften, pulling me close and whispering sweet apologies. It was a sick cycle. Given the stakes, there was no way I could let him know I was secretly making bank. So, I rented a small, clean studio apartment not far from our shared dump. My “long, grueling workdays” were spent there, writing ad scripts in peace. When I got tired, I’d hop on the treadmill I’d bought, pushing myself until I was a sweaty, exhausted mess—the perfect picture of a girl run ragged. Then I’d drag myself back to our grimy little apartment. Marcel ate it up. He’d greet me at the door each night, a smug little smile playing on his lips as he took in my disheveled state. “You’re back? Tough day? How much did you make?” And I’d force a weary smile, dutifully reporting my meager earnings. These moments of fake domestic bliss were always short-lived. Inevitably, a call would come and he’d have to leave. “It’s my business partner,” he’d explain hurriedly, “we’re trying to get a startup off the ground.” I would nod obediently and watch him go. Of course, I knew exactly who was calling: his precious Amy. She loved the idea of me being played for a fool, but she couldn’t stand Marcel showing me any affection. So, she made it a habit to summon him away almost every night. Once, I followed them. I got photos and a video of them in his car. In the clip, they were tangled together, a dangerous, electric heat between them. Amy’s eyes were glistening as she bit his lip, a playful punishment. “When are you going to dump that charity case, Marcel? I hate having to sneak around like this! It’s humiliating!” He showered her with kisses and soothing words. “Soon, baby, soon. Just a little longer. Aren’t you having fun watching the show? When the time comes, I’ll make her get on her knees and beg me not to leave. She’s so obsessed with me, she’ll do anything we want. You can play with your new little toy however you like.” I clipped a piece of that audio and posted it online. It caused an uproar. Using it as an excuse, I picked a massive fight with Marcel. He wasn’t done playing his game yet, so he wasn’t ready to let me go. He recorded a video, tears in his eyes, promising me he would never, ever do it again. I immediately posted his tearful apology video with the caption: “Thank you all for your concern. He knows he was wrong. I believe everyone deserves a second chance. Please wish us luck.” As expected, I was torn to shreds online. But the hate-views sent my engagement through the roof. After that stunt, my online persona was set in stone. I was infamous. People made entire YouTube videos dissecting my toxic relationship. A whole community even popped up, calling themselves experts in “Mae-ology,” dedicated to analyzing my every love-sick move. But I knew this couldn’t last. The pathetic, devoted girlfriend shtick has a shelf life, even with Marcel’s pretty face as bait. Change is the only constant. I learned that lesson early. I just didn’t expect Marcel to be the one to force my hand. It was midnight, and he still wasn’t home. A strange anxiety fluttered in my chest. A storm was brewing; I could feel it in my bones. Thirty minutes later, my phone rang. It was him. “Marcel, where are you? Are you okay?” I asked, my voice trembling on cue. “Mae, get over here,” he slurred. “I’m drunk. Come pick me up on your moped.” He texted me an address. The background noise was a chaotic mix of laughter and loud music—some upscale VIP lounge. I looked out the window at the rain, which was now coming down in sheets. “Marcel, I only have the moped… and it’s pouring out. It’s not safe…” I hesitated. “Let me just call you an Uber…” “Tsk,” he clicked his tongue, annoyance lacing his drunken voice. “You think it’s safe for me to go home alone? If you don’t care about me that much, then maybe we should just break up.” “Wait! Don’t say that!” I cried out, my voice laced with desperation. I let out a long-suffering sigh. “Okay. I’ll come. I’m on my way.” He didn’t hang up. Through the phone, I could hear his friends roaring with laughter. “Told you, man. Marcel’s got that girl trained like a puppy.” “Girlfriend? Nah, she’s a doormat. A placeholder at best.” “Yeah, everyone knows Marcel’s real girl is Amy.” “Still, I can’t wait to see the look on her pathetic face when she gets here. It’s gonna be epic.” A wave of joyous laughter followed. I quietly ended the call and ordered myself a luxury black car service. If you’re going into battle, you might as well arrive in style. My hands were shaking the entire ride over. Not from fear. From pure, unadulterated excitement. Marcel, my lucky star. He gave me the content I needed to launch my channel, and now he was handing me the perfect opportunity to reinvent myself. For that, I could play the part of the heartbroken girlfriend for five more minutes. When I arrived at the lounge, my first stop was the restroom. I ran my hands under the faucet and plastered my bangs to my forehead, then splashed water over my t-shirt to complete the “drenched in the rain” look. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the heavy door to the private room. It was a huge, opulent space, filled with a crowd of glittering, beautiful people. Marcel was in a dark corner, with Amy draped over him like a silk scarf. The moment I stepped inside, every eye snapped to me. Some were hungry for the drama, others just scanned my body, their gazes lingering on my soaked, semi-transparent shirt. Marcel saw it too and let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Well, look what the rain dragged in, Mae. You look pathetic.” I froze, staring at them for a beat. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, I let out a guttural scream and lunged, trying to tear them apart. “Why… why is it always HER?” I shrieked, my voice raw. “Marcel! You promised! You promised me you wouldn’t do this again! WHY?!” My mind raced. “Is it about money? Do you need money?” I started frantically pulling crumpled bills from my worn-out canvas tote bag, shoving them into his chest. “I… I made a lot today, you can have it all! Just… just come home with me, please…” He didn’t even flinch. He just watched me with a detached amusement, like I was a fascinating, rabid animal. The people around us were loving the show, phones already out, recording everything. “ANSWER ME!” I screamed, grabbing the collar of his expensive shirt. Amy let out a delicate cry. “Marcel! She’s hurting me! Do something!” His brow furrowed in annoyance. With a casual shove, he sent me sprawling to the floor. “Stop making a scene,” he sneered. “Fine, you want the truth? Here it is. I’m Marcel Croft. My family practically owns New York. I don’t need your pathetic pocket change. Dating you was just a game, something to kill the boredom.” He crouched down, a cruel smirk on his face. “But I will admit, watching you run yourself into the ground for me was… satisfying. You really are a good little dog.” He patted my head, the gesture dripping with condescension, before Amy’s soft coo pulled him back to her. He planted a long, deliberate kiss on her cheek, his eyes locked on me the entire time, daring me to react. Their glamorous love story was the perfect, brutal contrast to my pathetic, rain-soaked failure. I sat on the cold floor, head bowed, my shoulders shaking with what everyone assumed were sobs. The trust-fund brats waited, breathless. This was the moment they’d been anticipating: the part where the poor girl finds out he’s a prince and clings to his leg, begging him not to leave her. Okay, showtime. In one swift movement, I wiped away the fake tears. From a hidden pocket in my grimy tote bag, I pulled out my brand-new smartphone. The screen was glowing. It was my livestream. And the viewer count was pushing one hundred thousand.

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My nerves have been shot for weeks. A trip to the hospital confirmed it: Alzheimer’s. The doctor tried to be comforting. “Look at you,” he said, gesturing at my clothes. “Dressed in designer labels from head to toe. You must have a very happy life.” “The progression can be slowed,” he continued. “Tell your husband and children not to worry too much. Why don’t you call them in? I’ll go over the necessary precautions with them.” I opened my phone and stared at the contacts under the ‘Family’ tab. My son, who had cut ties with me the moment he moved abroad. My rebellious daughter, who hated me for breaking up her and her delinquent boyfriend. Or my husband, who was probably with his mistress right now. For a moment, I had no idea who to call. I closed the phone. “It’s fine,” I said softly. “Let’s not tell them.” This way, I can finally forget them all. 1 After I left the hospital, a rare snow began to fall over the city. I grew up in the North, in a place of deep winters. But in the thirty years since I’d married and moved south, I’d never seen a blizzard like this so early in the season. They say a good snow promises a good year. A good omen, perhaps. I squinted, the familiar route home suddenly blurry in my mind. I ended up taking a taxi. The payment app had updated, and I fumbled with it for so long the driver started yelling. After a few more struggles, I was finally home. The house was as it always was: vast, cold, and utterly silent. Not a trace of life. I numbly cleared the dining table and reheated last night’s leftovers. I’d let the house staff go a few days ago. There was no need for so many people to look after just me. Halfway through cooking, I zoned out, forgetting to turn off the stove. The pan started smoking, and I rushed to put out the small flame before it could catch. The resulting meal was a blackened, unappetizing mess. I forced down a few bites and went to bed. It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning that Arthur came home. I heard the door open in a haze of sleep and pulled on a robe, heading downstairs. He was sitting on the living room sofa, smoking. He’d dyed his hair recently, covering the distinguished threads of silver at his temples. His face was still handsome, well-maintained with few wrinkles, and his body was lean. At a glance, he looked almost the same as he had in his youth. No wonder he has a constant stream of young women flocking to him, I thought wryly. He noticed me and stubbed out his cigarette. “Still awake?” I nodded, trying for a light tone. “Getting old. My nerves are shot these days.” For years now, Arthur had treated me with a polite, almost formal respect. A flash of guilt crossed his face. “I’m sorry. If I know I’ll be late next time, I won’t come home.” I could smell a woman’s perfume on him, a scent that was faintly familiar. I vaguely recalled it was the one his little mistress wore. Silence stretched between us. He hesitated, then decided not to hide it. “Ross came back today. We threw a welcome dinner for him. He… he probably still doesn’t want to see you after what happened, so I took Lily.” I nodded again. “Oh.” I congratulated myself internally. It was his mistress’s perfume. My memory wasn’t so bad after all. Not as bad as the doctor made it sound. “Have you eaten?” he asked, a pang of guilt in his voice. “If not, I can make you something.” I cut through his pretense. “Arthur, I need to talk to you.” I put on my reading glasses, fumbling in my handbag for a moment before I found what I was looking for. I handed him the file. He flipped through it, his expression souring as he read. I sighed. “Arthur, my mother passed away at the beginning of the year, didn’t she? I was thinking… our marriage doesn’t have to count anymore either. We’ve both lived such constrained lives, forced to marry without love. We’re old now. Let’s give each other the freedom we’ve always dreamed of, shall we?” Arthur said nothing. He simply lit another cigarette. Through the haze of smoke, I couldn’t read his face. I gave a strained laugh. “As for the children… neither of them wants me as a mother. Ross came home and I didn’t even know. You and your mistress went to his welcome dinner instead of me. I suppose I’ve been a failure in that department, too. But we’ve raised them. Their futures don’t need me anymore. There’s nothing left for me to hold on to here.” “So, sign the divorce papers. We can file them after the one-month cooling-off period.” His voice was hoarse. “We’ve come this far. Can’t we just see the performance through to the end?” I took a cigarette from his pack. “I’m tired, Arthur,” I said softly. “You and Lily have been together for years. She’s lasted longer than any of the others. When I was young, I had a temper. I couldn’t stand it. We fought constantly about your affairs, I tried to divorce you so many times, but my mother always stopped me.” “She said my family was bankrupt, that your family’s money saved us, so I had to be good to you unconditionally. No one ever cared how I felt. Over the years, the debt my family owed yours has been more or less repaid. And now my mother is gone. There’s no need to continue the show. The audience has left.” I took a long drag from the cigarette and smiled faintly. “Let’s get a divorce, Arthur. You want to give Lily a proper title, don’t you? I heard our daughter call her ‘Mom’ the other day.” After I said it all, a heavy fog settled over my mind, and everything went blank. I only remember him smoking, one cigarette after another. Finally, he rasped, “Fine.” He picked up a pen and signed his name, then grabbed his coat to leave. I stopped him. “When you have a moment in the next few days, meet me at City Hall. We need to file the application.” Seeing my resolve, a flicker of anger crossed his face. “Helena, don’t you regret this. Once we’re divorced, you can kiss the comfortable life of Mrs. Thorne goodbye.” I laughed. “Don’t worry. I won’t regret it.” My entire life had already been a regret. A lifetime of emotional blackmail, of living in a haze. What could possibly be worse than that? 2 Arthur didn’t come home after that night. Ross, despite being back in the country, never came to see me. And Jenny… well, she had already accepted Lily as her mother. She was probably having the time of her life at Lily’s place right now. I remembered the fight we had before she ran away from home. It was because she’d started dating some reckless biker, skipping her university classes to go joyriding with him. I had grounded her and frozen her credit cards. She had screamed at me, tears streaming down her face. “You’re not my mother, you don’t understand me at all! Aunt Lily supports me and my true love! You’re not even a tenth of the woman she is!” I felt a wave of helplessness. I wanted to say, I’m your mother. Only your mother will ever try to guide you. Outsiders don’t care; they’ll just tell you what you want to hear to make you happy. But the words wouldn’t come out. “I hate you! You don’t deserve to be my mother! No wonder Dad doesn’t love you. You deserve to be alone!” She slammed the door and left. That night, Lily took her in and sent me a text. [Jenny’s with me, Helena. Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of her for you.] Back then, I still hated Lily. I didn’t want my daughter anywhere near my husband’s mistress. I sent Jenny message after message, begging her to come home. But months went by, and she never replied. … Now, I’ve made my peace with it. I don’t hate Lily anymore. To hell with Arthur, too. My children must have inherited his cold-blooded genes; they were never going to be close to me. What a failure I’ve been. Couldn’t keep my husband, lost my children, and now, in my old age, I have dementia. I’ll probably end my days bedridden. Muttering about the hardships of life, I began to pack my bags, planning to move back to my childhood home. When I was done, I put on my glasses and carefully typed a message to Jenny: [Mom is leaving. Let your father and Aunt Lily take good care of you. It’s getting cold, remember to wear a jacket.] I wanted to wait for her reply before I left. But I waited a long time, and no message came. I sighed. A daughter’s heart flies from home. I lingered on Ross’s chat window for a moment but ultimately didn’t send a message. He hated me. In his heart, he probably wished I would just die and leave him alone. My eyes stung, but no tears came. I supposed I’d cried them all out long ago. As I left the house, I felt no attachment. Only a profound sense of release. I called Arthur and told him to meet me at City Hall. I checked into a hotel near the airport and had the bellboy take my luggage up. By the time I got to City Hall, Arthur was already there, waiting with a woman by his side. My heart sank. He had to bring Lily with him, even on the day of our divorce. Just one last humiliation. Lily had endured years of being the other woman, and now, in her forties, she was about to become the new Mrs. Thorne. Her face was alight with triumph. In her eyes, I was the loser. Dressed in a chic black coat, she clung to Arthur’s arm. She put on a show of magnanimity. “Do you have any plans, Helena? It’s hard to find a job at your age, and you don’t have much savings. Why don’t you keep living in the house? I’ll have Arthur move in with me. Besides, Jenny and Ross are staying with me now, and they miss their father.” Her words were a clear provocation. Arthur said nothing. “No need to trouble yourself,” I said coolly. “I’ve already moved out. You and the children can have the house. The house, the people… they’re all things I no longer want.” Lily’s smile faltered. “Well, if you need anything in the future, just let us know. You and Arthur were married for so long, after all. We’ll help if we can.” “No, thank you. Helping me with this divorce is the greatest help you could possibly offer.” At my words, Arthur’s hands clenched into fists. We went inside. Lily waited in the car. After a long silence, he spoke. “Wouldn’t it be better to just keep things as they are?” I didn’t even look at him. “That’s what you think.” He rubbed his temples in frustration. “You’re just as impulsive as you were when you were young. Always throwing tantrums. I gave you two chances to reconsider. You didn’t take them.” “Save that good fortune for Lily. I don’t need it.” The head of the Thorne family was rarely spoken to like this. His face darkened, and he didn’t say another word. After the paperwork was done, he walked out, got in the car with Lily, and drove away without a backward glance. I clutched the divorce certificate in my hand, a wave of relief washing over me. It didn’t matter how hard the future would be. In this moment, for the first time in thirty years, I was free. 3 I spent the night at the hotel and took an early flight the next morning. Before my mother died, she left me our ancestral home in the North. After arriving, I went straight there. Staring at the dusty, long-abandoned house, I felt a pang of melancholy. I remembered the last day I spent in this house. My mother had knelt before me, her head touching the floor, sobbing. She said if I married Arthur Thorne, his family would save ours from ruin. Only I could save them. “If you don’t marry him, you are no longer a Vance! You are no longer my daughter!” On my wedding day, she offered no blessings. Instead, she sat counting the money the Thornes had transferred to her bank account, a wide grin on her face. … I closed my eyes, trying to recall some happy memories from this house, but they were all shrouded in a thick fog. The doctor said my condition would soon become moderate. I would forget many things, my movements and speech would become impaired. I might even lose the ability to talk. But I wasn’t afraid. To forget all those people and all those things before I die meant I wouldn’t have to remember them in the next life. While my mind was still relatively clear, I spent a few days cleaning the old house until it felt new again. My neighbors were a kind mother and son. When they learned I’d moved in, they often invited me over. We got along well and quickly became friends. The days passed quickly. In a blink, I had been living in the North for half a year. In the first two months, I planted a garden, spending my days watering and fertilizing. In the months that followed, I would forget to water the plants entirely. I’d wake up and just stare into space for hours, sometimes forgetting to eat. My neighbor noticed my garden had withered and that I had grown thin. She was worried. She invited me to her house for dinner. When the food was served, I couldn’t remember how to use chopsticks. Panicked, I reached for the food with my hands. “Helena!” she cried, gently stopping me. She stared at me, a look of realization dawning. “Are you… are you ill?” It was only then that I realized what I was doing. The shame was overwhelming. I wanted to run, to disappear. Suddenly, I didn’t want to be sick anymore. In the later stages of this disease, I might lose my dignity entirely. I had spent my life valuing etiquette and propriety. I couldn’t accept becoming a person without a sense of shame. “I’m sorry,” I managed to say, the words feeling foreign in my mouth. I realized I hadn’t spoken in a long time. “It’s okay, Helena. I understand what’s happening. We’ll take care of you.” “That’s right, Aunt Helena,” her son, a young boy named Leo, added. “I’ll come visit you often. Please don’t cry.” He took a napkin and gently wiped my cheek. I realized then that I was weeping.

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My hearing isn’t great. So when the campus heartthrob asked me to run an errand for him, I thought he asked me to make out with him. When he asked me to get his lunch, I thought he was asking me to be his girl. And just like that, we stumbled into a relationship. Then, one night, I found him at a bar, playing cards with his “best girl friend.” I overheard him laugh and say: “Dating a deaf girl is a special kind of hell.” I wasn’t about to let that slide. I pushed the door open, walked right up to him, and asked— “Where did you say I could pick up those four free male strippers?” He completely lost his mind. But I really didn’t hear him! Where do I pick them up? If I’m late, they’ll all be gone! 1 The moment I stepped through the door, the whole private room went silent. Annie slid off Jaxon’s lap, tugging down her tight bodycon skirt as she playfully punched his chest, her face flushed. “I thought you said this was just a guys’ night? Why’d you bring a girl?” “Leah, don’t get the wrong idea! We just lost a bet, a little grinding, that’s all. It’s not like we did anything. We’re all just bros, you know? Totally platonic.” “Ugh, girls are so much drama… Jaxon, aren’t you going to say something to your girlfriend?” The guy on the sofa barely glanced up, his eyes cold and distant as if my very presence was an annoyance. So I gathered my courage, walked straight up to him, and said his name. “Jaxon.” My voice trembled a little, but I had to know. I needed an answer. “I didn’t quite hear you before.” “Where did you say I could get those four free male strippers?” 2 “…” “I said, ‘Dating a deaf girl is a special kind of hell!’ What did you mishear this time, Leah?!” he roared, his voice cracking with fury. “You dare even think about male strippers?” The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush bone. Jaxon glared at me, his eyes sharp as daggers. He had a personality like a lit match—a short fuse and an explosive temper. He’d start rattling off words so fast I couldn’t catch a single one. Trapped in the crossfire, I mumbled meekly, “I really didn’t hear where… If I’m too late, they’ll be gone…” Jaxon’s lips pressed into a thin, hard line, his expression turning thunderous. Annie bounced over with a saccharine smile, trying to smooth things over. “Leah, we were just messing around. Don’t take it so seriously.” “I know you’re probably just on edge. Happens when you’re desperate for a man’s attention.” “…You know so much, Leah. Unlike innocent girls like us, who’ve never even held a boy’s hand.” “I know you’re broke. Here’s fifty bucks. Go buy yourself some new underwear.” “Yours is so worn down to a single thread that when you bend over, your ass practically screams ‘Open for business.’ Seriously, aren’t you cold? A girl’s got to have some self-respect!” Annie froze for three solid seconds, her face turning the color of a beet before she covered her mouth and ran out of the room. The party was full of Jaxon’s childhood friends, a pack of about seven or eight guys, all watching the show. His ego was shattered. He started cursing, shoving me towards the door. “Leah, what the hell is wrong with you? Your ears don’t work, so your mouth just makes up crap? Get back to campus, now!” “Who I drink with and what games I play are none of your business! Don’t think being my girlfriend gives you any special rights!” Once we were outside the bar, Jaxon found a quieter spot to talk. A smug smirk played on his lips. “Leah. You were jealous back there, weren’t you?” “You’ve been ignoring my texts, dodging my calls, never at your dorm when I wait for you. What’s with the silent treatment?” “All it took was me messing with some random girl to get you all fired up, rushing in to claim your territory. Male strippers? Please. When you’ve got a guy who looks like me, you’re not looking at anyone else.” When it’s quiet, my hearing is better. The misinterpretations aren’t as bad. I lowered my head, suddenly shy, as if he’d seen right through me. The truth was, I hadn’t wanted anything to do with Jaxon lately. Because I’d finally realized something. After two years with him, I had managed to save up over a hundred thousand dollars and even invested in a small business. He had served his purpose. Tonight was a complete accident. I was here with my roommates to celebrate the grand opening of my new shop, and he just happened to be having a party at the same bar. Did they really think I’d go easy on him? Jaxon lit a cigarette, pulling out a credit card and handing it to me. “Let me guess, those roommates of yours dragged you here? You should hang out with them less. They dress like they’re working a street corner every day. They’re no better than Annie.” “Pay the tab and get back to your dorm.” I nodded obediently, clutched the card, and stood on my toes to give him a quick peck on the cheek. The corner of his mouth twitched, fighting a smile. He was so pleased with himself he didn’t even notice he was trying to light the filter end of his cigarette. The second I turned around, I whipped out my phone and texted my roommates. Order the most expensive bottle. The walking wallet is here to pay for it all! 3 I learned a lesson very early in life: never be a fool for love like my mother. She spent her entire life devoted to a deadbeat man who drank, gambled, and cheated. He was the man who hit his own daughter so hard he shattered her hearing for good, and still, she forgave him, time and time again. On her deathbed, she refused to buy painkillers for herself, choosing instead to leave the hospital to make him one last meal… I would rather be a bad woman than a stupid one. … When I first got to college, I was dirt poor. Even with student loans, I could barely afford ramen noodles. I only survived because my roommates would secretly sneak chicken into my bowl when I wasn’t looking. A girl who claws her way out of a place like that has nothing left but her own grit. One night, starving and desperate, I met Jaxon. It was in a massive elective course open to the whole university. He and his friends were in the back row, playing games on their phones. They’d ordered milk tea but were too lazy to go pick it up, so they were looking for someone to run the errand. Jaxon offered me fifty bucks. I told him it wasn’t enough. Five hundred. I hesitated. Losing patience, he just transferred me five thousand. So, I leaned in and gave him a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. He wanted an errand boy. I heard that he wanted a kiss. 4 Looking back, we were both pretty happy with that little misunderstanding. I used the money to treat my entire dorm to a massive pizza feast. We all ate until we couldn’t move. As for him? He wasn’t as handsome as the top academic students, or as rich as the trust-fund kids, and his basketball skills were average at best. But with just a few words, he’d apparently charmed a girl so completely that she kissed him on the spot. His friends crowned him the new campus king. He was on top of the world. … The second time we met was in the dining hall. I was just trying to get a whiff of the food before leaving. As I turned, I saw him standing there, watching me with a strange look in his eyes. “You’ve been hovering for ten minutes. If you want to talk to me, just come over. Stop pretending.” “You even followed me to my major’s class. What, you’ve never chased a guy before? Never even been in a relationship?” He tossed a card at me. “Take this. You’ll be getting my meals from now on.” My hearing was permanently damaged by my father. It was nerve damage; even a hearing aid wouldn’t help much. I always misheard things. And in a chaotic place like the dining hall, it was even worse. The card had a two-thousand-dollar balance on it—enough to feed me for four whole semesters. So, in my mind, what Jaxon had really said was: Take this. From now on, you’re all mine. 5 Honestly, Jaxon was easy to win over. Praise his genius for solving a calculus problem. Scream his name when he makes a basket. Follow him around like a devoted puppy, then suddenly disappear one day, only for him to find you suffering alone in the rain, breaking his heart… Psychology 101 says that for an arrogant, hot-headed personality like his, all you have to do is stroke his ego, act a little naive, and be completely obedient. You can get anything you want. … Back in my dorm late that night, a roommate showed me Annie’s latest Instagram story. Some drunk puppy insisted on walking me home. Is he planning on sticking to me for life? Help, I still have to get married someday! The photo was of Jaxon’s large hand intertwined with Annie’s, their fingers locked together. My roommate’s phone screen practically glowed with her outrage. She asked if I was really okay with this. I just shook my head calmly. I always knew about Annie, Jaxon’s “best girl friend.” Long, dark hair, a delicate face—she looked like the picture of innocence, but she insisted on acting like one of the guys, only ever hanging out with them. She never accepted gifts, swore off dating within the friend group, and insisted on splitting the bill for everything, down to a cup of coffee, just to prove she wasn’t taking advantage of her “bros.” Before Jaxon and I were official, she used to joke about fighting him for me. After we got together, she started slipping her own underwear into his backpack to mark her territory. Used underwear. I almost threw up when I found it. All I wanted was to secretly do his homework for him, sweet-talk him into a good mood, and make a little extra cash. What did I do to deserve this? Crying, I carried the backpack to his classroom. Jaxon and his friends were scrolling through photos on their phones, chatting casually. “Yeah, Annie’s definitely not a virgin.” “How long have I known her? You think I don’t know what that girl is up to? ‘Just bros.’ Please, she can drop the act.” “I was just using her to practice a few things. We even split the cost of the morning-after pills. A woman’s purity is the most important thing she has. When I get married, it’ll be to someone from a good family, a virgin. At worst, I’ve got a clean, loyal backup like Leah.” He looked up and saw me, and they immediately changed the subject, asking if I wanted to grab dinner at that old-school, clean diner off-campus. They thought I couldn’t hear them. But in a quiet room, I can hear just fine. I heard everything. So you see, why would I bother fighting with Annie? We were both just trying to please the same piece of trash. I held his hand and played the part of his innocent girlfriend, and the balance in my bank account kept growing. Annie schemed and pretended, only to end up having to split the cost of her own birth control. She was far more pathetic than I was. 6 Jaxon’s parents ran a small import-export business. He wasn’t exactly rolling in generational wealth. I’d been keeping track of his credit card limits every time I used them, which confirmed my theory. Getting over a hundred grand out of him was probably reaching the max. Now, all I had to do was figure out how to break up with him peacefully. But I didn’t have to worry about it for long. Someone else was more desperate than I was. Annie disappeared. … It poured rain on my 22nd birthday. I stood under an umbrella outside a fancy restaurant, waiting for Jaxon. Couples holding hands and whispering sweet nothings walked past me, one after another, until I was the only one left, standing alone in the cold. I waited from eight o’clock until well after eleven. He finally showed up. No apology, just his eyes glued to his phone as he texted furiously. “Something came up, I’m late,” he said dismissively. “Just got back from the countryside with some of the guys. We can’t get a hold of Annie.” “The dorm manager won’t let you in? Did you try talking to her?” Jaxon looked up from his phone, exasperated. “God, your hearing. Fine, fine, let’s go up. Happy birthday. I didn’t have time to get you a gift today.” “I’ve given you enough over the past two years. You should be set.” “How did you know I made you a cherry cream roll cake?” I pulled the cake box out from behind my back, holding it out to him with both hands. The fresh scratches and burns on my hands from baking made him frown instinctively. “You mentioned liking them in a post the other day. So I made one for you!” I said with a bright smile. “Just having you here to celebrate with me is the best gift ever.” Just last week, Jaxon had posted something cryptic: Someone special is mad at me. Looks like it’s going to take a cherry cream roll cake to fix it. That post was still pinned at the top of his profile. So hard to guess who that was about. “Leah.” Jaxon said my name suddenly, his voice rough. “You’re such an idiot, you know that?” He pulled me into his arms, kissing my forehead gently before stuffing his phone into his pocket. “Let’s go up first. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. We’ll celebrate your birthday another day. Anything you want, I’ll buy it for you, okay?” We stepped into the elevator. Then, as if by some cruel twist of fate, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and his face went rigid. May you have a life of peace and happiness. Goodbye. It was from Annie. The moment the elevator doors slid open, Jaxon looked at me, his eyes filled with conflict. Finally, he pried my fingers from his sleeve. “Leah, you… just get something to eat by yourself, then head back, okay?” “I have to go. It’s important.” “Oh, here.” He pulled a thick wad of cash from his pocket and shoved it into my hand. “Take this.” Annie’s family lived in a rural area. This was probably the emergency cash he’d brought with him to search for her. As I watched his retreating back, I calmly lifted my head and pulled out my phone, sending a quick text to my roommates. The fancy restaurant is on the third floor. The bar is on the fifth. Remember those free male strippers we missed out on last time? Looks like tonight’s our lucky night. I lifted the cake box in my hand and gave it a little shake. It wasn’t a cherry roll cake. It was an ice cream birthday cake I’d bought for myself. I knew he wouldn’t open it. He felt too guilty. My real birthday party was just getting started. … Right as the party hit its peak at midnight, I got a text from an unknown number. The one who isn’t loved is the other woman. Between the two of us, who do you think he’ll choose in the end? I knew instantly it was Annie, trying to provoke me. I smiled. Fine by me. I date him. I spend his money. You marry him. She wasn’t an enemy. She was a saint, sent to solve my problems for me. 7 I saw Jaxon again in a large lecture for four different classes. He’d been off the grid for a week. No texts, no calls. When he finally resurfaced, his only explanation was a curt, “My phone was broken.” Sitting right beside him, looking timid and innocent, was Annie. They and their group had arrived early and taken up an entire row, leaving no space for me. I had to find another seat. Just as I turned to leave, Annie shot up from her chair, her voice dripping with false sincerity. “Leah, don’t go! The seat next to Jax will always be yours. I’m the one who should leave.” “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were coming to this class.” The classroom was noisy. I turned back to her and replied, “It’s okay. I know you’re a sweet girl who just happens to love getting cozy with other people’s boyfriends.” Annie flinched, biting her lip helplessly. Jaxon glanced up at me, his eyes a clear warning. “I’m sorry. I apologize to you, Leah.” “Oh, so you know you’re a pathetic slut? Good. At least you’re self-aware—” “Leah! That’s enough!” Jaxon’s face was dark. He pointed to a seat in the front row and yelled, his voice booming over the chatter, “You. Sit. There.” “First come, first served.” A triumphant smirk touched Annie’s lips. First come, first served. She was hinting at her history with Jaxon. Childhood friends, inseparable. A bond no one could break. She must have been ecstatic. … The professor didn’t lecture for long, instead giving us a pop quiz that would count towards our final grade. As the room fell silent, the gossip from Jaxon’s friends drifted clearly to my ears. “Hey, how did you know Annie would be in that park? She was missing for like, two weeks.” “I heard some old ladies out for their morning walk found you two, and you weren’t even finished. C’mon, tell us, was it hot doing it in public?” “When you’re done with her, let us have a turn. I’m into girls like that—” Before he could finish, Jaxon exploded, launching himself up and punching his friend square in the face. “Say that again, I fucking dare you! I’ll kill you!” “Annie is a good girl! Who the hell do you think you are, talking about her like that?!” The entire class froze, dozens of pairs of eyes staring at them. Our dear “good girl” Annie, who loved wearing thongs and sticking to boys like glue, just lowered her eyes demurely and gave Jaxon a soft punch on the back. The silence was deafening. I stared at Jaxon, and my eyes began to well up. I quickly gathered my things and fled through the back door, as if staying one more second would make the tears fall. Truthfully… I had to run through every sad memory I’ve ever had just to squeeze out a single tear. Annie was playing her cards perfectly. Wasn’t that how I won Jaxon’s heart in the first place? By playing the victim? Don’t worry, sis, I thought. I’ve already paved the road for you. You just go ahead and walk it.

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Benjamin loves snakes. As his fiancée, I’m constantly terrified into tears by them. His response is always a sneer. “Putting on a show again.” I’ve tried so hard to conquer my fear. But then, a girl appeared who wasn’t afraid of them at all. She would come and go from his room as she pleased, playing with his little serpent. That was the last straw. I packed my things, ready to call off the engagement, when a line of text flickered into existence before my eyes: [That’s right, our girl needs to run! Don’t let this wicked serpent coil around you.] [LMAO, the male lead is going to lose his mind. After more than a decade, our girl is still terrified of snakes, let alone the idea of him shedding.] [Wait, am I the only one who wants to see our sweet girl get so overwhelmed by him when he loses control that her vision blurs?] A shiver ran down my spine. When I turned back, Benjamin was closing the door behind him, his voice a low chill. “Packing your bags. Planning on running away?” 1 I don’t get it. I woke up at the crack of dawn, packed with the stealth of a cat, and even kept the door shut. So why did Benjamin’s snake still manage to get in? “You… you… stay away from me!” I scrambled back into a corner of the room. The snake, inky black and slender, paused at the doorway, its tongue flicking the air with a soft hiss. For some reason, I felt like it was staring at my suitcase on the floor. And it did not look happy. I made a shooing gesture. “You just stay right there. Don’t move. Okay?” The little snake froze, its grape-dark eyes fixed on me. I let out a breath and quietly continued packing. “So early. Where are you going?” The door creaked open. Benjamin leaned against the frame, his eyes sweeping over me before he enunciated each word with cold precision. “My dearest fiancée.” I jumped like a startled rabbit. “I… I-I’m going on a trip. A vacation.” “With whom?” “A friend. You don’t know her.” He narrowed his eyes and slowly started walking toward me. I instinctively backed away. A flash of annoyance crossed his face. “Afraid of the snake, I get. But you’re afraid of me, too?” Honestly, I wasn’t. But the girl who had been frequenting his serpentarium recently… she made me feel like an absolute joke. I turned my head away, biting my lip to keep from speaking. “Fine.” Benjamin suddenly crouched down and picked up the little black serpent. It coiled obediently around his wrist, its head raised, tongue flickering. His gaze locked onto mine. “Touch it.” Fear flooded my face. The pressure in the room seemed to drop, and Benjamin’s voice was low and insistent. “Touch it. Keep it with you for one night. Do that, and I’ll let you go.” He had a terrible temper, but Benjamin Thorne was a man of his word. Steeling myself, I reached out a trembling hand. The snake darted its head forward, and before I could flinch away, it was slithering onto my skin. “Ah—!” I let out a small cry. The serpent had already wrapped itself greedily around my wrist, its tail brushing back and forth against my pulse point. “Ngh.” At the same time, Benjamin let out a muffled grunt. His expression was dark, but a strange flush was creeping up his cheeks. I stared at him, confused. He scowled, a mix of anger and embarrassment. “Just go. And give it back to me tomorrow.” 2 After Benjamin left, it was just me and the little snake. Aside from the constant, insistent rubbing of its tail against my skin, it was surprisingly well-behaved. “Why do you keep doing that…?” I murmured to myself. The snake just stared. But then, a sentence materialized out of thin air: [Because he’s trying to train you.] ??? Train me for what? Then, another comment appeared: [Sweetie, I dare you to touch the spot where it’s rubbing you. You might get a little surprise.] What was that supposed to mean? My curiosity won out. I gently brushed the pad of my finger against the serpent’s tail. At that exact moment— In Benjamin’s room. “Ngh…” The curtains were drawn tight. He was on the floor, leaning back against his bed, his shirt hanging wide open, the clothes on his lower half in a state of disarray. “Fuck.” The blush on his face was deep, his breathing growing heavier. “Aren’t you supposed to be afraid of snakes?” he growled to the empty room. “What the hell are you touching…?” Touching it, sure. But not even doing it right. 3 The little snake’s tail began to move faster, its tongue flicking in and out in a rapid rhythm. I was getting a little freaked out. With a flick of my wrist, I accidentally sent it flying to the floor. [LMAO HAHAHAHAHAHA—] [I can’t. This guy is so tragic. He’s going to short-circuit from frustration.] [Our girl is so cute. This is his reward, obviously.] A flood of comments scrolled past my eyes, all saying pretty much the same thing. Who was “he”? The snake? The little serpent picked itself up from the floor, its black eyes glaring at me for a few seconds as if it wanted to eat me alive. Then, with a flick of its tail, it slithered to the far side of the room, keeping its distance. It seemed angry. Worried I might have hurt it, I decided to go find Benjamin and ask for a glass tank or something to keep it in. Knock, knock, knock— I rapped on his door. It was shut tight, and no one answered. That was strange. Benjamin never closed his door. He always left it open just a crack, so that every time I walked by, I would just “happen” to catch him changing. Then he’d snort and call me a pervert with no shame. [What a sly bastard, trying to peacock for our girl every day.] [Don’t fall for it, sweetie! I’m telling you, he’s in a dangerous state right now. You should push the door open and go in immediately.] [Yeah, yeah! He’s really suffering in there. You need to go in and help him.] Dangerous? Suffering? And he needed my help? I hesitated, my hand hovering over the doorknob. 4 “What?” The door flew open, revealing a very irritated Benjamin. “Do you have a death wish, knocking like that?” I instantly regretted listening to the comments. So much for checking on him out of the goodness of my heart. But he did look a little off. His clothes were a mess, and his face was still flushed. To put it bluntly, he had the look of someone who had just been thoroughly… satisfied. “What were you doing in there?” I asked, craning my neck to see inside his room. Benjamin blocked my way, his voice sharp. “None of your business.” “And there’s a weird smell,” I said, sniffing the air. “Did your snakes mate in your room?” “Elara!” See? Defensive again. I frowned. “Did you do something bad? Why are you so flustered?” [Oh, girl, stop asking questions. He’s about to explode.] [Let’s get out of here. I’m afraid he’s going to snap and devour our girl whole.] [I’m dying. Every single thing she says is a direct hit. The sly bastard can’t hide his secret much longer.] Hide his secret? Suddenly, it clicked. My face fell. “Luna’s in there, isn’t she?” He froze. I turned away. “You were with her. You didn’t even try to hide it. What do you take me for?” Benjamin was still stunned. When he finally found his voice, he tried to pull the door shut. “No, that’s not…” “Cheater!” I slammed the door in his face for him, spat the word, and stormed off. Back in my room, I slid down against the door, hugged my knees, and buried my face. I couldn’t see the comments anymore. [Oh no, oh no, our girl misunderstood!] [Good! This way she can finally leave him for good.] [Yeah, let her think that. He’s a jerk who can’t talk anyway. Why should our girl put up with him?] […Am I the only one who wants to see him get possessive? If she tries to leave, he should just… force her… hehe.] [Seconded.] I sniffled. When I looked up, only the last comment remained: [So what? As long as that side-piece Luna is around, our girl is going to get hurt. If that scheming bastard can’t fix his mess, he should just get lost.] It was true. Benjamin and I had been engaged since we were children. He’d always loved snakes, and I’d always been terrified of them. Every time he brought one near me, I would run away crying, and he would mock me for it. I tried my best to get over it, but I just couldn’t. Then, I saw Luna for the first time. She was in his serpentarium, wearing a white dress, a snake coiled gently around her. She was smiling. And Benjamin was watching her with a look of pure tenderness. That’s when I finally understood. I was afraid of snakes. But there were plenty of girls in the world who weren’t. 5 Hiss— The little black serpent slowly slithered over to me. It propped up the top half of its body, tongue flickering, its round eyes watching me. I had to admit, it was almost cute. It drew closer. The cool scales brushed against my calf, and I flinched. It paused, waiting until I was still again before continuing its approach. Finally, it coiled around my hand and gently nudged its head against my palm. It was actually quite sweet. I stood up, carefully holding my hand up to support it, and sat back down on the bed. “Okay, time for sleep. Don’t let me roll over on you.” I placed the little serpent on the pillow beside me. It curled into a ball and lowered its head. I turned off the light, leaving a safe distance between us. As I drifted off to sleep, I thought to myself, Maybe snakes aren’t so bad after all. I was completely oblivious to the frantic storm of comments filling the space above my head: [WHOA, what is he doing?! Don’t you dare touch our precious, soft girl!] [Elara, wake up! The snake next to you just turned into a man!] [I heard serpent-people have hypnotic powers… Am I the only one excited to see what happens tonight?] In my dream, an icy touch slithered up from the tip of my toes, along my calf, my thigh, to the very top of my leg. The cold made me twitch, but the sensation changed, becoming less like a touch and more like a cool rope… no, like a snake’s tail, wrapping around my leg, holding me fast. “Mmm.” A frightened sound escaped my lips, and the pressure immediately lessened. A gentle caress, like a reassurance, brushed across my cheek. I opened my eyes. I was in a room of absolute blackness. I sat up, looking around, and called out instinctively. “Benjamin?” “Benjamin, where are you?” The strangest thing happened. The moment I said his name, the darkness vanished. “I’m here.” A familiar voice from behind me. I turned, overjoyed, but the first thing I saw was the little black serpent. I froze. “It’s you…” But it was different. It was enormous. It lowered its head, nuzzling against me like a docile pet. “Benjamin?” No answer. Only the giant snake, tentatively brushing its tail against my calf, like a puppy afraid of being rejected by its owner. “Onyx, how did you get so big?” I reached out to stroke its head. But in the next second, the serpent’s silhouette blurred, morphing into a tall, naked, beautiful man. He covered my eyes with his hand, but through the gaps between his fingers, I could still see his face. It was Benjamin. My eyes went wide. “You… you’re…” “Shh.” I had never seen this side of him. His eyes were soft, but beneath that tenderness was a deep, simmering desire. He took my hand and guided it to his neck. “Are you still afraid?” In a daze, I felt as if my hand wasn’t wrapped around his throat, but around a serpent’s most vulnerable point. “If a snake is going to bite, you choke it. Don’t be afraid of it,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. I tried to pull my hand back, but he held it fast. All I could do was whimper. “Don’t…” Benjamin’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He leaned closer. “Don’t what?” A heat that started at my ears spread through my entire body. I felt like I was on fire. “You don’t like it?” he pressed, relentless, guiding my hand lower and lower. “When I called you a pervert… you’re telling me you never took a good look? Every time you walked past my room, you didn’t glance through the crack in the door? Are you trying to leave me because you hate me… or because you like me?” I couldn’t think anymore. I could only cry. “Stop, please don’t do this, Benjamin…” “Stop being afraid of me,” his voice grew rougher, almost a plea, as he held my hand against him. “Touch me. Please. Don’t be afraid of me.” 6 I woke with a start, my mind still reeling from the dream. I stared blankly at the ceiling. “Benjamin…” I instinctively checked my clothes. My pajamas were soaked with sweat, my hair stuck to my forehead. I looked like I’d just woken up from a very vivid, very unsatisfying dream. Hiss— On the pillow next to me, the little black serpent uncoiled its body, stretching like a sleepy kitten. It looked like it had just woken up too, its dark eyes blinking at me. For some reason, my face burned. I felt a wave of shame, like a child caught doing something illicit. I scrambled out of bed, pretending to be busy as I gathered fresh clothes for a shower. My bathroom was being renovated, so I had to use the main one down the hall. As I headed out, Benjamin was just coming out of that very bathroom. “You…” He had nothing on but a towel wrapped around his waist. His gorgeous, naked torso was identical to the one in my dream. My brain shut down. “Put… put… put some clothes on!” Benjamin just clicked his tongue. But an unnatural flush crept up his neck. “You sneak peeks at me every day, and now you’re playing coy? A little late for that, isn’t it?” It was only then that the comments reappeared. [Guys, what happened? I couldn’t post anything all night!] [Yeah, it’s like we were blocked out when the snake was doing his hypnosis thing.] [Seriously, author, what could possibly be off-limits to us VIP readers? One star!!!] I clutched my clothes to my chest, fidgeting. “I need to take a shower. Could you please leave?” Benjamin glanced at me. “You’re all sweaty. Dreaming of me last night?” “Get out!” I snapped, mortified, and dashed into the bathroom. He didn’t tease me further. As I was closing the door, he asked, his voice casual, “Still afraid of snakes?” I paused, the dream flashing through my mind. “Yes,” I mumbled awkwardly. “Terrified.” As the door clicked shut, I thought I heard him let out a soft, helpless laugh.

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1 The first time Damian cheated, he brought his mistress to me, eyes red, and said her fate was in my hands. Blindly in love, I forgave his “mistake.” The second time, I had the woman sent abroad with orders never to return. On our engagement night, Damian gripped my throat, a dagger pressed to my stomach. His eyes were wild. “Where’s Lily? She’s pregnant.” “It’s my fault,” he rasped. “I lost control. Punish me, but Lily’s innocent. Let the baby be born safely. I swear I’ll leave her after that.” He whispered desperately, “You’ve always feared childbirth. What if we just have this one baby? Lily’s child. It will know only you as its mother. I vow.” The blade broke my skin, blood soaking my dress. I smiled and told him where to find Lily. The door slammed. Trembling, I dialed a familiar number. “You were right,” I said, shaking. “Help me one more time.” … On the other end of the line, the man cursed under his breath, his tone laced with exasperation. “You couldn’t have called earlier? I’m already on a flight out of the country. What am I supposed to do for you from here?” “Vivian, seriously,” he went on, “you’re one of the smartest women I know. How could you fall for the same man’s act twice? Did you trade all your emotional intelligence for your business sense?” Pressing a hand against the stinging wound on my abdomen, I felt a wave of bitterness wash over me. “I’m sorry. I owe you for this one. Thirty percent off our next joint venture. Is that enough?” There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end, followed by a sudden jolt of interest. “Send me the time and location. I’ll be there.” A beat of silence, then, “And remember me next time you have a business proposition like this. My rates are very reasonable.” I sent the complete wedding plans over to Cole. A single “OK” emoji was his immediate reply. The penthouse we had prepared for our life together had been completely trashed by Damian, a perfect mirror of my own shattered heart. After tending to my wound alone, I stumbled out of the building. I had just checked into a hotel when Damian’s call came through. The roar of a jet engine was loud in the background, but I could still hear the fury simmering beneath his words. “Vivian, I’m on a plane now. I can’t be with you tonight. Get some rest. I’m sorry… I was emotional earlier. I never meant to hurt you.” He paused. “Is it bad? I can have my private doctor come see you—” “Don’t bother,” I cut him off, my voice like ice. His tone hardened instantly. “Vivian, I told you, what happened with Lily was an accident. I was drugged, I thought she was you. It’s done now, and I have to find her. Am I supposed to let a Blackwood heir be born in some foreign country?” “You forgave me once before,” he pressed on. “Why are you making such a scene this time? The wedding is in a week. You need to calm down.” Staring at my chat history with Cole, I spoke with chilling finality. “There’s no need. I’m not marrying you.” “Damian, I told you before. I don’t tolerate filth in my life.” I was about to hang up when he exploded. “Not marrying me? Is this a joke? The engagement party is over! The whole world knows the Sterlings and the Blackwoods are merging. You’re telling me this now? Are you using our families’ alliance to threaten me?” “Vivian, we grew up together! You know me better than anyone. I would never have betrayed you if I hadn’t been set up!” His voice was pleading now. “They say ‘third time’s the charm,’ not the second. I’ve only made two mistakes. I swear, after the baby is born, you will never see Lily again. Is that still not enough for you?” A tear traced a path down my cheek, but my smile was bitter. “And what then? You want me to look at the child you had with another woman every single day? A living, breathing reminder of your betrayal?” “I can’t do it, Damian. I’m sorry.” A roar of pure rage answered me. “Fine! Remember what you said. And don’t you dare come crawling back to me!” he snarled. “What man in our circle doesn’t have a mistress? I gave Lily to you, let you decide her fate. I’ve done everything I can. If you can accept it, we get married. If you can’t, then get the hell out of my life. I don’t care anymore.” The line went dead. My reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window was a pathetic, broken figure. Suite 13520. It used to be his favorite place for our dates. He said it was filled with the memories of our love. Valentine’s Day, birthdays, anniversaries… this room had been ours. Now, I was the only one who remembered. Damian must have called my parents, because my phone rang again almost immediately. “Vivian, what’s going on?” my mother’s anxious voice filled the line. “Damian just told us you’re calling off the wedding!” “This isn’t a game, honey,” my father added. “You can’t be serious.” I burrowed deeper into the hotel bed, my voice thick with unshed tears. “His mistress is pregnant.” “Every man makes mistakes,” my father started, “just get rid of it—” “I’m not calling it off,” I interrupted. “I’m just marrying someone else. You know him. Cole Vance.” My father’s advice died in his throat. My mother gasped. “Cole? But you two are mortal enemies! Have you forgotten he nearly set your hair on fire when you were kids?” I managed a small laugh, trying to sound carefree. “That’s why I want to marry him. So I can torture him for the rest of his life.” I tossed and turned all night, the pain in my abdomen a constant, throbbing reminder. The next morning, I contacted a realtor to sell the penthouse. When I went back to pack my things, I saw Damian’s private jet still parked on the sprawling lawn. I pushed open the door, and my breath caught in my throat. The main wall was covered in dozens of framed photos, a shrine to a happy couple. But the woman in the pictures wasn’t me. It was Lily. The glaciers of Iceland, the Eiffel Tower in Paris, the scorched remains of Notre Dame. All the places he and I had been, he had taken her, too. He always claimed he hated having his picture taken. A man in his position, he’d said, could never be too careful. No matter how much I begged, we never had a single photo together. But for Lily, he had made an exception. The two of them were standing in front of the photo wall now. Lily was stroking her still-flat stomach, a coquettish smile on her face. “Damian, when the baby is born, can we bring him to all these places? He’ll love them, I just know it. Feel, he’s kicking me already!” The sound of the door opening made them turn. When Lily saw me, she immediately dropped to her knees, clutching at my waist. “Vivian, I’m so sorry! It was my fault for not staying away like I promised. Please, don’t be angry with me!” she sobbed. “I just love Damian so much… I swear, I’ll disappear the moment the baby is born. I won’t be a problem…” Before I could speak, Damian let out a cold laugh. “You don’t need to apologize to her. You were a victim in this, too. If anyone owes you, it’s me.” He looked up, his eyes meeting mine. “Vivian, I’ve already found out who was behind the setup. Their company will be bankrupt within the month. Lily is innocent. You shouldn’t be blaming her. I’m willing to overlook what you did this time. Just apologize, and we can put this behind us.” I stared back at him, my gaze devoid of any warmth. It was laughable. “I should apologize? Damian, have you lost your mind?” The hands at my waist suddenly tightened, fingers digging directly into my fresh wound. A sharp, searing pain shot through me, and I broke out in a cold sweat. I shoved her away. I hadn’t used much force, but Lily went flying, crashing into a nearby cabinet. “What the hell are you doing?” Damian roared. He lunged at me, shoving me so hard my forehead slammed against the doorframe. Blood bloomed instantly. “I think you’re the one who’s lost her mind!” he bellowed. “Lily has humbled herself before you, I’ve explained everything. What more do you want? Apologize, or you’ll see what happens!” I bit back the wave of humiliation and grief, my voice a low, deliberate snarl. “Never.” “Apologize to your mistress? Damian, you must be dreaming.” “You stubborn fool!” His eyes were blazing. He scooped Lily up and carried her into the master bedroom. When he came out, he summoned the entire household staff. “Where are the chains?” he commanded. “Bring them.” “The madam has lost her mind,” he announced, his voice ringing with cold authority. “Have her kneel on the grounds until she comes to her senses. No one is to let her up without my direct order.” My vision went red. “Damian, you’re insane!” I shrieked. “She’s nothing but a home-wrecker! How dare you do this to me? This is my house!” “But I am the man of it,” he replied, his voice chillingly calm. He didn’t spare me another glance. The staff dragged me outside, a long, dark smear of blood trailing behind me on the pristine marble floor. The moment the heavy doors shut, a crack of thunder split the clear sky. A torrential downpour began, drenching me in seconds. I knelt in the mud, the wounds on my forehead and stomach beginning to burn with fever. My consciousness started to fade. I looked at the staff member assigned to watch me, my voice barely a whisper. “Let me go… Please, go get Damian… I’m begging you…” He glanced at me from under the shelter of the eaves, a smirk on his face. “Save it. I’ve seen your little ‘damsel in distress’ act a thousand times. Mr. Blackwood just called his private doctor. He’s a bit busy tending to Miss Lily right now.” I forced my eyes open, looking up at the second-floor balcony. I could just make out two figures in the dim light. Then, the world went black. As I slipped into unconsciousness, I heard a frantic shout. “Sir! Miss Sterling has collapsed! There’s blood everywhere, we need the doctor!” Familiar footsteps approached. An umbrella appeared over my head. Damian’s voice was as cold as the rain. “Are you done with your performance? Anyone would think you were the one who’s pregnant.” He sighed, a sound of pure frustration. “Vivian, that temper of yours needs to be broken. I’m doing this for your own good.” The footsteps retreated. I could see him now, holding Lily in his arms under the awning. Lily buried her face in his chest, her voice trembling. “Damian, I don’t think she’s faking. Are we being too cruel? She is your fiancée, after all. What if the Sterlings find out…?” Damian’s face hardened. “After everything I’ve built, you think I’m afraid of the Sterlings? She started this with her unreasonable behavior. You have eight months until you’re due. I can’t have her bullying you the entire time. Her attitude needs to change.” A flicker of triumph flashed in Lily’s eyes before she quickly masked it with a look of innocent concern. “I’ve heard there’s no love in arranged marriages between powerful families. Is it… is it like that with you and Vivian?” The rain lashed down, washing over my pale face again and again. For a moment, I thought my heart had stopped. Then, Damian’s voice, devoid of all emotion, drifted through the storm. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Being born a Blackwood, this alliance was my duty. I didn’t have a choice. Vivian is beautiful, she’s uncomplicated. Compared to the other arrogant heiresses, she was the best option.” Tears I didn’t know I had left to cry slipped from the corners of my eyes and were lost in the mud. Damian’s gaze softened as he looked down at Lily, and for the first time, I saw real emotion in his eyes. “I thought that was all my life would ever be. But then you appeared. You were a gift from fate.” “Thank you, Lily.” His words were daggers, each one piercing my heart. I couldn’t tell what hurt more, my body or my soul. The memories of our childhood together, the years I thought were filled with innocent love and deep connection, were all a lie. How pathetic. For twenty years, my only dream was to be his wife. To stand by his side as he built his empire. The boy who had once woven me a crown of willow branches under a summer sky was gone, lost forever in a haze of poisoned memories. Something inside me snapped. A fresh wave of blood gushed from the wound in my abdomen. Damian finally seemed to notice something was wrong. He barked at the staff, “What are you waiting for? Go check on her! If anything happens to her, you’re all fired!” Through the fog of unconsciousness, I felt someone shaking me. Then, I was lifted into a warm embrace. The familiar scent of pinewood and leather almost made me believe we were back in a time when it was just the two of us. But when I opened my eyes, I was in a guest room. Damian was sitting by the bed, his face a mask of cold fury. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” he demanded. “Are you that stubborn, Vivian? When are you going to change?” I ignored him, my eyes scanning the room. It was small, cluttered, and shabbier than the servants’ quarters. It was painfully obvious who was now occupying my master suite. A cold smile touched my lips. I didn’t look at him. “My temper is none of your business. The person you should be worried about right now is Lily.” I pushed myself up and tore away the gauze dressing on my stomach. “And let me remind you of something. I bought this penthouse. I suggest you have your mistress move out. Immediately.” My indifference finally broke him. He shot to his feet, his voice shaking with rage. “Enough! Why can’t you be more tolerant? I moved Lily in so you two could support each other, not so you could throw these childish tantrums!” He took a deep breath, trying to regain control. “Fine. You have eight months until the baby is born. Use that time to calm down. I won’t have the mother of my child be a lunatic.” With that, he stormed out. I threw back the covers. The cuts on my knees had been treated by a doctor. I couldn’t help but laugh. He was the cause of all my pain, and now he was playing the part of the concerned caregiver? The sound of laughter drifted up from downstairs. I took out my phone and lowered the asking price for the penthouse again. I couldn’t stand to be in this place for another second. That evening, the staff prepared a lavish dinner. Almost every dish was seafood, something Damian was severely allergic to. I stood on the second-floor landing, watching, and remembered all the times he had refused to compromise for me in restaurants. The difference between love and tolerance was so painfully clear. I went back to what was once my bedroom. My belongings had been thrown out, which saved me the trouble of packing. I called a car, and was about to leave when Lily appeared in the doorway, holding a tray of food. She smiled sweetly. “Vivian? Here to see your old room? I’m so sorry, Damian said the pregnant lady gets top priority. This is my room now.” She looked around. “If you’re looking for any of your old junk, you might want to check the dumpster. There’s none of it in here.” The “junk” she was referring to were gifts from Damian. A cold smile twisted my lips. “Lily, the things you treasure might not be treasures to me. You can have the penthouse. You can have the man. But remember this: the way you get something is the way you’ll lose it. You’re not his first, and you certainly won’t be his last.” Her face hardened. She smashed the plate on the floor. “Don’t you dare act so high and mighty! You’re just used goods. All you have left is your sharp tongue.” She sneered. “You don’t have to ‘let’ me have him. Damian would choose me anyway. You’ll see.” Suddenly, she let out a blood-curdling scream, tearing at her own hair. She ran to the balcony and threw herself over the railing. She clung on with one hand, the cold night wind whipping around her as she sobbed hysterically. “Vivian, why are you doing this to me?!” Before I could even process what was happening, Damian kicked the door in. He rushed to the balcony, pulled her to safety, and held her tight. He turned to face me, his eyes burning with a furious hatred, and slapped me hard across the face. “When will you stop, Vivian?” Lily buried her face in his chest, her hands clutching her stomach. “Vivian,” she whispered weakly, “I already apologized. Why can’t you just let me go? The baby is innocent. I’m willing to die to make it up to you after he’s born, just please, spare the Blackwood heir…” I frowned, about to speak, but Damian cut me off. “Vivian, kneel.” I stared at him in disbelief. “You think I did this?” He settled Lily on the bed and advanced on me, his eyes full of menace. “Shouldn’t I? First, you tried to get rid of her. Then you pushed her. This is the third time! Vivian, what reason have you given me to trust you?” In that moment, whatever love I had left for him vanished. He didn’t give me a chance to explain. He scooped Lily up and hurried out of the penthouse. I took down the photos from the wall, one by one, and burned them to ash. At midnight, I got a text from the realtor. “Miss Sterling, we have a buyer willing to pay your original asking price. No discount needed. When are you free to sign the papers?” “Tomorrow,” I replied. I fired the entire staff. A full week passed, and I didn’t hear a word from Damian. The tabloids were full of paparazzi shots of him at the hospital—in line at the OB-GYN clinic, picking up prescriptions for Lily. On the morning of our wedding day, Damian pulled up to the penthouse in the wedding car to pick me up. He opened the door and came face-to-face with a complete stranger. He frowned. “Where’s Vivian? Who are you?” His assistant rushed up behind him, out of breath. “Mr. Blackwood, sir, there’s been a mistake! Miss Sterling sold the penthouse! She’s marrying into the Vance family today!”

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Working late again, I was scrolling through my phone at the subway station when I saw my sister’s post. “Who cares if I can’t find a job? I’m young! This is the time to be wild!” The post included a screenshot of a thirty-thousand-dollar transfer from our parents, accompanied by a text message from them. “Sweetheart, you’ll have the rest of your life to work. Use this time, while you’re young, to go see the world.” I stared at the screen for a long time. A drowning sensation tightened in my chest, stealing my breath. That’s when I walked out of the subway station and sent a text to Evelyn Reed. “I’m in. I’ll take the overseas post.” 1 Right as I saw Mia’s post, my work friend—who had just quit—was saying her goodbyes. “Zoey, my parents said this soul-crushing job was going to give me a heart attack, so they told me to just come home and be a ‘full-time daughter.’” She had the same blissful smile as my sister, Mia, in her post. “But you’re from around here, Zoey. Why are you pushing yourself so hard? You should really take a break!” I stared blankly at Mia’s post, unable to form a response to my friend’s question. When I graduated from college, my field was already in a downturn. I was just like Mia is now—pounding the pavement every day, but coming up empty. Back then, a heavy cloud of disappointment hung over our house. My father would chain-smoke, the look in his eyes screaming that I was a failure. My mother would sneak into my room at night, crying, telling me they had no money, that they were in debt, that they couldn’t support me. She suggested I go work at the local factory; three thousand a month was better than nothing. I believed their tears. I thought I had no other choice, no safety net. So for years, even when the overtime pushed me to the brink of a breakdown, I gritted my teeth and endured. But it turned out they could be a safety net. They just weren’t one for me. When their other daughter faced the exact same situation, they didn’t hesitate to hand her thirty thousand dollars to go on vacation. The announcement for the last train echoed through the nearly empty station. I didn’t get on it. I followed the handful of other people up the stairs and out into the night. The irony wasn’t lost on me when, just as I unlocked a city bike, a text from Mia came through. “Hey sis, can you grab me a bowl of wonton soup from Mrs. Gable’s on your way home?” I took a deep breath and typed back, my face a stony mask. “You have thirty thousand dollars and you’re asking me, the one scraping by, to buy you soup?” Silence from her end. A bitter smile touched my lips, but my eyes burned with unshed tears. Growing up, my parents always told me that Mia was my other half, my closest companion in the world. They taught me to protect her, to love her. But whenever Mia was upset, I was the one who got cut, slowly and quietly. Just like now. My mother’s number flashed on my screen. Her calls always began with a deep, dramatic sigh, followed by the pretense of a mother trying to be fair. “Zoey, did you get angry with your sister?” she began. “She didn’t even finish her fruit before she ran to her room and locked the door.” A pause. “How about this, you pick up two bowls of soup on your way back, and I’ll pay you for them?” I fought it, I really did, but the words spilled out. “Mom, do you really think this is about a bowl of soup? Is there any point in playing dumb?” The line was quiet for only a second before my father’s angry voice boomed through the phone. “Zoey, what the hell is wrong with you? We ask you to bring home some soup and you throw a fit and make everyone miserable!” He took a breath, his voice dripping with manufactured righteousness. “It was your mother who remembered how you used to beg for Mrs. Gable’s wontons when you were little! Your sister was trying to do something nice for you, to surprise you!” I leaned against the cold metal of the bike, the tears finally breaking free, my voice catching in a sob. “Yes, I wanted them when I was a kid. But do you remember what happened after I begged for them?” 2 Mrs. Gable’s wonton stand had been a fixture on our block for decades. A big bowl, twenty-five wontons, cost seven dollars back then. Every evening, the rich, savory aroma would drift up to our apartment. I would grip the balcony railing, inhaling deeply, my mouth watering. One day, I tentatively asked my mother if I could have a bowl if I got first place on my final exams. She smiled and agreed. But when I presented them with my perfect report card, my father took off his belt and beat me without a word. He yelled that I was selfish and greedy. That the family was struggling, and here I was, demanding fancy food. That I was destined to be a beggar. I cried for my mother, but she just gathered my little sister in her arms and disappeared into her bedroom. After that day, I hated wontons. Even when my mom made them at home, I’d lie and say I was on a diet, never touching a single one. And now, they were telling me it was my favorite food. Years of buried pain came pouring out. “Mia was the one who loved Mrs. Gable’s!” I sobbed into the phone. “If she even hinted she wanted some, you’d run out and get it for her in the middle of the night! What about me?” “You feel sorry for her because she’ll have to work for the rest of her life, so you give her a fortune to go have fun. What about me?” “I’m tired, too! I take the last train home every single night! I want to quit and rest for a while, too! But what did you tell me? You said you couldn’t afford to support me, that I had to make it on my own!” “It’s always Mia, Mia, Mia! She’s your precious baby who can’t suffer a single hardship! So what am I? The one who’s supposed to just take it?!” I went on and on, losing control, only realizing after a long moment that the other end of the line was completely silent. Stunned, I slowly lowered the phone. The screen was black. They’d hung up on me long ago. All my anguish, scattered into the night wind, as meaningless as all the tears I’d shed that no one had ever seen. I wiped my eyes and unlocked my phone, finally sending the text I’d been hesitating over for weeks. My boss’s reply was almost immediate: “Zoey, you will not regret this decision.” That night, I checked into the best hotel in the city and paid for a month upfront. It was expensive. I’d never spent money on myself like that before. But unlike the guilt and anxiety that usually came with any purchase, this time I signed the bill with a profound sense of calm. As expected, my phone remained silent all night. Not a single person from my family cared whether I came home or not. At six the next morning, I went back to the apartment to pack. When I opened the door, the living room was a mess. On the table were several familiar take-out containers. The leftover wonton soup had turned cloudy and sour overnight. I could perfectly picture my parents going downstairs to buy it, could see them presenting it to Mia with cheerful smiles, coddling her, making her happy. A bitter sneer twisted my lips. I went straight to my room and packed. As I was dragging my suitcase out, Mia emerged from her room, yawning. I instinctively tried to hide the suitcase behind me, but she just grunted sleepily in my direction and shuffled into the living room. A few seconds later, her voice, shrill with indignation, pierced the quiet. “Zoey! Are you serious? You didn’t even make breakfast?!” “Just because I asked for a bowl of soup? Are you really going to be this petty?” I stood in my doorway, watching her face flush with anger, and said nothing. Slowly, her gaze started to shift, and her fingers began to fidget with the hem of her nightgown. It was her tell. She knew she was in the wrong. This wasn’t the first time my parents had shown their favoritism. As the beneficiary, Mia wasn’t stupid. In the beginning, when I showed my hurt, she would nervously use her saved-up allowance to buy me little gifts. But over time, she got used to it. She started to believe that as the older sister, it was my natural duty to give way to her. Just like now. She tilted her chin up, her gaze defiant. “The money Mom and Dad gave me is only what you make in a year. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?” Her voice started to wobble, her eyes turning red with self-pity. “I’m your sister! You’re really going to hold this little thing against me? Are you even my sister anymore?!” I leaned against the doorframe, watching her performance calmly. “Mia, just because I’m the older sister, does that mean I’m born to sacrifice for you?” She looked at me, her eyes shimmering with tears, ready to overflow. But I was done. I turned to leave with my suitcase. Just then, the master bedroom door opened, and heavy footsteps approached. “What are you two yelling about so early in the morning?” 3 As if on cue, Mia burst into tears, the floodgates opening. “Dad! Zoey is being so mean! She was horrible to me last night, and she’s still at it this morning!” “So you gave me some money for a trip! Why is she treating me like this?!” She sobbed dramatically, as if she were the most wronged person in the world. I frowned, about to speak. The next second, a heavy slap cracked across my face. “Zoey! Are you done yet? I put up with your nonsense all last night!” my father roared. “I asked you to bring home a bowl of soup, and you act like we asked you to move a mountain!” “It’s my money! I’ll give it to whoever I damn well please! Why do you have to make such a scene?” My head snapped to the side, my cheek burning. For a moment, I was too stunned to react. My mother rushed over and pulled at his arm, her voice carrying that same tired, false neutrality. “What are you doing, hitting her?!” Then she turned to me. “And you, Zoey. We’re family. Why do you have to count every little thing?” Mia’s sobs subsided. She stood to the side, watching me with a smug little pout. “Yeah,” she mumbled. I ran my tongue over my numb cheek, looking at the united front of three against one. They all stared at me with the same mix of disappointment and anger, as if I had committed some unforgivable crime. Was it really so wrong to call out their blatant favoritism? In a daze, I remembered this had all happened before. That time, it was about college allowances. They gave me a thousand a month, and even then, I had to humiliate myself by begging for it, only to be called a spendthrift. Eventually, I got a part-time job and never asked again. They were happy to let it slide, never once asking if I needed money. I always thought it was because we were poor. Until Mia went to college and let it slip that her allowance was three thousand a month. That night was another epic battle. Mia cried. I cried. But I’d forgotten: my sister’s tears were precious. They earned her hugs and comfort and anything she wanted. My tears only earned me insults and slaps, followed by my mother’s teary-eyed question of when I was finally going to grow up. Just like today, my father had slapped me and asked if I wouldn’t be satisfied until I had torn the family apart. His words, his disappointed glare, had crushed me into silence. I had swallowed that injustice, choked it down with my tears. But the wound never closed. It was always there, raw and open. This thirty thousand dollars had ripped it wide open again, and the pain was making me lose my mind. When I came back to myself, the hallway was empty. They had taken a sniffling Mia out, comforting her. Once again, I was left standing alone, a ridiculous, pathetic figure. I took one last, stiff look at the room I had lived in for twenty-eight years and closed the door behind me. I didn’t look back. Over two weeks later, two transfers hit my bank account.

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