Category: English

After the amnesia, I stopped controlling Caden. We coexisted like separate planets, never colliding. He devoted all his resources to paving a golden path for Marla Baldwin’s stardom. People warned me, “Stop faking amnesia, Sasha, or you’ll lose your place as Mrs. Pierce.” I’d just smile. Trying to get me killed? I finally had a life of leisure and endless money. When he crashed his car back home, I was overseas following my favorite band on tour. His best friend called, begging me to return. I faked panic: “Oh my god, is he okay? I’ll take the next flight!” By the time he was discharged, I still hadn’t come back. When I finally returned, I wore an apologetic look and lied: “My wallet was stolen right after I landed. I had nothing but my phone. I’m so sorry.” But he just stared at me, took my hand, his eyes red. “Can we stop fighting, Sasha? Please?” 1 Marla Baldwin, starring in a blockbuster fantasy series, was the number one trending topic. The comments were a sea of her fans and paid bots, all recounting the hardships she’d endured over the years. They claimed she’d finally made it. Meanwhile, I was sitting in a plush VIP hospital suite, gently touching the bandage on my head. “Oh. My. God.” Gazing around the opulent room, a grin spread across my face, my eyes gleaming. “Did I just wake up a millionaire?” Just then, a nurse walked in. I quickly pointed to my head. “Hey, miss! When can I get out of here?” She spoke softly. “We’ll probably need to observe you for another two or three days. If there are no adverse reactions, you’ll be free to go.” I waved a dismissive hand. “Perfect, then I can leave now. I feel great.” I fluttered my eyelashes at her. “Pretty please?” She blinked, momentarily stunned, before saying, “Let me get the doctor to take a look. If he says you’re okay, you can be discharged.” “Awesome, thank you!” After the nurse left, I craned my neck to grab my phone. I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. Holy crap. 99+ notifications. My vision is a little blurry, so I brought the screen closer. Pinned at the very top was a contact labeled: Hubby. There was one unread message: If you keep this up, we’re getting a divorce. Divorce?! The next second, I was calling my mom. As soon as she picked up, I blurted out, “Did you win the lottery or something?” “You ungrateful brat! You need to tell that Caden of yours to give your brother—” I hung up before she could finish. Next, I called my dad. Same question, same answer. By 3:33 PM, I had confirmed that I hadn’t struck it rich. The wealthy one was the “Hubby” who wanted to divorce me. I immediately checked my bank account. After counting the staggering number of zeroes, I went back to read the chat history with “Hubby.” I almost fainted. Seriously, did I have my head slammed in a car door before I woke up? I had been begging—actually begging—my cheating husband to come back home. “Unbelievable!” I pressed my fingertips to my temples dramatically. “When did I become so pathetic?” I walked into the bathroom and stared at my haggard reflection. “Sasha,” I said to the mirror, “when did you become this person? Begging for love? Have you completely lost your mind?” Once the doctor cleared me for discharge, I made a beeline for the nearest luxury mall for a complete makeover. I bought ten heavy gold bangles in one go, five for each wrist. The sales associate, seeing how extravagant I was, was smiling so hard her eyes disappeared. She showered me with an endless stream of compliments. When I left the mall, I was practically radiating the decadent scent of money. Magnificent. Next stop: an exclusive gentlemen’s club. I walked in with a briefcase full of cash. I fanned a thick stack of bills and used it to tilt one of the model’s chins up. “Do you like me?” His eyes lit up like laser beams. “Darling, I like you more than anyone,” he purred. “You’re gorgeous, you have an amazing body… who wouldn’t be obsessed with you? If someone isn’t, they must be blind.” I turned to another. “Do you love me?” He practically threw himself at my feet. “After my own mother, you are the person I love and care for most in this world.” I held out a wad of cash, smiling as I had them fan me with it. See? Love is easy. When you have money, you can have any kind of love you want. These guys were so smooth, they could sell water to a drowning man. I was so giddy I couldn’t tell which way was up. 2 Relying on a faint flicker of memory, I found my way back to an opulent, sprawling villa. My legs felt like jelly, my heart pounding in my chest. “Holy crap, is that a fountain? And a colonnade? Wow, and a garden… and a swimming pool!” The smile on my face stretched wider. This is my house. I pushed open the heavy front door. The foyer was dark. I switched on my phone’s flashlight, fumbling along the wall for a light switch. Before I could find it, a piercing scream echoed through the hall. “Ah!” My heart leaped into my throat. My knees went weak from the shock, and I leaned against the wall, peering toward the source of the sound. The next second, the lights flickered on. I squinted against the sudden brightness. When my eyes adjusted, I saw a man with a woman huddled in his arms. They were too far away for me to see clearly. The man’s voice was cold, laced with impatience. “What is it this time? Threatening to jump off the roof? Slit your wrists?” Before I could process what was happening, the woman beside him shrank back as if terrified of me, her big, watery eyes shimmering with unshed tears. I held up my hands. “Whoa, sorry to interrupt. Didn’t see a thing in the dark. I’ll just… head upstairs.” “You two carry on.” With that, I turned and bolted up the stairs as if my life depended on it. Following another hazy memory, I found a bedroom and slipped inside. Once again, I found myself marveling, “This room is huge.” After a shower, I came out to find someone else in the room. It was the man from downstairs. I guessed he must be “Hubby” from my phone—Caden Pierce. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and he leaned against the wall, staring at me coldly. “What’s the new game?” Before I could speak, he sneered. “Amnesia?” I knew that even if I showed him the doctor’s official diagnosis, he wouldn’t believe me. So I just waved my hands frantically. “Nope, not at all! I’m perfectly fine!” Silence descended upon the room. I had no feelings for him, no memories of him. To me, he was just some guy standing in my room. I asked hesitantly, “Was there something else?” If not, you can leave. I highly doubted a cheating man would want to stick around anyway. He lazily lifted his gaze to meet mine. “Weren’t you the one who was begging me to come home?” “Heh, well, if you’re busy, you’re free to go.” I offered a dry laugh. He shot me an icy glare before disappearing into the bathroom. I sat on the bed, scrolling through my phone, trying to piece together my life from the endless text messages. It turned out Marla Baldwin was Caden’s childhood sweetheart. But her family went bankrupt during college. She didn’t get into the same university as him, and their youthful romance was buried by circumstance. When they met again, she was a struggling extra in Hollywood, while he was the CEO of the Pierce Corporation. It was a story straight out of a romance novel. He felt sorry for her past and wanted to give her the glittering career she deserved. I was just the villain who had thrown a wrench in their fairytale. I had publicly accused Marla of being a homewrecker. Her rivals seized the opportunity, fanning the flames of the scandal, and she was nearly driven out of the industry. I did a quick search. The whole affair ended with me issuing a public apology. The official statement claimed it was all a misunderstanding, that Marla had not interfered in our marriage. What a load of crap. How touching. How noble of him to protect her. I yawned, deciding to go to sleep before he came out of the bathroom. If I was asleep, it wouldn’t be awkward. … The next morning, I woke up alone. After breakfast, I casually asked the housekeeper, Maria, “What do I usually do around this time?” “Oh.” Maria paused, thinking for a long moment before choosing her words carefully. “Ma’am, you would typically go to Mr. Pierce’s office?” “To work?” “Ah, no.” I got the picture. For the next few weeks, Caden never came home. I, on the other hand, made friends with a few wealthy wives. They took me to exclusive clubs, high tea, and lavish spas. “It’s about time you finally saw the light,” one of them said. Her name was Clara, a stunningly beautiful woman. I shook my head internally. Men. They have a beautiful, fragrant flower at home, but they still can’t resist the temptation of trash on the street. She slowly exhaled a plume of smoke. The handsome young actor sitting beside her quickly held out an ashtray. The model next to me was just as attentive, picking up a strawberry and holding it to my lips. “Darling,” he whispered, “have a strawberry.” Then he leaned closer to my ear. “Want to play a game?” My interest was piqued. “What kind of game?” The model had soft, androgynous features and a captivating smile. I found myself staring for a moment. He leaned in, but before he could say a word, the door to our private room was kicked open with a violent crash. A man in a black suit stormed in, his face a mask of fury. He lunged forward and punched the actor square in the jaw. I gasped, covering my mouth. Clara and the other wives, however, seemed completely unfazed. The actor didn’t dare fight back. Finally, Clara, examining her manicure with an air of boredom, spoke. “Are you done? If so, get out. You’re scaring my friends.” In the dim light of the room, the sliver of yellow light from the hallway illuminated the man’s pale face. He took off his suit jacket and draped it over Clara’s shoulders, then grabbed her arm. “Come home with me.” After Clara left, I asked the remaining wives, “What was that all about?” One of them laughed bitterly. “The classic double standard. He’s allowed to play with fire, but she’s not even allowed to light a match.” As we left the club, I tilted my head at the model beside me. “Why do you work here?” He smiled, his answer simple. “I need the money.” “Are you clean?” I asked. He paused for a second, as if processing the question, then nodded. “Yes.” I smiled back. “Alright. I’ll give you ten thousand a month. Be mine.” His lips parted slightly. “Thank you,” he said. “What’s your name? Your real name.” “Leo.” 3 The day Caden and Marla Baldwin’s names exploded across the internet, Leo and I were up at 4 AM. We were chasing a sunrise. There’s a road in Northwood that’s surrounded by the ocean on three sides. He drove a scooter, and I sat beside him in the sidecar. The road was dotted with others like us, all seeking the dawn. The horizon was already set ablaze with a magnificent crimson and gold. Palm trees lined the road, swaying in the gentle breeze. At 5 AM, a crowd gathered on the beach. For nearly twenty minutes, we watched. A sun like a salted egg yolk slowly ascended from the sea, its light brilliant but not blinding. When I got back to the villa, I collapsed onto the bed and fell instantly asleep. I was jolted awake by the incessant buzzing of my phone. Groaning, I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. “For crying out loud!” “Aaargh! So annoying!” I grabbed a pillow and screamed into it. Finally, I unlocked my phone. Messages were flooding in from people I knew and people I didn’t, all asking if Caden and I were getting divorced. The general sentiment was: “You can’t keep faking this amnesia, Sasha. If you do, your spot as Mrs. Pierce is going to be up for grabs.” I scoffed internally. Are you trying to get me killed? I finally have a life where I don’t have to work and still have money to burn. I scratched my head, took a deep breath, and opened up social media. Well, what do you know. The number one trending topic was #CadenAndMarla. Apparently, one of their old high school classmates had posted a video as part of a viral trend called ‘Seventeen-Year-Old Daydreams.’ The video transitioned to a photo of the user in their old classroom. In the background, several other students in uniforms were captured in the shot. I looked down at the photo, which fans had enlarged and digitally enhanced for clarity. You could see Marla’s face perfectly. The girl was looking up at the boy standing before her, her eyes bright with an adoring smile. The boy was leaning casually against the blackboard at the back of the room, his head slightly bowed, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. The comments section was on fire. “Is this a scene from a Netflix teen drama? I’m invested.” “So all those ‘coincidences’ weren’t coincidences at all. Caden has been her guardian angel in Hollywood this whole time.” “OMG, tell us more! This is so sweet!” “But wait, isn’t Caden married? What does that make them? Is Marla not the other woman here?” Amidst the sea of fans shipping this ‘reunited lovers’ fantasy, a rare voice of dissent emerged. But people only want to hear what they want to hear, see what they want to see. Anytime a comment didn’t fit their fairytale narrative, they would reconstruct their fantasy world with a barrage of “I heard” and “from what I understand.” “The wife isn’t nearly as pretty as Marla. And I heard she used some dirty tricks to marry into the Pierce family in the first place. A family like that would never have accepted her otherwise.” “I agree. The fact that Caden and Marla found each other again proves that even fate couldn’t stand to keep them apart.” The comments flew back and forth, but my mind was a complete blank. I couldn’t even remember how Caden and I met, let alone how we got married. I scratched my head. Why would the heir to a massive fortune marry me? Didn’t his parents object? I couldn’t find an answer, so I gave up trying. That evening, I was waiting for Leo outside the Northwood Institute of Technology. He had taken a year off from school due to family issues but had recently re-enrolled. He was wearing a blue short-sleeved shirt over a white t-shirt. A sharp pain lanced through my head. A fuzzy image flickered at the edge of my vision. “Hey, have you been waiting long?” I shook my head slightly. “Not at all. Any good places to eat around here?” “Feel like some barbecue? A new place just opened up, I hear it’s really good.” “Sounds perfect.” The Institute of Technology was right next to Northwood University. As we passed by the university’s main gate, I slowed to a stop. The familiar entrance felt like a dream. Leo asked softly, “Sasha? What’s wrong?” “I think… I think I used to go to school here.” Just as we were about to leave, a warm, elderly voice called out from behind us. “Is that you, Sasha?” I turned. An old man pushing a bicycle was walking towards us, a cheerful grin on his face. “The last time you two visited was for the alumni event a few years ago! Don’t tell me you came all this way just to see this old man?” I bit my lip. The whole amnesia thing sounded ridiculous to most people. So I just smiled. “Of course, Professor. We came to see you. How have you been?” The professor waved his hand with a laugh. “I’m doing great, just great. I know Caden is a busy man. And who is this young fellow?” He gestured toward Leo. “A friend of mine,” I said. “He goes to the tech institute next door.” “A pleasure to meet you, young man.” Leo bowed his head slightly. “Professor.” “Yes, yes,” the professor nodded, his kind eyes twinkling as he looked at me. “My, how time flies. It feels like just yesterday you two were freshmen. That boy, Caden, ran all over Riverton in the middle of the night just to collect a full set of those character dolls for you, and he had a major competition the next day. Ah, to be young. And now, look at you, married for five years.” My smile froze on my face. I’m twenty-eight this year. The professor continued, lost in his memories. “I wanted him to stay on for his master’s, his Ph.D. He joined my research lab as a freshman—a true genius, one of a kind. But his parents were against it. He told me he had to go out there and build a future for you both.” Suddenly, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through my heart. An image flashed in my mind. A boy in a blue shirt, darting through unfamiliar streets. Then, a bright, teasing voice echoed in my ears: Hey, going for that sun-kissed look? I thought I was too pale myself, mind if I join? “Well, look at the time,” the professor said, snapping me back to the present. “I have to get to my class. You two should come by and visit this old man when you have a chance.” I smiled. “We will. Please take care of yourself.” After the professor left, Leo noticed my pale face. “Sasha, are you okay? You don’t look so well.” “I’m fine. Just… remembered some things.” The Northwood night was a dazzling spectacle, with golden lights illuminating the city’s grand, European-style architecture. Clara was drunk. I went to pick her up. A waiter led me to a private room. She was slumped on the floor, her head resting on the table, her curly hair splayed out around her. I had no idea what had happened to make her drink this much. Hearing the door, she lifted her head groggily, her voice slurred. “Sasha? Is that you?” “Yeah, it’s me. Come on, I’m taking you home.” “Home?” She blinked, staring at me with a vacant expression. Then, a bitter smile twisted her lips. “Right. My home. The one where I’m all alone.” As she laughed, something seemed to occur to her. She fumbled with her phone and held it out to me. The screen displayed an email from a university abroad. An acceptance letter. “I’m going to study overseas.” My jaw dropped. “Clara, that’s amazing! Congratulations! I’ll have to come visit you.” “You better. I’ll show you my campus.” But she didn’t look happy. I glanced at the empty bottles scattered around the room. “Isn’t this the school you’ve always dreamed of?” “Hmm? What makes you say that?” “You just don’t seem very happy about it.” She froze at my words, then threw her head back and laughed. “No, it’s not that. It’s just… surreal.” I looked at her, confused, as she began to tell me her story.

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Four years into our arranged marriage, and to Richard, I was still nothing. He could never get over his first love, so he filled our life with her pale imitations. He was brazen enough to bring them into our home, to tangle with them on the very couch I’d picked out for what I hoped would be our life together. When I caught him, he’d rest his head on my shoulder like a spoiled child, trying to charm his way out of it. That time, I slapped him. I shoved him away as he warned me, “It’s just a marriage, Ellie. Don’t get jealous.” But all I felt was a wave of relief. That was close. A second longer, and he would have seen the bite mark on my neck. 1. The sight of clothes strewn across the living room floor made my knees nearly give out. There, on the very couch I’d chosen with the naive hope of building a life with a man I loved, Richard was wrapped around a young woman. The angry red marks on her shoulders spoke volumes of my husband’s recent passion. Her eyes met mine, and in an instant, I understood. She was just like all the others—a ghost of his first love. She flushed, burrowing into Richard’s embrace. “Mrs. Thorne…” Richard just kissed her cheek. “Sweetheart, my wife’s home. Go get dressed upstairs.” The girl pouted, clearly reluctant, but gathered her clothes and went. I rubbed my temples. “I thought you were picking me up today. Why did you bring her here?” Richard pulled on his shirt with a lazy grace, his hands finding my temples and expertly massaging them. “The poor girl was just curious to see where I lived,” he murmured. “She’s so charming when she pouts, I couldn’t say no.” My heart stuttered. In four years, other women had tried to force their way into our home, and Richard had cut them loose without a second thought. The cloying, sweet scent in the air turned my stomach. “You promised you wouldn’t bring anyone home.” He nuzzled my shoulder, his voice a low, intimate purr. “She wore me down, Ellie. Besides, I sent Liam to get you. You know he’s the most dependable.” His chin brushed against my collar, and my heart leaped into my throat. My hand shot out on pure instinct, the slap cracking in the quiet room. Richard chuckled, a low, amused sound. “What’s this, Eleanor? A tantrum?” I pulled my collar tighter, my breath catching in my chest. He’d been so close to seeing the vivid, angry bite mark hidden just beneath the fabric. I thought of the man he called “dependable,” of how he had pinned my shoulders against the wall, his teeth sinking into my skin with desperate force. “I can’t wait anymore. When the hell are you going to divorce him?” I fought to keep my face cool and composed until Richard finally headed upstairs, the sounds of shameless flirtation soon echoing from the guest room. This was his punishment for my defiance. Early in our marriage, I would have screamed, I would have cried. He would have offered a few bored explanations before finding crueler, more inventive ways to remind me of my place. But now, I just remembered my answer to that desperate question, whispered in a haze of illicit passion. “Soon. I think it’s going to be very soon.” 2. My marriage to Richard was rotten from the start. His first love was from a poor family, and the Thornes had driven her out of Northwood City. Unable to defy them, Richard had agreed to an arranged marriage with me. The bitter truth was, I loved him. Years ago, my mother, citing my posture as ‘unladylike,’ had lashed my back with a riding crop and forbidden me from eating. At the gala we attended that night, I could barely stand. Richard, a complete stranger, was the only one who noticed. In a quiet corner, away from prying eyes, he slipped me a small tube of ointment and a pastry. “It’ll get better,” he’d whispered. So when he was proposed as my match, I was ecstatic. I thought I’d won. For the first two years, I poured every ounce of love I had into being the perfect Mrs. Thorne, believing that my devotion would eventually be returned. But in four years of marriage, every woman he sought out was a carbon copy of her. The illusion shattered a year ago, when I saw him eat the grapes his secretary peeled for him without a second thought. Richard was a notorious mysophobe; I’d once placed a stalk of asparagus in his bowl, and he’d thrown the entire thing out, bowl and all. In that moment, I felt like the world’s biggest fool. In a world of high-stakes mergers and cold transactions, I was the idiot chasing love. 3. I hadn’t expected Richard to get so attached to this particular girl. When I arrived at the party on his yacht at the racing club, he was lounging on a sofa, the girl, Mia, draped over him, playing the part of the queen. Richard’s best friend, Liam, was seething. “Have you completely forgotten you have a wife?” Richard didn’t even glance his way. “Even if my wife were here, she wouldn’t say a thing.” He smirked, his eyes finding me across the room. “Right, Ellie?” Heads turned. Liam instinctively moved as if to block my view of them. The night wind coming off the sea was cold, chilling my expression. “Mia, is it?” I said, my voice level. “Get off.” I’d noticed the swarm of media boats near the port on my way in. A playful smirk touched Richard’s lips, but his arm only tightened around Mia’s waist. I glanced out the window at the flotilla of speedboats, unable to tell which ones held paparazzi. “Richard. Either she goes, or I go.” His hand didn’t move. “Is that so? Well, if my wife insists… then you can go.” I pressed a hand to my chest, a familiar numbness spreading through me. I was about to say more when the unmistakable flash of a camera lit up the window. They’d gotten their shot. “Fine. Do whatever you want.” I turned and walked toward the deck, missing the way Richard’s face darkened as he abruptly stood, sending Mia tumbling to the floor. My phone buzzed. It was my assistant. I found a secluded corner to take the call. “Ms. Byrd, the final asset transfers are almost complete. No one has traced them back to us.” A genuine smile finally broke through my icy composure. “Excellent. Keep going.” The good news lifted my spirits, and I decided to take a stroll. But as I passed a dark corridor, a hand shot out and yanked me into a storage closet. The room was pitch-black, the moonlight unable to pierce the gloom. I felt warm lips press against my neck, and a voice, thick with hurt, murmured in my ear. “I won today. Why didn’t you come see me?” 4. I sagged against him, letting Liam hold me. “And let the media have another field day? ‘The Pathetic Mrs. Thorne, Still Groveling After Her Husband at a Race.’ No, thank you.” Everyone knew our marriage was a sham. Every time I showed up for one of Richard’s races, the tabloids had a feast. In the darkness, the man behind me went still. “I’m sorry.” Then, as if angered by his own apology, he spun me around, his mouth finding mine in the dark and crushing it with a desperate force. “He doesn’t deserve you,” he growled against my lips. “He humiliates you like that, and I don’t even have the right to be angry!” Overwhelmed, I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing closer. “You’re right, I am humiliated,” I whispered. “Maybe giving me the Southport development project would cheer me up.” His mood didn’t lighten. A sharp pain bloomed on my lip. He’d bitten me. “I’m serious, Eleanor. Just divorce him. Please.” I traced the line of his jaw. “You don’t understand.” The air grew cold. After a long moment, Liam pushed me away. “Fine. Do what you want. But I’m done playing this little game of house, sneaking around in the shadows.” He threw the door open and was gone. I sighed, smoothing my hair before stepping back into the light. The party was now in full swing. In the center of the dance floor, Richard and Mia were locked in a sensual dance, their bodies grinding together as her lips brushed against his, once, twice, three times. I picked up a glass of champagne, thinking it was probably for the best. When the song ended, Richard spotted me. He walked over, smoothly took the glass from my hand, and drained it. I frowned but said nothing. “So, Ellie? What did you think? A good show?” I considered it. “Very beautiful.” They were a stunning pair, their movements more artful than sleazy. It was, objectively, easy on the eyes. Richard’s smile froze, then faded. “Is that so.” He was angry, though for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why. And I was too tired to care. As the party broke up, his mood was still dark. The chauffeur was about to pull away when a figure darted out in front of the car. 5. Richard’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “I arranged for a car to take you home.” Mia stood her ground. “I sent him away. I’ve been drinking tonight, Richard. I want you to stay with me.” I leaned against the window, watching my husband navigate his affair with a detached curiosity. Richard’s brow furrowed. “Be good. I’ll see you tomorrow. Go home.” Her lower lip trembled, her eyes welling with tears. “No. If you’re angry, then just tell the driver to run me over.” The breathtaking arrogance of someone who knows they are loved. Just as I expected, Richard’s expression softened. He turned to me. “Ellie, if you don’t want her in the car, I’ll send her away.” I opened my door. “It’s fine. It’s late and not safe. It’s normal for a young woman to want some attention.” I moved to the front seat. “You two take the back.” From behind me, I heard Richard laugh. “Well, if my wife doesn’t mind, get in.” But Mia didn’t move. Her eyes, shimmering with tears, were fixed on Richard. “But… I’m not used to sharing a car with another woman. I have… so many secrets I want to tell you.” Richard tapped my shoulder. “Ellie, you heard her.” I closed my eyes in weary resignation. “It’s one in the morning. She won’t find a cab out here.” Still, she stood there, a stubborn statue in the headlights. Richard got out and opened my door himself. “Get out. I thought you were supposed to be the understanding one.” I stood on the curb as Mia slid into the car, flashing me a triumphant smile. “Richard, I love your racing trophy. Can I play with it?” The car sped off, and I heard Richard’s voice drift back on the wind. “It’s not worth much. Play with it all you want.” A bitter laugh escaped me. Richard was intensely territorial. His possessions were sacred. Once, I had merely tried to dust one of his trophies, and he had screamed at me. The difference between being loved and not being loved was brutally clear. He loved his first love, and by extension, even her substitute was granted special privileges. The car disappeared, leaving me alone with the sound of waves crashing against the shore. The sea and sky blended into a single, dark expanse. I rubbed my arms against the chill, feeling utterly alone in the vastness of the world. Then, a jacket was thrown unceremoniously over my shoulders. “Still watching? What’s so fascinating about a scumbag like that? If you’re actually upset, I’ll lose all respect for you.” The scent of jealousy was thick in the air. I shook my head, blinking back the single tear that threatened to fall, and turned, burying my face in his chest. “I thought you were done with me.” 6. Liam’s cedarwood cologne enveloped me. “Don’t get cocky, Eleanor. I didn’t give in to you. I gave in to myself.” I got into his car. “Where to? Your place or mine?” he asked. I shook my head. “Home.” After the fiasco on the yacht, I knew the paparazzi photos would soon be everywhere. My life was about to get very complicated. Liam didn’t argue, but he drove the car further and further away from the city, until the lights and buildings vanished behind us. He parked on a deserted overlook, got out, and walked around to my side. He lifted me into his arms, settled back into the driver’s seat, and positioned me so I was straddling his lap. Our faces were an inch apart. His eyes burned into mine. “Eleanor, I’ve been your dirty little secret for a long time. Don’t you think I deserve a reward for being so easily placated?” I leaned in and gave him a soft, fleeting kiss. But he gripped my waist, pulling me tighter. “One day, Ellie,” he murmured against my mouth, “I’m going to kiss you in the daylight for the whole world to see.” The air in the car thickened with a heady, forbidden energy. As my senses began to swim, I managed to whisper, “Is that so? Then you’d better hurry up.” Steam slowly fogged the windows, blurring the world outside, and for a long time, there was only us. Later, Liam patiently dressed me and drove me home. But when he pulled up to my house, he couldn’t let me go. “I’ll hurry, Ellie. I promise.” I nodded, rewarding him with a soft kiss on his cheek. “Good. I’ll be waiting.” I never expected Richard to be home. After Mia’s performance tonight, I’d been sure he’d stay with her. But as I opened the door, there he was, sitting on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. He looked up, his eyes meeting mine. “Why are you so late?” “I thought you’d know, since you abandoned me at the port,” I said, my voice calm. “It’s not easy to get a cab from there. I waited a long time.” A flicker of guilt crossed his face. He stood, about to say something. But then his gaze dropped to my mouth. The guilt vanished, replaced by a storm of pure rage that twisted his features into a terrifying mask. He lunged forward, his thumb pressing hard against my lips, smearing and rubbing until I tasted the metallic tang of blood. I realized then that my lips were swollen and bruised. “Eleanor,” he snarled, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “Tell me. Who the hell are you cheating on me with?” 7. His fingers clamped around my jaw, the pressure excruciating. “I… don’t have a taste for affairs,” I choked out. “I just tripped and hit my mouth. Think about it, Richard. In all these years, after everything you’ve done, have I ever once been unfaithful to you?” I had guarded my secret with Liam meticulously. But Richard’s fury only grew. He dragged me into the bathroom and slammed me against the mirror. “Look at yourself, Eleanor! Look at the state you’re in!” “Tell me who he is!” he roared. “Who dares to make a fool of me? I’ll destroy him!” I shakily met my own reflection. My hair and clothes were perfectly neat. But my face was flushed with a lingering heat, and my lips were swollen to a bright, bee-stung red that my lipstick couldn’t conceal. I looked like a ripe peach, bruised and ready to burst. My mind raced. Finally, I let a slow, deliberate smile spread across my face. “You’re right. I went out and found someone. A male model from a club. He was attentive, and his words were so sweet.” “Why should you be the only one to have your fun, Richard?” I taunted. “Your Mias and your Chloes. Don’t I deserve a little entertainment of my own? It’s only fair.” The storm on his face unexpectedly cleared. He released my jaw, a look of twisted pleasure dawning in his eyes. “Ellie,” he breathed, almost delighted. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?” I rubbed my aching jaw, my answer deliberately vague. “Does it matter?” His mood lifted instantly. He stroked my cheek, his voice softening. “Fine. I’ll get rid of Mia. That’s simple enough. But Eleanor, don’t you dare mess around outside this house. Your family is depending on you.” I lowered my gaze, hiding the cold triumph in my eyes. “Yes. I know.” Our marriage was, after all, a lifeline my family had begged for. 8. The next morning, as predicted, my phone blew up with entertainment alerts. They were all about Richard and Mia’s intimate night on the yacht. Then, the call I was expecting came. “Eleanor. Come home.” The moment I stepped into my father’s study, a heavy water glass flew at my head. It missed, shattering against the wall, but the message was clear. My mother stood by, a riding crop in her hand, her expression like ice. I knew that crop intimately. It was the author of the faint, silvery scars that would forever mar my back. “Eleanor, you’ve been married for years and you still can’t control your own husband. Your father is very disappointed.” A sharp pain lanced through my shoulder, a phantom echo of past punishments. By the time she was done, I was numb. My lips felt thick as I mumbled, “Is that enough? If you’re going to keep going, you should probably call an ambulance first.” The sound of the crop whipping through the air was the sound of the last, frayed thread of affection between us snapping. My mother stopped, as if waking from a trance. She dropped the crop and stared at my bleeding back, her face crumpling. “Oh, Ellie…” she sobbed, rushing forward. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I’m just so scared… so scared of making your father angry.” She fumbled to apply ointment, her large, guilty tears splashing onto my raw skin. It was a jarring transformation from the merciless woman who had wielded the crop moments before. This was her pattern. My father was a philanderer; my illegitimate half-sister was only a year younger than me. He doted on his other family, showering them with affection. My mother and I only received his smiles when I excelled, when my achievements brought him glory. So, my mother learned her lesson. My success was her weapon to win back her husband’s favor. When I failed, she grew angry. And when she was angry, I was punished. After every beating, she would cry, apologize, and whisper how much she loved me, coddling me through the pain late into the night. With those tiny, rationed crumbs of love, she had controlled me for over twenty years. As a child, I would have said, “It doesn’t hurt, Mom. Please don’t cry. I’ll make Daddy proud.” But now, I pushed her hands away. I walked to the door and looked back at her, my voice formal and final. “Goodbye, Mother.”

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It was a week after graduation, and I was killing time scrolling through the Northwood University accepted students’ forum when a title snagged my attention. [My boyfriend got into Northwood, and his personal doormat is buying him a condo.] I frowned, clicking the link. The poster was in our graduating class, same as me and Leo Sterling. I hoped this wasn’t going to be about someone we knew. The post continued: [My BF grew up in his doormat’s house, and he’s so sick of her. Getting into Northwood was his ticket out.] [But she’s insisting he’s ‘used to living in a big house’ and that the dorms are too cramped, so she’s buying him a place near campus.] [Question for upperclassmen: is the new development by the East Gate or the one by the West Gate more convenient for freshmen?] [Because this is going to be our little love nest, obviously. 😉 ] The sheer, shameless audacity of it all made me laugh. I tapped out a quick reply. [Why not both? I hear freshman year is split pretty evenly between the two sides of campus.] I was about to screenshot it and send it to Leo with a caption like, Get a load of this, when my phone buzzed with a message from him. [Chloe, I was just thinking. I hear the freshman classes are on both sides of campus. Maybe we should just get one place at the East Gate and one at the West.] I stared at my phone. The words blurred. Wait a second. Was I… was I the doormat? 1 Leo Sterling and I grew up in the same house. His parents died in a car crash when he was five, and my father, unable to bear the thought of his best friend’s son going into the system, brought him home to live with us. For more than a decade, I believed we were the most important people in each other’s lives. My own parents had even hinted, more than once, that if we ended up together, the Sanford family fortune would one day be ours to share. But the Leo I knew was cautious and reserved, so mindful of his position that he’d never even dare to reach for a serving dish at the far end of the dinner table. Could that boy be the same person who was letting some girl call me his “doormat” on a public forum? My hand trembled as I clicked back to the thread. The user ID was RainyDaysJess. The profile picture was a selfie of a girl with huge eyes and a pointy chin, the classic Instagram-influencer face. I racked my brain, trying to place her among Leo’s friends. Nothing. The replies were already piling up. [Who’s your boyfriend? Sounds like a big deal!] RainyDaysJess replied: [He’s only the top scorer on the SATs in the entire state! We’ve been together for a month now! <3] A cold fist clenched around my heart. A month? That was right after graduation. For the six months leading up to it, I had been away at a training camp at Northwood, selected as a candidate for the International Math Olympiad team. I had been completely buried in work, and I’d let my check-ins with Leo slide. But would he really do this? It didn’t feel real. I’m not sure, I told myself. Let’s see what else they say. It could be a crazy coincidence. I kept scrolling. [Wait, so your BF lives in the doormat’s house? Isn’t that like, his foster family? Why would you call her that?] RainyDaysJess: [OMG you guys have no idea. His foster sister is SO annoying. She’s obsessed with him and smothers him constantly.] [But her family’s loaded, so my boyfriend says to just let her buy him whatever she wants. It’s not like it’s his money, right? Use it or lose it.] My fingers flew across the keyboard, testing a theory. [If she’s such a good little doormat, why hasn’t she bought him that Patek Philippe watch all the celebrities are wearing? If she hasn’t even done that, she’s not trying very hard.] My phone buzzed again. A new message from Leo. [Chloe? You there? Dad said the condos near Northwood are a great investment. And once you retake your SATs, if you can get into Northwood too, we could even live together.] A second message appeared. [Oh, by the way, my birthday’s coming up, and I saw this watch…] My reply was terse. [What watch?] He sent a picture of a Patek Philippe. The price tag read $28,000. It was the exact one I’d mentioned in the forum. I stared at the message, a bitter, metallic taste flooding my mouth. There was no more uncertainty. The “Dad” he was referring to was my father, Robert Sanford. For eighteen years, my father had treated Leo like his own son. He’d been so careful with Leo’s fragile pride, so conscious of his loss, that he often favored him over me in front of friends and family. I had been admitted to Northwood months ago, a guaranteed spot secured by my gold medal win at the Olympiad. But to keep Leo from feeling pressured or stressed, I’d let my parents tell him I was just taking a six-month "gap semester" to travel. When I won the medal, I asked the school not to publicize it. We wanted to surprise him. So, when I didn't show up for the SATs, Leo naturally assumed I'd slacked off for half a year and given up on college. And now? Now he was planning to move in with another girl while casually asking me for a luxury watch and two condos? Did he really see me as his personal ATM? I took a deep, steadying breath and typed my reply. [Okay.] Then I screenshotted the entire conversation and sent it to my best friend, Maya. Her reply was instantaneous: [HOLY SHIT! That bastard! Leo is really like this?] I typed back, my hands still shaking. [I wish I knew.] Maya: [Hang on. I’m going to find out who this ‘RainyDaysJess’ is.] Ten minutes later, a dossier of information landed in my inbox. [Jessica Raines. Goes to Westwood High, the school across town. Got into Northwood on an arts scholarship. Her parents own a small convenience store. Her Instagram is full of her flexing, but it’s all stolen pictures.] I clicked the link Maya sent. Jessica’s Instagram was a curated fantasy of designer bags, five-star restaurant meals, and exotic vacations. I recognized a few of the photos immediately as generic images from luxury brand websites. And then my stomach turned. She had the audacity to steal one of my photos—a shot I took from my family’s suite at The Empyrean Hotel last Christmas. But the post that made me physically ill was from the day before. It was a picture of her and Leo, their reflections caught in a storefront window. He had his arm around her waist, their hands joined to form a heart. The caption read: [Just a normal day with my genius boyfriend! He spoils me so much!~] Yesterday. The day Leo told me he was out playing basketball with friends and didn't reply to my texts for hours. The trust of eighteen years crumbled into dust. Maya’s text came through again: [Chloe, what are you going to do?] I was silent for a long time. Finally, I replied. [Don’t tip them off. I want to see how far they’re willing to take this.] I deliberately avoided Leo for the next few days. As expected, he got antsy. After three days, he texted me. [Chloe, did you talk to Dad about the condos?] I smirked. [He said it’s a great idea, but we should wait until you’re enrolled and have your class schedule before picking a location.] Leo: [Awesome! I knew I could count on you! By the way, my birthday party is next week. You should come.] For years, I had planned every single one of Leo’s birthday parties. I’d book a private room at his favorite restaurant, invite all his friends, and order his favorite kind of cake. This year, he was inviting me himself. But the phrasing—you should come—felt less like an invitation and more like a handout. Me: [Of course. Where is it?] Leo: [The Empyrean Hotel. I booked a private suite.] The Empyrean? That was one of the most exclusive hotels in the city. A suite there started at five thousand dollars a night. Where did Leo get that kind of money? I feigned surprise. [Wow, that’s fancy!] Leo: [Well, it’s my 18th birthday. A milestone. So, did you get the watch?] I fought back a wave of nausea. [I’m thinking about it.] Leo: [Thanks, Chloe! You’re the best!] As soon as I put my phone down, I called my father. “Dad, Leo asked me for a twenty-eight-thousand-dollar watch.” There was a pause on the other end. “Buy it for him, honey. It’s his eighteenth birthday, after all.” My voice rose, sharp with disbelief. “Dad! You know exactly how much is in my allowance account. Where am I supposed to get that kind of money?” My dad sounded genuinely confused. “What are you talking about? I transferred sixty-six thousand dollars into your account last month. Did you already blow through all of it?” My bank card had always been managed by him. He said it was to help me learn financial responsibility, and I never thought to question it. Sixty-six thousand dollars? Leo had never mentioned a word of it to me. Suddenly, I knew exactly how he’d paid for the suite at The Empyrean. But I couldn't let my father know. Not yet. Not until I had undeniable proof that the boy he’d raised with such care was a complete viper. “Oh,” I said, forcing a ditzy tone. “Right, I forgot. Leo’s holding onto it for me. Hey, speaking of which, could you send me a list of all the money you’ve put away for me over the years? I want to see how much I have. It’ll be fun to feel like a rich heiress for a day.” My dad chuckled, the sound warm and indulgent. “Alright, you little tycoon. I’ll have my assistant email you the statements in a bit.” I hung up, my hand shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone. A few minutes later, an email arrived from my father’s assistant. I opened the attached spreadsheet, and my breath caught in my throat. February 2018, Chinese New Year gifts: $12,800 2019 Birthday Gift, wire transfer from Father: $20,000 2020, Competition winnings and allowance: $55,000 2021, High School Graduation Bonus: $88,000… I had never seen a cent of this money. Every time I asked, Leo would just smile and say, “I’m saving it for you. It’ll be a surprise one day.” Apparently, the surprise was that he was pocketing all of it. With trembling fingers, I dialed my bank’s customer service line and gave them my social security number to check my balance. “Ms. Sanford, the current balance on your account ending in 8866 is five hundred seventy-two dollars and thirty cents.” I nearly crushed my phone in my hand. $572? The absolute nerve of him. “Can you… can you tell me if there have been any large withdrawals recently?” I asked, my voice dangerously low. “Yes, ma’am. In the last three months, there have been three transfers out: one for $15,000, one for $28,000, and one for $10,000. All three were sent to the same account, registered under the name Leo Sterling.” The world tilted on its axis. He hadn’t just stolen my money; he had brazenly transferred it directly into his own account. Where did he get the audacity? Two hours later, Maya arrived at my house with her cousin, a private investigator. After I explained the situation, her cousin pushed his glasses up his nose. “This is grand larceny. With these amounts, you could press charges right now.” “No,” I said, shaking my head. “Jail is too easy. I want to ruin him.” The report the PI delivered the next day was even more shocking. It turned out my father hadn’t just been giving me cash; he’d also established an educational trust fund in my name. The current balance was over two hundred thousand dollars. And Leo, acting as my self-appointed “financial advisor,” had managed to get access to it. “This is a federal crime,” the PI said grimly. “But I found something else you might find interesting.” He handed me a file containing transcripts of text messages between Leo and Jessica Raines. It turned out Jessica wasn’t some rich girl at all; she was just a random student Leo had met on the Northwood forum. “Oh, and one more thing,” the PI added. “The suite at The Empyrean? It was charged to your debit card. The total was $5,888.88.” I burst out laughing, a cold, sharp sound that held no humor. “Leo, Leo, Leo. You really are one for the books.” He steals all that money from me and he can't even splurge on the party with his own stolen funds? With all the evidence I needed, I called my father. “Dad, did you know Leo has a girlfriend? He’s been pushing me really hard to buy him those condos. Says he wants to build a ‘love nest’.” My father’s voice sharpened instantly. “What?” I emailed him everything. The forum posts, the texts, the bank statements, the PI’s report. Thirty minutes later, he replied. “Go to the party as planned. I’ll handle things.” On the night of the party, I chose a simple white dress and light makeup. As I was leaving, my father handed me a beautifully wrapped gift box. “Just what you asked for,” he said with a grim smile. The suite at The Empyrean was opulent, already filled with a dozen of Leo’s classmates and a few girls I didn’t recognize. One of them, I presumed, was Jessica. Leo’s face lit up when he saw me. “Chloe!” He hurried over, his eyes immediately fixing on the gift box in my hands. His smile widened. “Happy birthday,” I said, holding it out to him. He reached for it eagerly, but I pulled it back slightly. “Leo, why don’t you wait until everyone is here to open your gifts?” His smile faltered for a fraction of a second before returning, even brighter than before. “You’re right, Chloe. A gift this special deserves an audience.” He ran his hand over the box, a greedy light shining in his eyes. I noticed a girl in a pink dress in the corner, staring daggers at me. She pushed herself to her feet and walked toward us. Her makeup was flawless, but it couldn’t hide the raw jealousy in her eyes. This had to be Jessica. “Leo, aren’t you going to introduce me?” I asked sweetly. He flinched. “Ah, this is… this is my…” Jessica didn’t wait for him to finish. She strode forward and looped her arm through his. “I’m his girlfriend, Jessica Raines. Freshman at Northwood.” I widened my eyes in mock surprise. “Girlfriend? Leo, when did this happen?” She glared at me, her voice dripping with venom. “You must be the clingy foster sister he’s always complaining about.” The room went silent. Every eye was on us. I laughed. “Clingy foster sister? Leo, is that how you describe me?” A sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. “Chloe, I can explain—” Jessica cut him off. “Leo said you were annoying and that you smother him. Now that he’s gotten into Northwood and you couldn’t even pass your SATs, can’t you just leave us alone?” She was on a roll now, her voice rising. “Don’t think your family’s charity gives you any right to him. Everything Leo has, he earned himself. It has nothing to do with you. He can be with whoever he wants. Just because you have some pathetic childhood crush doesn’t mean you stand a chance against me.” It was so cliché it was almost funny. Jessica really needed to stop reading so many Wattpad novels. I took a moment to compose myself, then looked directly at Leo. “Is this really how you feel?” He avoided my gaze. “Chloe, you didn’t even get into college… we’re not on the same path anymore.” I stared at the boy I had once considered my closest family, my other half. My voice was ice. “If we’re not on the same path, then why are you shamelessly asking me to buy you a condo?” A murmur rippled through the room. The other students were now looking at Leo and Jessica with open contempt. “Asking his foster family for a condo to live in with his girlfriend? Does this guy have any shame?” Jessica’s face flushed. She pointed a finger at me. “Don’t you dare make things up to slander my Leo! He’s the top scorer in the state! Who the hell are you to talk to him like that?” I didn’t even bother looking at her. I pulled my phone from my clutch. “Would you all mind if I connected to the TV for a second?” Before anyone could answer, I had mirrored my screen to the massive flat panel on the wall. A video started playing—security footage from a coffee shop. The audio was crystal clear. “Once I get the condo, we’ll move in together,” Leo’s voice filled the room. “What about Chloe?” Jessica asked. “Doesn’t she have a thing for you?” Leo scoffed. “That idiot? You think she can compare to you? She’s just my personal ATM.” Leo lunged, trying to grab my phone. “Chloe! Let me explain!” I sidestepped him easily. “Explain what? How you spend my family’s money while calling me an idiot behind my back? How you were planning to use a condo bought with our money to build a love nest with your new girlfriend?” His face was ashen. “I… I wasn’t…” Just then, the suite doors swung open. My father walked in, flanked by several men in sharp suits. “Leo Sterling,” my father’s voice was like a chip of ice. “As of today, you are no longer a part of the Sanford family.”

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Barry was the boyfriend I conned into loving me. He was deaf. My favorite thing was to take off his hearing aid when we were tangled in the sheets and whisper wicked things in his ear. Then I found out he was Barry Seret, heir to the Seret empire. So the night we broke up, things got ugly. With eyes rimmed in red, Barry told me to get out. So I did. I didn’t dare set foot in New York again until three years later, when the news of his engagement broke. I thought I could slip in unnoticed. But Barry, with a face as calm and cold as a frozen lake, turned around and tied me up with his belt. “Where do you think you’re running this time?” he murmured. “My… fiancée.” 1 I kept my head down, pretending to adjust my camera, but my palm was slick with sweat. I never thought I’d run into Barry this soon. “Mr. Seret, don’t let her age fool you. Linda here has been raking in international photography awards for years,” Rebecca, my editor, said, patting my shoulder with a playful grin. “I had to pay a small fortune to poach her from L.A.” “I guarantee you won’t regret giving us the exclusive for your first cover shoot.” Barry’s gaze swept over me, as placid and undisturbed as still water. “Is that so?” “Well then, I’m in your hands, Ms. Shen.” It was the most formal, impersonal pleasantry. I lowered my voice, trying to make it sound deeper, less like the girl I used to be. “Of course, Mr. Seret.” He gave a slight nod, his eyes holding no flicker of recognition, before looking away. I let my eyelids fall, my lashes trembling. He didn’t recognize me. Then again, I had changed my last name. With a mask covering half my face and my current style, no one would ever connect me to the vibrant, wild Linda Reed of the past. The entire shoot, Barry was a professional. With the slightest direction, he gave me the perfect angle. Whispers erupted from the crew behind me. “God, Mr. Seret’s body is insane. I am looking respectfully.” “Okay, I see why Rebecca paid top dollar for this Linda girl. Her understanding of the human form is incredible. The angles, the poses… I can feel the raw power under his shirt just from looking at the monitor.” My mind drifted. I remembered a boy, his neck flushed red, completely naked. Even though I’d drawn him countless times, he was still impossibly shy. Well, for the first half, at least. Somehow, our life drawing sessions always ended up migrating to a different location. The bedroom, the sofa, the bathtub, the floor-to-ceiling windows. I’d always end up more exhausted than if I’d sketched ten different models. “Barry, it’s always like this!” I’d kick at him, exasperated. “I’m never drawing you again! I’m going to find a new model! One with an eight-pack!” He’d catch my ankle, his grip firm but gentle, saying nothing. After a long moment, he would lean down and kiss the corner of my mouth. “Linda, I’m sorry.” I’d pause. Was he actually admitting fault? Was he going to change his ways? The next second, he’d take off his hearing aid. Four boxes of condoms, assorted flavors. I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed for a week. Damn him. And he had the nerve to apologize. So polite. But in the end, we still broke up. That night was a catastrophe. The corners of his eyes were a faint, painful red, his voice ice. “Linda, this is the last time. I don’t do second chances.” I hung my head, my “okay” barely a whisper. He clenched his jaw, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Fine. Get out.” “And don’t ever let me see you again.” “Or I swear to God, I’ll kill you.” 2 During a break, I slipped back to the equipment room to grab a portrait lens I’d forgotten. Suddenly, a shadow fell over me. A familiar, woody cologne filled the air, wrapping around me. My body went rigid. I turned, forcing a calm I didn’t feel. “Is something wrong, Mr. Seret?” He looked down at me, his gaze the same as it had always been. I held my breath, my fingernails digging into my palms. Don’t lose your cool. “Nothing,” he said, his voice smooth. “Just looking around.” His eyes were dark pools, a faint smile playing on his lips. “But you, Ms. Shen. What are you so nervous about?” I hid my trembling right hand. “The camera is heavy. My hand starts to shake after holding it for so long.” “Is that so?” I lowered my head. “If there’s nothing else, Mr. Seret, I should get back to the set.” I didn’t wait for a reply, just turned to leave. “Ms. Shen,” he called out, stopping me in my tracks. “If someone who betrayed you showed up in your life again, what would you do?” 3 Our breakup had been a disaster, but I wouldn’t call it a betrayal. And knowing Barry, if he had recognized me, he would have exposed me on the spot. He wasn’t capable of this cool, detached act. I took a deep breath and turned slightly, my voice laced with a professional, smiling tone. “Mr. Seret, while I don’t know the history between you and this person, I believe one should always look forward. There’s no need to get bogged down in the minor details of the past.” “Minor details? You’re quite magnanimous, Ms. Shen.” He smirked. “But what if I’m the type to hold a grudge?” “That’s a personal matter, Mr. Seret. I’m just a photographer. I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.” He stared at me, silent. My carefully constructed composure felt like it was about to shatter. After a long moment, he finally smiled. “You’re right. Just a photographer, after all.” 4 The rest of the shoot went smoothly, and we wrapped an hour ahead of schedule. After sending Barry off, I started packing up my gear. My assistant, Chloe, ran over and grabbed my arm, dragging me toward the door. “Linda, come on! It’s an emergency!” “What? What’s going—” The words died in my throat. The platform outside the studio was blanketed in roses. In the center, candles spelled out my name. It was… incredibly cheesy. I had already turned Ryan down three times. I couldn’t believe he was still trying, and this time, he’d opted for a public spectacle of cringe. No one knew that under my mask, my face was breaking out in an angry rash. I have a severe pollen allergy. Thank God for the mask. I tried to turn and leave, but Ryan blocked my path, holding a massive bouquet. “Linda, I really, really like you.” “I’ll be so good to you.” “Please, just say yes.” For a second, I was lost in a memory. I had said those exact words to Barry. 5 My thing for Barry was pure, unadulterated lust. Of all the men I had ever seen, he was the only one who was perfectly, flawlessly my type. He worked as a model at a high-end lounge, but he had this untouchable, almost severe air about him. The hearing aid only amplified his cool, fragile beauty. Later, I found out the Seret family owned that lounge. I was obsessed. I pulled out all the stops. I chased him, lied to him, scammed, conned, and clawed my way into his bed. That night, I leaned close to his ear and whispered a torrent of sweet nothings. “Barry, I like you so, so much.” “Barry, I’ll be so good to you, the best you’ve ever had.” “Barry, please, be with me.” He lifted his head from the crook of my neck, his dark eyes burning into mine. “You really… like me that much?” I was too far gone to analyze the storm of emotions in his eyes. “Yes, really.” His voice was a raw whisper. “Promise me you’ll only ever want me, for the rest of your life, and I’m yours.” At the time, I didn’t think twice about what “the rest of your life” meant. I just tilted my head up and bit his lip. “Okay. Only you.” It was only after we were together that I discovered his cool, restrained act was just that—an act. He was greedier than anyone I’d ever known. I loved to take off his hearing aid when we were lost in each other, whispering filthy things in his ear, screaming his name without abandon, just to watch the rigid control on his face crack, even though he supposedly couldn’t hear me. I was spoiled, with a notoriously short temper. But Barry was endlessly patient. He catered to my every whim, let me get away with everything. He made me believe that “forever” was a real thing. Until, one day, I saw a photo of him with his father. It was a lazy summer afternoon. Barry’s fingers were gently combing through my hair, the warm hum of the hairdryer a comforting buzz. And it hit me. Barry Seret. The Seret family. My world plunged into an icy abyss. 6 The sound of cheering pulled me back to the present. Sometime during my reverie, Ryan had dropped to one knee. “Say yes! Say yes! Say yes!” A crowd was gathering. The chanting grew louder. More and more people were pulling out their phones to record. My skin was crawling with secondhand embarrassment. I took a deep breath, trying to keep my temper in check. “Ryan, I—” A hand shot out and clamped around my wrist. The grip was so tight it hurt. I looked up. His eyes, dark as spilled ink, were a net, ready to swallow me whole. Barry’s voice was sharp, cold. “Linda. We’re going home.” 7 “What’s wrong? Afraid I poisoned it?” Every dish on the table, even the soup, was loaded with chili peppers. I was the one who loved spicy food; Barry’s palate was famously bland. I was stunned, unable to figure out what he was doing. And this apartment—the one we used to share—he’d actually bought it. I stood up. “Thank you for helping me out of that situation today, Mr. Seret. It’s getting late, I should be going.” He looked up at me, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. “Mr. Seret? You’re quick to draw the line, aren’t you, Linda?” “Now that you’re back, aren’t you going to stay and catch up?” I looked down. “There’s nothing for us to catch up on.” “Nothing?” His jaw tightened, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Right. After all, you could watch me die right in front of you and not even blink.” He stared at me, his face a mask of cold fury, but a vein pulsed in his neck. I met his gaze. “Barry,” I said softly, “we’re adults. Why are you still clinging to the past—” “The past? To you, I’m just the past?” he cut me off, his voice savage. “Linda, you never fucking loved me, did you?” “If you didn’t love me, why did you even bother coming after me in the first place?” He grabbed my wrist, his eyes dark and cold. “Linda, I told you.” “If I ever saw you again, I would kill you.” “You wouldn’t, Barry,” I said, looking up at him. “I know you.” “You know me? What do you know?” he sneered. “That I’m obedient? Innocent? That I’d do whatever you say, that I’m some kind of saint?” He laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “That was all an act, Linda.” “I was just pretending, trying to please you.” “Ruthless, selfish, vengeful—that’s the real me.” I took a deep breath. “Barry, it was my mistake to show up and disturb you,” I said, my voice low. “I’ll resign from the magazine tomorrow. I promise you’ll never—” “Linda.” His face was grim, his words ground out between clenched teeth. “I really want to cut you open and see if you even have a heart.” The pressure on my wrist tightened. He pulled me closer, his breath hot on my skin. His eyes were churning with a raw, desperate desire. I struggled against him. “Barry, let me go!” Everything was a bowstring pulled taut, ready to snap. The next second, his pupils contracted. He abruptly threw my hand away from him, his eyes a storm of emotions. After a long moment, a smirk twisted his lips, a look of pure self-loathing. “Fine. Good for you, Linda.”

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My wife Isabella bought me a yacht for my birthday, but her male assistant, Ryan Lane, had the audacity to name it after himself. He claimed it was to comfort his dying mother. I laughed bitterly and had his name removed from the hull. When Isabella found out, she was angry. “He was just comforting his mother!” “He could have rented a yacht or faked a photo,” I retorted. She fell silent. At my birthday party, she pushed me into the ocean, live-streaming my humiliation with a drone. A photo of me fleeing a shark in my underwear went viral. After the initial panic, a cold calm took over. I stared into the camera and said, “Had your fun? Now come get me.” 01 The moment the words left my mouth, a wave of derisive laughter rolled down from the yacht above. “Hilarious! Look at Caleb Prescott, still acting like he’s the heir to the Prescott fortune!” “That idiot cut ties with his family to marry Ms. Forte. He’s nothing but a stay-at-home husband now. How dare he look down on Ryan, a man who actually works for a living? The nerve!” “Ms. Forte is such a great boss! Punishing her spoiled husband for bullying an employee. We should all learn from her example.” “So, any bets on how long Ms. Forte’s pretty little husband can last in there?” “I give him ten minutes before he’s crying and begging for her to pull him out.” The glacial water swallowed me whole, its icy fingers clawing at my skin. My tailored suit, now a dead weight, dragged me down, tangling around my limbs and making it impossible to stay afloat. More than once, I felt my lungs burn as I sank, convinced I was about to drown. And every desperate, pathetic struggle was captured by the drone hovering above, a live feed of my misery. Isabella’s voice crackled from a second drone’s speaker, sharp and imperious. “Caleb, you want me to pull you out? Apologize to Ryan. Then, scream ‘Caleb Prescott is worthless’ three times.” “Otherwise, you can forget about getting back on this boat. You can wait for the sharks to finish you off.” Ryan’s voice, oozing with false concern, followed hers. “Ms. Forte, I’m just a humble assistant. Mr. Prescott comes from a prestigious family. Making him apologize to me… wouldn’t that be too much to ask of him?” “Prestigious? Ha! The Prescotts disowned him. If he wants to be my husband, he plays by my rules,” Isabella’s voice was a whip-crack. “If I tell him to kneel, he doesn’t dare stand!” Her words hit me like a physical blow, plunging my heart into an icy abyss. I had given up everything for her. I’d refused the arranged marriage my family wanted, severed all ties with them, all to be with Isabella. And this was my reward. Her chilling voice cut through the air again. “I warned you not to mess with Ryan. He’s a kind, gentle soul. But you wouldn’t listen, so don’t blame me for teaching you a lesson.” Kind and gentle? My mind flashed back to the day I’d visited her office. Ryan had “accidentally” spilled coffee all over himself, then run to Isabella with tears in his eyes. “It wasn’t Mr. Prescott’s fault,” he’d stammered. “I was just being clumsy.” Isabella’s face had hardened instantly. She wouldn’t listen to a word I said. She just warned me to stop causing trouble and threw me out of her building. That afternoon, Ryan posted a photo of himself in a new, expensive suit. The caption read: It feels so good to be cherished! When I confronted Isabella about it, she tore into me, accusing me of being petty and bored, telling me to get a job if I had so much time on my hands. From then on, any time Ryan looked even slightly upset, Isabella automatically assumed it was my fault. When he “tripped” and fell down a flight of stairs, she was convinced I had pushed him. She took a fruit knife and carved shallow cuts into my arm, one for each of his supposed bruises, forbidding me from treating them. She wanted me to feel what it was like to be hurt. The memory faded, and the saltwater stinging my eyes mixed with tears. I looked up at the drone, my lips moving, forming a single, silent sentence. Isabella, I’m divorcing you. Someone on the yacht must have read my lips and translated for her. Isabella froze for a second. Then I heard Ryan’s oily voice again. “Ms. Forte, maybe we should just pull him out. He’s still a Prescott, after all. What if he gets his family to come after our company?” That was all it took. Isabella’s expression turned to stone. “A disowned reject? He thinks he can threaten me with the Prescott name? Throw the bait in. Let’s see how his precious family helps him now.” 02 The moment she gave the order, crew members hauled over a massive crate of chum and dumped it into the water right where I was struggling. The sea instantly erupted. Swarms of fish descended, their frenzy creating a swirling vortex that sucked me under. I fought against the pull, kicking desperately for the surface, only to be dragged down again and again. The livestream chat was going wild, placing bets on how much longer I could hold on. Someone even claimed they had audio equipment ready, just waiting to capture the moment I screamed that I was worthless. “Sir, just apologize!” Ryan’s voice, a mockery of concern, drifted down. “You wouldn’t want to bring shame upon the Prescott family name, would you?” Isabella’s voice followed, cold and self-righteous. “Ryan, you’re just too good. He’s been bullying you for weeks, taking advantage of his position as my husband. He even scratched the word ‘worthless’ on you with a knife. This ocean needs to wash away the filth from his soul.” I wanted to scream that I’d never done any of those things. But the vortex below me and the dead weight of my suit were a constant, suffocating force. Every time I opened my mouth to shout, the bitter, salty sea rushed in. Ryan’s pathetic sobs echoed from the drone. “Ms. Forte, please don’t blame him. It’s all my fault. I’m just clumsy and I made him angry. It’s okay if he hits me or screams at me, or even forces me to drink from the toilet. I’ll do anything, as long as I can keep working by your side.” “Caleb! You vile, disgusting creature! You made him drink from a toilet?” Isabella’s roar of fury was terrifying. “I was so wrong about you.” She ordered her staff to bring cases of bottled water so Ryan could throw them at me. He feigned reluctance. “Oh, I don’t know… What if I actually hurt him?” “He deserves it,” Isabella spat. “For everything he’s done to you. Throw them. If anything happens, I’ll take full responsibility.” “Ms. Forte, can we play too?” someone shouted from the deck. “Go ahead,” she replied. “Just don’t kill him.” A sick wave of excitement swept through the crowd on the yacht. They started grabbing whatever they could find and hurling it down at me. CRACK. Something sharp hit my forehead. A warm gush of blood streamed into my eyes. A barrage of objects rained down—bottles, ice cubes, pieces of fruit. I dodged what I could, but more of them found their mark. The cuts on my head multiplied, and the water around me began to bloom with red. Through the chaos, I heard a voice speaking to Isabella. “Ms. Forte, he doesn’t look good. This might be going too far.” Isabella scoffed. “Relax. He won’t die. Caleb is the king of drama. This whole pathetic act is just to get your sympathy so I’ll pull him out. He’s a spoiled, vicious brat. If I don’t teach him a harsh lesson today, he’ll only get worse with Ryan. Besides, he’s not an idiot. If he was really in trouble, wouldn’t he be screaming for help? Have you heard him beg for his life even once?” The other voice went quiet. Their conversation, every single heartless word, reached my ears. Isabella’s indifference was a dagger, twisting deep in my chest. Just as my vision started to blur and I felt myself giving up, a fresh surge of adrenaline, born of pure rage, coursed through me. Gritting my teeth, I used the last of my strength to tear off the suffocating suit jacket and shirt.

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In the fifth year of my marriage to Conrad, the girl he was keeping in a hotel was exposed to the world. To protect her from being labeled a “homewrecker,” Conrad came to me with divorce papers. “Kathy’s father was my mentor,” he said. “Before he died, he begged me to take care of her. Now that this has happened, I have to do something.” For years, Kathy had always been Conrad’s priority. In my last life, hearing those words sent me into a spiral. I screamed, I fought, I refused to sign. I spiraled into a deep depression, but when Kathy casually remarked, “Autumn doesn’t really seem sick,” Conrad decided I was faking it—just another manipulative ploy. He framed me for adultery and filed for divorce. Only then did I understand that my years of love could never compete with his debt of gratitude to a dead man. I killed myself. This time, when I opened my eyes, I signed the papers without a moment’s hesitation. 1 “Autumn, once this all blows over, we’ll get remarried, okay?” I was sitting on a stone bench in the villa’s courtyard, lost in thought, when Conrad arrived with Kathy. Just three hours ago, tabloids had published photos of Kathy, branding her as Conrad’s mistress. The internet was tearing her apart, calling her the homewrecker who had destroyed my “perfect” marriage. Conrad’s carefully crafted “devoted husband” image shattered, and his company’s stock began to plummet. In my last life, when he’d brought me those papers, I had ripped out every single rose he’d ever planted for me in that courtyard. I had shrieked at him, demanding to know what was going on with Kathy. He had a million ways to handle the scandal, a million ways to protect his mentor’s daughter. But he chose the one that required sacrificing me. All because he didn’t want to “worsen Kathy’s depression.” What he didn’t know was that while the scandal was raging, I had also been diagnosed with moderate depression. “Autumn.” Conrad’s voice pulled me back to the present. My gaze fell to the divorce agreement on the stone table. He knelt before me, his deep eyes pleading, his warm hand enveloping mine. His voice was a soft, cajoling murmur. “Autumn, please. Just do this for me, can you?” “We’ll announce that our marriage has been over for a while, that we were planning to divorce a year ago but never found the right time.” I remained silent. Behind him, Kathy stood wrapped in his jacket over her white dress, her lips pale, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen. “Autumn, please, will you help me?” she whimpered. “My mother killed herself because of online bullying and depression. I don’t want to end up like her. I’ll get on my knees, I’ll beg you, please…” As she made a show of bending her knees, Conrad shot up, catching her and pulling her into a protective embrace. “What are you doing?” he snapped, his face dark. Kathy choked back a sob, her voice frail. “I… I just wanted to make you feel a little better about this.” Conrad’s patience wore thin. He turned back to me, the earlier tenderness in his eyes completely gone. “Autumn, I didn’t come here to negotiate.” “This is my decision. If you refuse to sign, then don’t blame me when—” I calmly met his gaze, and his threat died on his lips. But I knew what he was going to say. He was going to say: Autumn, you know what I’m capable of. I have a thousand ways to make you sign. If this goes to court, you’ll never win against my lawyers. That’s what he’d said in my last life. Shortly after, I was “found” in a bed with several male models, the evidence of my “infidelity” irrefutable. Overnight, I became a pariah. And he and Kathy became the innocent victims. “I’ll sign,” I said after a long pause. “But you have to promise me one thing.” 2 Conrad glanced at me, then nodded. “Anything.” He handed me the pen. With a steady hand, I signed my name on the divorce papers, my expression unreadable. “Aren’t you going to read the agreement?” he asked, frowning. I offered a small, empty smile. “No need.” He had given me almost everything—the house, the stocks, the assets. A clean break, financially. All for Kathy. All to repay a debt to a ghost. “We’ll go to the city hall tomorrow to finalize it.” “Okay,” I said. Conrad’s hand, holding the signed papers, faltered. A flicker of confusion crossed his face, but in the end, he said nothing more. As they turned to leave, Kathy shot a triumphant, mocking look over her shoulder. Her lips formed two silent words: You lost. And she was right. I had lost. I had lost an entire lifetime. Which is why I had no intention of losing this one. A few minutes later, my phone lit up with a series of texts from Conrad. 【I’m sorry you had to go through this today, Autumn.】 【Once this is over, I’ll throw you the biggest wedding ceremony. We’ll get remarried.】 【I can’t just stand by while Kathy’s depression gets worse. You can understand that, can’t you?】 I read the last message and laughed, a bitter, tearless sound. It was the same as before. In my last life, Conrad had gotten drunk with his friend Evan, trying to figure out how to force me to divorce him. He forgot that his friends were also my friends. Evan had called me, trying to mediate. He told me to be understanding, that Conrad was just a man who valued loyalty and honor. He reminded me how Kathy’s father had taken a chance on a young, ambitious Conrad, investing in him when no one else would. Back then, I had sobbed into the phone. “There are a million other ways to handle this! Why does it have to be divorce?” Evan went silent. He had asked Conrad the same question. Conrad’s answer had been: “Someone has to get hurt. I have to choose her over Autumn. Autumn loves me. She’ll understand.” Because I loved him, I was the one to be sacrificed. What kind of logic was that? Fortunately, this time, I had another chance. 3 When it came to Kathy, Conrad moved with lightning speed. He secured my signature in the afternoon and had a press conference scheduled for that same evening. His assistant called to “invite” me to attend. Before I could even respond, the assistant, clearly sensing my hesitation, relayed Conrad’s message. “Ms. Thorne, Mr. Hamilton believes you should attend. If not for him, then for the sake of your own reputation.” I paused, then let out a short, sharp laugh. He was threatening me again. Using the same old tactics, ready to drag my name through the mud until I bent to his will. I had never understood it. Did Conrad see me as his wife, or his enemy? Fine. He wanted a public clarification of our relationship? I’d be happy to provide one. The press conference was held in the grand ballroom of the city’s most luxurious hotel, packed with the industry’s top journalists. When Kathy, stunning in a silk gown, appeared on Conrad’s arm, the room erupted. Cameras flashed, reporters surged forward. Conrad instinctively shielded Kathy, holding up a hand. “I will answer all of your questions shortly,” he said with a practiced smile. “For now, could you please make way?” His voice was calm and smooth. As he looked up, his eyes met mine. I was surrounded by my own swarm of reporters. For a single, stupid moment, I held my breath, waiting for him to come and rescue me, too. But he didn’t. His gaze slid past me as if I were a stranger. A polite smile still on his face, he took Kathy’s hand and led her onto the stage. A bitter smile touched my own lips. The reporter closest to me, probably an intern, timidly held her microphone out. “Ms. Thorne, is it true? Have you and Mr. Hamilton really divorced?” “Yes,” I said, my smile widening. The intern pushed her glasses up her nose. “But… you’ve known each other since high school. You dated for seven years, married for five. Just last month, he bought you an entire island and named it after you.” My smile didn’t waver, but it no longer reached my eyes. “He owed me.” It was a gift to make up for missing my birthday because he was taking care of a “sick” Kathy. In my last life, I had been so proud of that grand gesture. I later found out the island was Evan’s idea and Conrad’s assistant had picked it out. Conrad didn’t even know where it was. “Do you… do you still love Mr. Hamilton?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. The reporters around me fell silent. On the stage, even Conrad had stopped talking and was looking at me, a slight frown on his face. I met his gaze coolly, then turned back to the young reporter. My lips curved into a bright, genuine smile. “No,” I said. “I don’t.” 4 I didn’t stay for the rest of the conference. After Conrad publicly announced that our marriage had been “over in spirit for a year,” I slipped out. Overnight, I became Conrad Hamilton’s discarded wife. Kathy, on the other hand, was painted as the innocent victim caught in the crossfire. The interview stayed at the top of news feeds for days. Conrad’s carefully chosen words were quoted everywhere: “Autumn and I decided to separate a year ago. We wanted to handle this privately, but now that an innocent person has been dragged into this, we have no choice but to clarify the situation. Ms. Vance is not the reason our marriage ended. She is the only family my late mentor has left, and I feel a duty to look after her. I hope everyone can be rational about this.” His fans rallied, spinning the narrative. I was the one who couldn’t tolerate their “pure, sibling-like bond.” I was the petty, jealous wife who couldn’t appreciate his loyalty and honor. I became the villain of the story. The day we got the final divorce decree, Conrad stopped me outside the city hall. “Don’t pay any attention to what they’re saying online. People will forget about it soon enough.” I let out a soft, humorless laugh. We were both being trashed online, but the public’s judgment was so very different for each of us. “Autumn, the holidays are in a couple of months,” he said. “Next year… can we get remarried?” He started to walk toward me, but I took a deliberate step back. My gaze flickered to the paparazzi hiding behind a nearby car. He noticed them too and stopped. “Conrad,” I said, my voice even. “I’m moving back to Boston.” “You haven’t been back in a long time. That’s a good idea. I’ll come pick you up for the holidays and we can—” “I’m not coming back,” I interrupted calmly. The smile froze on his face. The confusion was back in his eyes. “The day I signed the papers,” I continued, “you said you’d promise me one thing. It’s time to make good on that promise.” He just stared at me, uncomprehending. When I first woke up in this new life, it took me only a few seconds to process the love and hate I felt for him. For a moment, seeing those papers, I had wanted to scream, to rip them up, to fight him one last time. But reason prevailed. I let a small, genuine smile touch my lips. “Conrad, I want you to promise that you will never, ever appear in my life again.”

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After the redemption story ended, my husband grew tired of me. We’d been married for eight years, the kind of couple everyone else pointed to as proof that true love existed. The model pair. But then, the story’s leading lady came home. That’s when he started to drift. I’d catch him staring into the middle distance, lost in a world that didn’t include me. He started coming home late, his clothes carrying the faint, sweet ghost of a perfume I didn’t own. The third time I found them together, their bodies angled toward each other in a way that was more than just conversation, I looked at him, my heart a placid lake on the surface and a maelstrom underneath. “Let’s get a divorce.” As we walked out of the city clerk’s office, the papers signed and filed, he spoke in a low voice, “You can’t go back, you know. I’ll give you a generous settlement… we can still be friends.” “No, thank you,” I said, not looking at him. “This is goodbye.” 1 I came into this world for one reason: to save the beautifully broken man who was destined to be the tragic second lead. My mission was to redeem Ethan Thorne. I arrived in his life long before the story’s true heroine, Claire, ever could. I was there through the brutal boarding school years, a constant presence, the one who smoothed his jagged edges and fought his demons alongside him. When his father, in a drunken rage, took a belt to him, I was the one who threw myself over his bleeding back, shielding him. I was the one who stitched him up in my tiny apartment, my hands shaking but steady. To break through the fortress of paranoia he’d built around his heart, I told him the absolute truth. “I am here for you. My only purpose in this world is you.” When my mission was officially complete, when he was healed and whole, he begged me to stay. On his knees, he pleaded. So I stayed. We got married. The turbulence of his past gave way to the quiet, steady rhythm of domestic life. The endless, mundane, beautiful trivialities of a shared existence. And he started to resent me for it. “You know,” he said one evening, sprawled on the sofa, the words tossed off like a joke, “if I’d known you were a lifer, maybe I wouldn’t have rushed into marriage. Could have played the field a couple more years.” He must have seen the flicker of pain on my face because he immediately sat up, his playful demeanor vanishing. He reached for me, his grip tight, almost desperate. “Ava. That’s not what I meant. You know what you mean to me. You know it.” I didn’t answer. My heart felt like it had been dropped into a vat of acid, the burn of it sharp and suffocating. “Goodnight,” I murmured, pulling away. “I’m a little tired.” I walked into our bedroom, closed the door softly behind me, and burrowed under the covers. Only then, in the silent dark, did I let myself cry. 2 “You’ve got all these gorgeous young things throwing themselves at you. You could have a little fun on the side. I mean, your wife’s not getting any younger, man.” “Don’t talk like that again. Ava… she’s amazing. It’s just…” Ethan was in his study with a friend, their voices low and relaxed, joking the way men do when they think no one is listening. I stood outside the door, a tray of sliced fruit in my hands, my feet cemented to the floor. I had once analyzed Ethan’s psyche with the precision of a surgeon. His childhood was a black hole of cold, oppressive darkness, and it had left him with a voracious appetite for the extreme. He craved the jagged peaks of emotion, not the comfortable plateau of contentment. This was a man who would kneel in a torrential downpour all night just to beg the woman he loved not to leave. This was a man who once scaled the outside of a six-story building to close a deal because the elevator was broken. His entire being was wired for risk, for the thrill of the chase. And the life I had built for us—our peaceful, stable, loving life—was beginning to bore him to death. He was just waiting for the right excuse to shatter the beautiful, fragile thing we had created. 3 I came home from work to find the table set for one. Our housekeeper was plating the salmon. I looked at the empty chair across from me. “Ethan’s not coming home for dinner?” “Mr. Thorne called. He said he has a business dinner. A late one.” I nodded, not saying a word. I ate my meal in silence, the cavernous quiet of the dining room amplifying the sound of my fork against the plate. Later, lying in our king-sized bed, sleep was a distant country I couldn’t reach. The “business dinners” were becoming more frequent. The alien scent of that perfume on his blazers was becoming more pronounced. It was sharp and cloying, an olfactory insult. I watched the numbers on the clock glow in the dark, marking time, each minute an eternity. It felt like a century had passed before I heard the soft beep of the keypad at the front door. I sat up, ready to go out to the living room, to feign sleepiness and ask him how his night was. But then I heard his voice, soft and low. “Claire, this is as far as you should go. You’ve had a bit too much to drink. I’ll have my driver take you home.” And then her voice, laced with a fragile, almost tearful joy. “Ethan… I can’t believe you never deleted my fingerprint.” A pause. A heavy, loaded silence. “I was just trying it… on a whim. I didn’t think it would actually work… I’m sorry.” I slumped against our bedroom door, the wood cold against my back. The words were a physical blow, a tidal wave crashing over me, leaving me breathless and drowning. Silence stretched for a few minutes outside. Then, Ethan spoke again, his tone carefully neutral. “You should go. It’s very late.” “Ethan, please,” Claire’s voice was broken, expertly so. It was a sound engineered for sympathy. “I’m so scared. Every time it gets dark, I just… I remember all of it. The bad things. Can I please just stay here for one night? Just one.” She let out a small, wounded sound. “You used to promise you’d always keep a room for me in your home. Is that… is that still true?” Anyone would have felt a pang of pity hearing her. Especially a man like Ethan, his senses softened by alcohol. He was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was thick. “I’m married, Claire.” It was a standoff. I could feel the tension through the door. Then came the sound of quiet weeping, growing steadily louder. It was a masterful performance. Ethan let out a heavy sigh. “Keep your voice down. You’ll wake Ava… That room… yes, I kept it for you.” “Oh, thank you… thank you, Ethan.” The undisguised happiness in her voice sent a fresh wave of bitterness through me. I remembered when we were designing this house. I’d asked him why the guest room was the exact same size as the master suite. He’d given me a plausible, loving explanation about wanting our parents or our closest friends to be comfortable when they visited. He had lied. So easily. Tears I didn’t know I had left began to slide, hot and silent, down my cheeks. Outside, the man I had saved was delivering the final, devastating blow. “Go on up,” I heard him say. “Ava doesn’t usually get up until eight. I’ll wake you at six. You’ll be gone before she’s even awake. You two won’t run into each other.”

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Ten years of marriage ended with a divorce agreement sliding across a polished mahogany desk. “You’ve been a homemaker for a decade, Grace. You’ve contributed nothing to the company.” My husband, Ethan, tapped a manicured finger next to the signature line. “According to the prenup, you leave with nothing.” He paused, letting the weight of the word settle in the cavernous office. “Out of respect for what we had, I’m giving you this.” He pushed a check toward me. “One hundred thousand dollars. Consider it ten grand for each year of your youth you wasted.” His eyes, the same ones that used to look at me with something like love, were now cold, flat stones. “Don’t even think about coming after the company. Not a single penny.” I, a woman who had already lived and died once, simply smiled and signed my name. It wasn’t until the next day, with that check in my hand, that I made my move. I took the hundred thousand dollars and walked into the headquarters of his greatest rival. The man across from me, Cade Ryder, watched me with an almost predatory amusement. “And why should I help you?” he asked, his voice a low rumble. I leaned forward, my voice barely a whisper. “Because I know every major decision his company will make for the next decade. And because I know about the son he’s been hiding overseas.” 1 “Sign it, Grace.” Ethan’s fingers drummed a bored rhythm on the tabletop. The divorce papers sat between us, a stark white tombstone for our marriage. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him, the lights of the New York skyline glittered like a cold, distant galaxy. My own world had shrunk to a single point of light: the unnervingly bare skin on his ring finger. He’d taken off his wedding band long before he’d decided to tell me. “A hundred thousand dollars,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady as I met his gaze. “That’s all ten years are worth to you?” A humorless smirk twisted his lips. He loosened the top button of his custom-tailored suit, a gesture of casual, arrogant dismissal. “What, you think you’re worth more? A woman who can’t even boil water without setting off the smoke alarm?” The contempt in his voice was a perfect echo of the one I’d heard in my past life. In that life, I had begged. I had cried. He’d had security drag me from the building. I ended up in a cheap rental, where a faulty gas heater ended my story quietly, pathetically, in my sleep. This time, I just wanted to watch him burn. I picked up the pen and signed my name with a flourish. “Grace.” Ethan’s brow furrowed as he looked at my signature. My compliance seemed to unnerve him more than any fight would have. I ignored him. I folded the check, slipped it into my purse, and turned to leave. “Remember this, Ethan,” I said, my hand on the doorknob. “You’re the one who threw me away.” The door clicked shut behind me, followed by the satisfying shatter of a glass hitting the wall. Do you really think I’m the same fool I was before, Ethan? I thought, the sound of my heels sharp and decisive on the marble floor. Your surveillance, your little tests… I’m ready for all of it. The next day, I was on the top floor of Ryder Capital. This was the den of Ethan’s biggest rival, Cade Ryder. The receptionist looked at me like I was a lunatic who had wandered in off the street. I didn’t waste time. I gave her Cade’s name directly. “Tell him Ethan Sterling’s ex-wife is here,” I said. “And I’ve brought him a gift.” Five minutes later, I was looking at the man himself. He was lounging on a leather sofa, legs crossed, his eyes sharp as he assessed me, as if trying to calculate my market value. “Ethan Sterling’s ex-wife?” he said, his voice deep and resonant. I placed the hundred-thousand-dollar check on the coffee table between us. “My opening bid,” I said. His eyes glinted with amusement, like a cat toying with its prey. “And why should I help you?” I leaned forward, closing the distance between us, and spoke each word with chilling clarity. “Because I know every major corporate decision he’ll make for the next ten years. And because I know about the illegitimate son he has stashed away overseas.” Cade’s pupils contracted. He sat up straight, the lazy posture vanishing, replaced by the coiled energy of a predator. “Go on.” I didn’t answer right away. For a second, the memory of my last life threatened to overwhelm me. After I died, my soul had lingered, weightless and invisible. I watched Ethan throw a lavish birthday party for his secret son. I watched him wrap his arm around another woman and call me the biggest mistake of his life. I watched him use the last of my family’s connections to absorb my parents’ company, bankrupting my brother and driving him to jump from his office building. The all-consuming hatred was a fire in my veins. It was the only thing keeping me going. Cade narrowed his eyes, skeptical. “Talk is cheap.” “Next week,” I said, giving him the first taste, “Ethan has a secret meeting with the CEO of Innovatech to discuss an acquisition. The deal will fall apart at the last minute over a data patent dispute.” I leaned back. “Is that enough to verify my value?” Cade’s fingertips tapped a silent rhythm on the arm of the sofa. He was thinking. Three days later, one of his people called me. “Ms. Sterling. You were right.” When we met again, his demeanor was entirely different. “Now,” he said, all business. “Let’s talk about the Southbridge property.” I laid out the entire plan for him. 2 “Ethan’s going to bid on the Southbridge property next week,” I explained. “His ceiling is three hundred million.” Cade raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure?” “He’ll win the bid,” I continued. “But three months from now, a Native American burial ground will be discovered on the site. The project will be shut down indefinitely, and his three hundred million will be locked up.” I let that sink in. “And while his capital is tied up, you’ll execute a hostile takeover of his weakest asset: Horizon Logistics.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Interesting.” He opened a drawer and slid a debit card across the desk. “There’s half a million on this. Consider it your startup capital.” His eyes hardened. “But don’t think you can just take the money and run. Your life is my collateral now.” This was my chance, but it was also a test. I took the card and stood up. “A pleasure doing business with you.” Walking out of the Ryder Capital building, I felt the sun on my skin but no warmth. The road to revenge was just beginning. With Cade’s money, I rented a small apartment. I bought a brand-new laptop and deliberately used it to leak false information, feeding the digital breadcrumbs I knew Ethan would be following. I knew that in one week, Horizon Logistics would be hit with a scandal involving the transport of illegal materials, causing the stock to plummet. This knowledge, this information arbitrage from my past life, was the second part of my gift to Cade. Everything was going according to plan. I was practically counting down the seconds on a stopwatch. The minute before the scandal was set to break, I poured all my capital into shorting the stock. But the stock didn’t crash. Instead, a mysterious influx of cash forced it upward, turning my sure bet into a devastating loss. I stared at the screen, my blood running cold. Of course. You’re even more cunning than I remembered, Ethan. My phone rang. His name flashed on the screen. I took a deep breath and answered. “Grace,” he began, his voice dripping with condescending amusement. “Did you really think you could make a new life for yourself without me?” The line was quiet for a beat. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice your little schemes?” he purred. “I knew something was off with you the week before the divorce. Did you really think that new laptop of yours could hide from the monitoring software I had installed?” Every keystroke, every stock you researched, every search history item was sent directly to my email in real-time. That ‘scandal’ was bait I laid out just for you. And you took it.” A chill washed over me, but I kept my voice even. “I see.” The burning desire for revenge had made me careless, but I wouldn’t make that mistake again. “And Cade Ryder,” Ethan continued, “you think he’s some knight in shining armor? He’s just using you, Grace. You’re a dog he’s siccing on me. When he gets bored, what do you think will happen to you?” I didn’t say a word. I just ended the call. The apartment was deathly quiet. I looked at the crimson numbers on my screen, a testament to my failure, yet my mind was clearer than ever. You think you’re in control, Ethan. But you don’t realize this is exactly what I wanted to happen. Just then, my phone rang again. It was the landlord, his voice sharp and angry. “Ms. Sterling, I’m afraid I can’t rent this apartment to you anymore. I need you to be out by the end of the day.” “What? Why? I signed a year-long lease.” “Mr. Sterling just purchased the entire building. He said he doesn’t want to see you here.” Ice spread through my veins. He was backing me into a corner, cutting off every possible escape. No money, no home. An outcast. My hand shaking, I made the one call I never wanted to make. “Ethan. My things are still at the house. I need to come get them.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “Of course,” he said lightly. “Come back and beg me.” Half an hour later, I was standing at the front door of the house that was once my home. 3 The door was opened by Ethan’s new girl, a college student with a face as fresh as it was smug. She was wearing my silk robe. Her eyes raked over me with a mixture of pity and triumph. Ethan was on the sofa, sipping coffee as if it were any other morning. “You’re back,” he said, glancing up. “Came to your senses?” “Where are my things?” “Oh, that junk,” he said, gesturing with his coffee cup toward a few black trash bags piled by the door. “It’s all right there. Pick it up and get out.” I looked at the bags, filled with the discarded artifacts of my ten-year life, and my heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. The college girl giggled, draping herself over Ethan’s shoulders. “Oh, Ethan, she’s so pathetic. Like a little stray dog you kicked out.” Ethan squeezed her cheek, his eyes full of doting affection. “You’re right, baby.” He stood up and walked over to me, looking down his nose. “Grace, get on your knees and beg me right now. If I’m in a good mood, maybe I’ll give you another chance.” The household staff stood with their heads bowed, but I could hear their suppressed snickers, each one a needle prick against my skin. My dignity was being ground into dust under his expensive shoes. I didn’t kneel. I just looked at him, my expression unreadable, and said each word slowly. “Ethan, you are going to regret this.” He laughed as if I’d told the funniest joke in the world. “I’m waiting.” I bent down and began silently gathering the trash bags. Inside was the scarf I had knitted for him, the shattered frame from our first photo together. I packed them all, my movements methodical, and dragged them out of that house, a place that now felt toxic. Their mocking laughter followed me out the door. I dragged the heavy bags down the street with no destination in mind. Dusk was falling, city lights blinking on one by one, but none of them were for me. My phone buzzed. A text from Cade Ryder. Get to my office. Now. I took a cab to Ryder Capital. The lights in Cade’s office were still on. He tossed a file onto the desk in front of me. “Explain this.” It was the trade record from my failed attempt to short the stock. A loss of over three hundred thousand dollars. “Ethan knew beforehand,” I said, my voice low. “And this is your ‘value’?” Cade’s tone was glacial. “Your information was wrong. Your execution failed. My patience is limited, Grace.” The emotions I’d been suppressing all day threatened to erupt. But I held them back. I lifted my chin and met his gaze directly. “Give me one more chance.” “Why should I?” “Because I want to see Ethan Sterling destroyed even more than you do.” The look in my eyes must have been terrifying, because he stared at me for a long moment. “The Southbridge auction is in three days,” he said finally. “This is your last shot.” His voice dropped, lethal and low. “If you fail again, you know the consequences.” I walked out of Ryder Capital drenched in a cold sweat. I had no way out. I had to win. For the next two days, I locked myself in a cheap motel room, obsessively replaying every detail I could remember about the Southbridge project from my past life. How did Ethan know what I was going to do? Where was the leak? I went over everything, again and again, searching for any inconsistency. Then, the night before the auction, I remembered someone. Ethan’s executive assistant, Linda. In my previous life, after Ethan’s empire fell, Linda was imprisoned for embezzlement. It was she who told the police about many of Ethan’s darkest secrets. Including the fact that she had been the one helping him monitor all of my communications from the very beginning. Of course. My phone. My computer. They had always been under his watch. 4 He was playing God, watching from on high as I, his little clown, performed my clumsy tricks for his amusement. A deep, visceral chill started in my feet and spread through my entire body. He didn’t just want to humiliate me; he wanted to control me completely. He wanted me to understand that I could never, ever escape his grasp. I threw away my phone and laptop. I went to a payphone and called Cade. “The plan is the same,” I told him. “Just have your people there on time.” There was a pause on the other end. “Are you sure?” “I’m sure.” I hung up and stared out at the dark city. The game of cat and mouse is over, Ethan. Now, the real hunt begins.

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I was a professional stay-at-home daughter, a champion of doing absolutely nothing, when a horror game snatched me up and made me a player. I never expected the first level to be my own neighborhood. For me, this wasn’t a death trap. It was a homecoming. 【Welcome to the S-Rank level: Harmony Creek.】 The moment the game started, the audience in the livestream chat was already writing my obituary. An S-Rank level, with a 0.01% survival rate? A rookie like me was dead on arrival. But then I saw a familiar figure with a grocery basket and waved enthusiastically. “Hey, Mrs. Gable! Just back from the market?” I skipped over to play with a little girl who was using a string of bloody intestines as a jump rope. 【LOL, I’ve never seen a newbie this bold. She’s making friends with the monsters.】 【Wait, is she eating a human hand?】 【Hold on… who did she just call ‘Mom’!? That’s the final boss!】 I was leaning against my mom’s arm, gnawing on a spicy pickled chicken foot Mrs. Gable had given me. Huh? Boss? Human hand? Where? 1 【Welcome to the S-Rank level: Harmony Creek.】 【Survive for three days to clear this level.】 【For the next three days, you must embody your assigned role. Be good sons and daughters to your parents.】 【Initial Players: 10. Current Players: 10.】 【We wish you a pleasant game.~】 The system’s voice echoed in my ears, and my mind was a total blank. One second, I was at home playing cards with my grandparents, and the next, I’m a contestant in a real-life horror game? As a professional daughter, my income consisted of strategic allowances from my grandparents’ retirement funds and my parents’ generosity. My primary job was just to be there, providing emotional support and company. It’s not that I never tried to be ambitious. I took the ten thousand dollars my parents gave me as seed money for a startup and came back six months later with twenty thousand dollars in debt. My mom had just sighed, patted my head, and said, “Grace, honey, you staying home is the biggest contribution you can make right now.” And now I’d been drafted into a horror game. My soft, cushy life was over. I was toast. I lay down on the pavement, curled into a ball, and started sobbing. “Mom, Dad, Grandpa, Grandma… I’m a goner. Please remember to water my succulents.” A guy with full sleeve tattoos spat on the ground and grabbed the old security guard by the collar. “What the hell is this? You think some stupid broadcast about a horror game is gonna scare me?” he snarled. “I run with the Breakers. Give me a couple hundred grand for the trouble and I’ll forget this ever happened.” A man in a sharp suit tried to intervene, but he was too late. The security guard, Mr. Henderson, opened his mouth—wider, and wider, and impossibly wider—and bit the tattooed man clean in half. There wasn’t even time for a scream before both halves were swallowed whole. Several people collapsed to the ground in terror. The broadcast was real. The man in the suit, the one who’d tried to stop it, introduced himself as a veteran player. He’d cleared five levels already, he said. You have to clear ten to get back to the real world. Apparently, half of us were rookies. With the tattoo guy gone, that left nine of us. We all had an identity card. The suit’s face was grim. Let’s call him Mark. “Our mission is to play the part we’ve been assigned,” he said, his voice tight. “And survive for three days.” 【Damn, so many newbies on an S-Rank level. The survival rate on this one is only 0.01%.】 【I’ve never seen such a pathetic rookie. She’s literally just rolling around on the ground crying.】 【Hey, didn’t you piss your pants your first time? Wait… what is she doing now?】 I had cried myself out and was slowly getting up, ready to accept my fate, when I finally took a good look around. This eerily familiar neighborhood… wasn’t this my home? Mr. Henderson, the security guard, was already back in his booth, waving cheerfully at me. “Gracie! What are you doing out here? Thought you’d be inside with your grandma.” Stunned, I pulled out my identity card. The role I was supposed to play? It was me. 2 Mark, the self-appointed leader, gathered the rest of us and led us toward the main gate. Mr. Henderson stepped out to check everyone’s identity. “You kids,” he said, his voice raspy as he let us through one by one. “Work is important, but you can’t forget your families. Look at you all… besides little Gracie here, I don’t recognize a single one of your faces.” He beamed at me. “Not like Grace. Always at home with her folks. Such a good girl.” I offered a weak, guilty smile. My status as the neighborhood’s resident homebody was well-known. No one thought it was weird; in fact, most people were a little envious of my parents for having their daughter around all the time. Mr. Henderson slowly flipped through a worn notebook, his gaze landing on a terrified kid with bleached-blond hair. “Name? Parents’ names?” The kid blurted out his real name, then realized his mistake and tried to correct himself, but it was too late. In an instant, Mr. Henderson’s body swelled, stretching and distorting until he was a two-story tall monstrosity. A massive claw shot out and snatched the kid. He was crushed into a pulp before he could even beg for his life. “He’s a liar,” the monster rumbled, the voice echoing through the street. “He doesn’t belong here. He can’t come in.” Blood and viscera rained down on the pavement. A few of the more timid players were already soaked in urine. The remaining players frantically double-checked their identity cards, terrified of suffering the same fate. Strangely, the gruesome scene didn’t frighten me. Instead, a wave of sadness washed over me. Mr. Henderson shrank back to his normal form, acting as if nothing had happened, and continued his check-in. When he got to me, he just waved me through. “Gracie, don’t cause a fuss. Everyone in Harmony Creek knows you.” Once we were all safely inside, a collective sigh of relief went through the group. We followed Mark, running until we were well out of Mr. Henderson’s sight, stopping in a small park. “Okay, it’s clear we can’t make a single mistake,” Mark said, catching his breath. “From now on, we are the people on these cards. You all saw what happens if we slip up.” He paused, then looked at me with suspicion. “Why was he different with you? Why did he praise you?” I held up my identity card innocently. “Maybe because my assigned role is ‘professional daughter’?” He seemed to buy it, nodding slowly. “Alright. I assume no one here has more experience than me, so I’ll take the lead. Call me Mark. You listen to me, and I’ll get you through this.” I was already tuning him out. My stomach was growling. I just wanted to go home and see my mom. Before I could sneak away, a familiar voice called out to me. “Grace, honey! Perfect timing.” It was my neighbor, Mrs. Gable, carrying several grocery bags. Trailing behind her was her little girl, Penny, who was cheerfully using a string of bloody intestines as a jump rope. Mrs. Gable was thrilled to see me. She held out one of her hands. “Here, sweetie, take this basket for me, will you? Saves me a trip to your house.” Our families were close. She was always dropping off extra vegetables or leftovers. “Sure thing!” I chirped, happily taking the basket. It was the perfect excuse to finally go home. The other players, however, didn’t look so happy. A pale, delicate-looking girl, who looked like a strong gust of wind could knock her over, covered her mouth and started to gag. The livestream chat was flying. 【The basket is full of a severed head and a dismembered arm. Is cannibalism part of this level?】 【That player’s got nerves of steel. She just ran right over and took it.】 【Could she be a master player in disguise? A wolf in sheep’s clothing?】 3 From the other players’ perspective, I knew the scene was horrific. Mrs. Gable had only half a head, the missing part swarming with maggots. Her daughter, Penny, had skin covered in angry, scorched patches, and one side of her cherubic face was just bare, grinning bone. Penny ran over, grabbed my hand, and pulled my head down to give me a loud, wet kiss on the cheek. “Gracie! It’s been so long! Come play with us!” The system’s cold, mechanical voice suddenly cut in, making everyone jump. 【New Mission: Play a game with Penny.】 Penny looked up at the other players, her one good eye twinkling innocently. “You guys have to play too.” Mark forced a smile, crouching down to her level. “Sure, kiddo. What game should we play?” Penny clung to my arm, giggling. “I wanna play soccer! Mister, can I borrow your head?” Cold sweat beaded on Mark’s forehead. I gently poked her cheek. She just giggled and snuggled closer. “Just kidding! You’re no fun, mister,” she pouted. “Let’s play Hawk Catches the Chicks! I’ll be the hawk!” The players instantly understood the subtext. A frantic scramble began as everyone tried to be the “mother hen,” the safest position in the game. No one wanted to be the last little chick. Penny stomped her foot, annoyed. “Stop fighting! You,” she said, pointing at the tallest guy in the group. “You’re the mother hen. Everyone else line up behind him, tallest to shortest.” The tall guy looked relieved, having snagged the safest spot without even trying. I ended up at the very back of the line, indignantly clutching the shirt of the person in front of me. This was height discrimination. I still had time for a growth spurt. The game began. Thanks to my fancy footwork and Penny clearly going easy on me, she never even came close to catching me. The other players started to relax. Then, with a fake roar of frustration, Penny lunged forward. But instead of going for the chicks, she grabbed the “mother hen” and tore his arm clean off. She chewed on the bloody limb, nodding thoughtfully. “This hen is too tough. Chewy,” she mumbled. “I’m full now. I don’t want to play anymore.” The tall guy’s eyes were bloodshot with pain and rage. He started screaming, all caution thrown to the wind. “You little bitch! You were supposed to catch the chicks, not me!” My expression went cold. I quickly covered Penny’s ears. So what if they were monsters? I’d known them my whole life. They were more family to me than these strangers I’d just met. I’d choose their side any day. Mrs. Gable appeared in a flash in front of the screaming man. With one swift motion, she reached into his mouth and ripped out his entire tongue. “If you can’t speak nicely,” she hissed, “then you shouldn’t speak at all.” She turned back to the rest of us, her form shifting back to that of a kindly neighbor. “Alright, it’s getting late. Your parents will be looking for you.” As if on cue, a group of adults appeared in the distance, heading our way. The woman leading the charge, walking with fierce determination, was unmistakably my mom. My eyes lit up. I broke from the group and ran towards her like a happy puppy. “Mom! My dearest, most wonderful Mom! I missed you so much!”

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The day I was brought back to the Sterling family, Holly was in the living room playing the grand piano. Seeing me in the doorway, her hands froze. A discordant note hung in the air as tears welled in her eyes. “Mom? Dad?” she whispered, voice trembling. “Are you… throwing me away?” Helen rushed to hug her. “Darling, don’t be silly. We never would.” Richard patted her back. “You’ll always be our daughter.” Ethan shot me a glass-cutting glare. “Holly’s heart has been weak. Don’t upset her.” I stood frozen in the entrance, clutching my suitcase, watching their perfect family scene. Honestly, without that promise, I’d never have come. 1 My biological parents and my biological brother were coddling the cuckoo who’d been in my nest for eighteen years, while I, the actual daughter, was left standing on the doorstep like a pizza delivery girl. “Excuse me,” I said, rapping my knuckles against the ornate doorframe. My voice cut through their drama. “Should I come in? Or do you need me to wait outside until the group hug is over?” Helen finally seemed to remember I existed. A flicker of embarrassment crossed her face. “Nina, darling, come in, come in. Don’t just stand there.” Nina. She got my name wrong. It’s Nora. I suppose after eighteen years of cooing “Holly,” old habits die hard. “It’s Nora,” I corrected calmly, dragging my suitcase across the polished marble floor. The sound echoed in the cavernous hall. Holly lifted her head from her mother’s shoulder, her face a perfect portrait of tear-stained misery. She was beautiful, I had to admit, in a delicate, fragile way. “I’m so sorry, sister,” she sobbed. “It’s all my fault. I’m the one who took your place…” “Don’t worry about it,” I said, finding an empty corner to stash my bag. “You’ve had it for eighteen years. A few more minutes won’t make a difference.” The air in the room went still. Holly’s sobs caught in her throat. She clearly hadn’t expected such bluntness from the poor, long-lost girl. Ethan’s brow furrowed. “Nora, what kind of way is that to talk?” I looked at my so-called brother. Twenty-five years old, CEO of Sterling Industries, known in the business world for his ruthless tactics. Right now, though, he looked less like a corporate shark and more like a mother hen protecting her favorite chick. “I’m just telling the truth.” I sank into a plush velvet sofa. It was softer than the bed I slept on at my foster parents’ house. “She did occupy my place for eighteen years. That’s a fact. Or were you hoping I’d say, ‘Oh, it’s okay, Holly, please, keep it’?” “You—!” Ethan started to rise, but Richard stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Nora’s just returned,” he said, clearing his throat. “This is an adjustment for everyone. Holly, why don’t you go up to your room and rest? Don’t forget to take your medication tonight.” Holly bit her lip, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She gave me one last, wounded look before scurrying up the grand staircase. Her retreating form was the very picture of frail vulnerability. But I saw it. Just for a second, as she turned away, the corner of her mouth curved into a triumphant smirk. Not bad acting. Too bad she was dealing with me. 2 Dinner was a lavish spread of ten dishes and a soup, but everything was bland. Steamed fish, boiled vegetables, clear broth. It was all, I was told, for the sake of Holly’s weak heart. I took a bite of the fish. It tasted like cotton. “Nora,” Helen began, her voice hesitant and careful. “Over there… was life hard for you?” “Over there” was her delicate term for my foster home. I set down my fork. “You already ran a background check, didn’t you?” They must have, after the DNA results came back. They wouldn’t have shown up on my doorstep so quickly otherwise. “We just wanted to hear it from you,” Richard said softly, his voice full of practiced paternal concern. I offered a thin smile. “My foster father was a gambling addict. My foster mother lived for poker nights. I started working at ten to feed myself, and at fifteen, I started paying for their son’s education. But you probably know the specifics better than I do.” Helen’s eyes reddened. “Oh, Nora, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault…” “We’re trying to eat,” Ethan cut in sharply, his tone clipped. “Can we not ruin everyone’s appetite with these stories?” I leveled my gaze at him. “Does my past embarrass you, brother?” “That’s not what I meant.” “Then what did you mean?” “Ah!” Suddenly, Holly clutched her chest, her face turning pale. “My… my heart… it hurts.” Instantly, the family was in motion, a whirlwind of concern orbiting her. “Your pills! Quick!” Helen cried. “Should we go to the hospital?” Richard asked, already reaching for his phone. “I’ll call the family doctor right now!” Ethan declared, leaping from his chair. I just kept eating, my fork never pausing. Her performance was slipping. A real cardiac episode doesn’t leave you with enough breath to shout, nor does it grant you the impeccable timing to strike right as an argument is heating up. The family doctor arrived with impressive speed, confirmed it was just stress-induced palpitations, and prescribed rest. Helen escorted Holly upstairs, with Richard and Ethan trailing behind like a royal guard. The vast dining room fell silent, leaving me alone at the long, polished table. A maid moved to clear the plates. “I’m not finished,” I said, waving her away. I was full, of course, but I was going to sit there and finish my first meal in my real family’s home. Even if I had to do it alone. My phone vibrated in my pocket. A text from my foster mother. Where’s the money, you useless girl? This month’s payment is late. I blocked the number without a second thought. From this day forward, I wasn’t giving a dime to anyone. 3 My room was on the third floor, at the very end of the hall. It was a converted storage closet. When I pushed the door open, I froze. It was tiny, less than two hundred square feet, barely big enough for a single bed, a cheap wardrobe, and a small desk. That was it. The paint was peeling in places, and the single window overlooked the backyard’s garbage disposal area, a faint, sour smell wafting in on the evening breeze. On my way up, I had passed Holly’s room. The door was ajar, and I’d caught a glimpse of a pink canopy bed, a walk-in closet that took up an entire wall, and a private balcony overflowing with flowers. The contrast was staggering. The head housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, stood in the doorway, her expression carefully neutral. “Miss, Mrs. Sterling said to apologize for the accommodations. They will arrange a better room for you in a few days.” I managed a smile. “No need to change it. This is fine. It’s quiet.” She looked like she wanted to say more, but she just gave a tight nod and left, closing the door softly behind her. I opened my suitcase. It held a few worn-out clothes, but mostly books and notebooks. On top of the stack was my acceptance letter and final report card—top ten in the state. A score I had bled for. My foster parents never gave me a cent for tutoring. I taught myself everything. I woke up at 4 a.m. to study and didn’t sleep until well after midnight, spending my weekends waiting tables at a diner to earn enough to live. All that, just to get into Aurelia University, the best in the country. Meanwhile, I’d heard the Sterlings had spent a fortune on tutors for Holly, and she’d only managed to get into a second-rate community college. The irony was bitter. Around ten, I went downstairs for a glass of water and heard voices from the study. “…that Nora child is so cold,” Helen was saying, her voice laced with worry. “I’m worried she and Holly won’t get along.” “Holly’s heart can’t take any stress,” Richard proposed. “Perhaps… Nora could stay in the dorms at the university? It might be for the best.” “I think that’s a good idea,” Ethan immediately agreed. “Holly has been on edge lately. Having Nora in the house could easily trigger her condition.” I stood outside the door, listening to my biological family plot to kick me out. The reason? I might upset the fragile heart of the fake princess. What a joke. I pushed the door open. “No need to debate it. I’ll move out myself.” Three heads snapped in my direction, their expressions a mixture of shock and guilt. “Nora, you misunderstood!” Helen said, flustered. “That’s not what we meant!” “I didn’t misunderstand,” I cut her off. “You’re worried I’ll stress Holly out, so you want me to live on campus. It’s a logical solution. I agree.” Richard frowned. “Nora, are you angry with us?” My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “No. I just think it’s a good proposal. An outsider like me shouldn’t disturb the peace of your perfect family of four.” “What do you mean, an outsider?” Helen cried, aghast. “You’re my daughter! My own flesh and blood!” “Oh, right,” I nodded. “Then why didn’t I hear you suggest, ‘Let’s have Holly move to a dorm so she doesn’t upset Nora’?” Helen was speechless. Ethan’s patience finally snapped. “Nora, can’t you be a little more considerate? Holly’s health is poor. Can’t you just cut her some slack for once?” I looked straight at him. “Ethan, my foster father was a gambling addict. One time, after a huge loss, he held a knife to my throat and tried to force me to take out a loan from a loan shark. I was sick that day, burning up with a fever of 103. Guess who cut me some slack then?” Ethan flinched as if I’d struck him. “No one,” I continued, my voice like ice. “So I learned a valuable lesson. No one in this world owes you anything. Holly’s health is her problem, not mine.” “How can you be so heartless?” Ethan slammed his hand on the polished mahogany desk. “Heartless?” I laughed, a cold, sharp sound that echoed in the quiet room. “Your precious ‘sister’ stole my life for eighteen years, and I’m heartless for stating a simple fact? What about you? Your real daughter comes home, and the first thing you do is figure out how to get rid of her. What does that make you?” The study was utterly silent. I turned to leave. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gone by tomorrow. I wouldn’t want to be an eyesore.” 4 The next morning, I was packing my few belongings when Holly appeared at my door, dressed in a pink silk pajama set. She looked the picture of innocence. “Sister, are you leaving?” “What’s it to you?” I said, not looking up from folding a t-shirt. She stepped inside, her voice a soft, conspiratorial whisper. “You don’t have to pretend to be so strong, you know. It must hurt so much, being rejected by your own parents.” I stopped packing and turned to face her. “I heard them last night,” she went on, a hint of mock sympathy lacing her voice. “Talking about you moving out. You must have been heartbroken. It’s okay, you can cry if you want to. I won’t tell.” “You were eavesdropping.” It wasn’t a question. She smiled sweetly. “I was just passing by. Do you know why they don’t love you, sister?” I played along, intrigued by her audacity. “Why?” “Because I’ve been in this family for eighteen years! My pictures are on every wall, my trophies fill the cabinets. They remember every single one of my birthdays. And you,” she paused for dramatic effect, “you are a blank slate. A stranger.” “And?” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a hiss. “There’s no room for you here. Even if you’re the real one, you’re still just… extra.” I laughed. So, the mask was already coming off. “Holly,” I whispered back, mirroring her tone, “do you know what DNA is?” She blinked, confused. “It’s proof of blood. It doesn’t matter how many years you lived here, or how many of your pictures are on the wall. You will always be the fake. And me,” I pointed a thumb at my chest, “I don’t have to do a single thing to be the real one.” The color drained from her face. “Also,” I said, grabbing my suitcase, “who told you I was moving out? I’m just going to my university to pick something up. This is my house. Why would I leave?” I dragged my suitcase downstairs and ran right into Ethan, who was on his way out for the day. He saw my bag and frowned. “Where are you going?” “Campus.” “I’ll drive you.” “Not necessary.” “I said, I’ll drive you,” he insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument. I shrugged. Fine. The car ride was tense and silent. Just as we were nearing the university, he finally spoke. “About last night… don’t take it to heart.” “Okay.” “Mom and Dad don’t dislike you. It’s just… Holly’s condition really is delicate. They worry.” “Okay.” “Can you stop just saying ‘okay’?” he snapped, his frustration boiling over. I turned to him, my expression unreadable. “What would you like me to say? ‘Oh, it’s fine, Ethan, I completely understand’? Or maybe, ‘I’ll be sure to take extra special care of poor, fragile Holly’?” He rubbed his temples, a gesture of pure exasperation. “Can’t you just be normal?” “What’s normal?” I shot back. “Faking a heart attack every time you don’t get your way? Crying at the drop of a hat? Is that your definition of normal?” “Holly doesn’t fake it!” he insisted, his jaw tight. I could have rolled my eyes, but I kept them fixed on him. “Ethan, are you genuinely stupid, or just pretending to be? Do you really think someone having a cardiac episode can time it perfectly to interrupt an argument and still manage to look tragically beautiful while doing it?” His hands tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. “You don’t know the first thing about Holly.” “You’re right, I don’t,” I said, opening the car door. “But I do know what a real heart condition looks like. My foster mother’s sister had one. When she had an attack, her face turned blue and she couldn’t even speak, let alone weep dramatically.” I slammed the door shut, leaving him sitting there, stewing in the driver’s seat. I saw in the reflection that he didn’t drive away for a long, long time. 5 My trip to campus was to officially register for my classes. The acceptance letter from Aurelia University was my proudest possession. After finishing the paperwork, I stopped by the bank. My account held just over twenty thousand dollars, a mix of savings from years of part-time jobs and royalties from my writing. That was my secret. I was an online author, writing under the pen name “Luna Thirteen.” My genre was gritty, realistic fiction—tearjerkers. My readers often commented on how painfully real my stories felt. They had no idea they were reading chapters of my own life. As I was about to leave, the bank manager hurried over. “Miss Sterling? A new account was just opened for you. It’s a supplementary card from Mr. Richard Sterling.” He handed me a sleek, black credit card. I glanced at the credit limit. It had seven figures. It must be nice to be rich. I pocketed the card but had no intention of using it. When I got back to the Sterling mansion, it was lunchtime. At the dining table, Holly was seated next to Helen, the two of them chatting like best friends. When she saw me, Holly’s face lit up with a saccharine smile. “Sister, you’re back! Come, sit and eat with us.” I took a seat and noticed my place was set at the far end of the table, isolating me from the family cluster. I also noticed that their plates were fine bone china, while mine was plain ceramic. The little details always tell the real story. “Nora,” Helen said suddenly, “Holly’s birthday is next week. We’re planning a large party for her. We’d love for you to be there.” “It’s my birthday next week, too,” I reminded her. The air grew thick with a sudden, awkward silence. Of course. Holly and I were born on the same day, in the same hospital. That’s how the switch happened in the first place. Helen recovered quickly. “Oh! Well… then we’ll celebrate together!” “That’s not necessary,” Holly said, her voice dripping with false magnanimity. “Sister just got back; she’s probably not used to big, formal events. We should have a party just for me. For Sister’s birthday, we can have a quiet celebration, just the family.” Translation: a grand, public birthday party is for me, Holly Sterling, the beloved princess. You, Nora, don’t deserve the spotlight. Richard nodded in agreement. “Holly has a point. Nora has just returned; it’s probably best to keep things low-key for her.” Ethan chimed in. “Besides, Nora doesn’t seem like the type who enjoys that kind of scene.” I put down my fork. “You all are truly something else.” “What’s that, dear?” Helen asked, confused. “Holly and I have the same birthday. You’re going to throw her a lavish party, invite the city’s elite, and publicly declare her the cherished daughter of the Sterling family. And me? I get a ‘quiet celebration at home’.” I stood up, my voice calm but sharp. “You’re sending a message to everyone that the Sterling family only acknowledges one daughter, and that even though I’m the real one, I’m not fit for public display.” “You’re overthinking it, Nora. That’s not what we meant,” Richard began to explain. “That is exactly what you meant,” I interrupted. “But don’t worry. I wouldn’t be caught dead at your stupid party anyway.” I turned and walked upstairs, leaving them in stunned silence. Behind me, I heard the familiar sound of Holly’s theatrical sobs beginning. “It’s all my fault… I won’t have a party… we can celebrate for Sister instead…” followed by a chorus of comforting murmurs. The same old play, the same old actors. 6 That night, Helen knocked on my door. “Nora, may I come in?” I was reading, and didn’t look up. “It’s open.” She entered, carrying a bowl of soup. “I had the kitchen make this for you. Please, have some.” I didn’t take it. “I’m not hungry.” She placed the bowl on my desk and sat on the edge of my bed. “Nora, I know you’re upset with us.” “I’m not.” “Please, just listen to me,” she sighed. “Holly’s poor health is real. She was born with a congenital heart defect. The doctors told us she might not live past twenty.” I finally looked up at her. “That’s why we’ve always… spoiled her. We just wanted her to be happy for the time she has left.” Helen’s eyes were red. “Can’t you understand, Nora?” I looked at her, my gaze unwavering. “So?” “So… could you please just try to be a little more lenient with her?” I laughed, a humorless sound. “Mom, let me ask you a question.” “What is it?” “If I had been born with a congenital heart defect, would you be asking Holly to be lenient with me?” Helen stared at me, dumbfounded. “You wouldn’t,” I answered for her. “Because in your heart, Holly is the daughter you raised for eighteen years. I’m just a stranger who shares your blood.” “That’s not true!” I closed my book. “You should go, Mom. I’m tired.” She looked like she wanted to argue, but in the end, she just picked up the untouched soup and left without another word. Later that night, I heard the sound of a piano from the room next door. It was Holly, practicing. She was playing “Für Elise.” Badly. The next morning at breakfast, Holly looked exhausted. “I was up so late practicing the piano last night, I barely slept a wink.” Helen looked at her with concern. “Don’t push yourself so hard, darling. Your health comes first.” Ethan placed a piece of bacon on her plate. “Eat up. You need your strength.” I sipped my juice, saying nothing. “Sister,” Holly said suddenly, turning to me. “You play the piano too, right?” She knew I had heard her last night. This was a direct challenge. “A little,” I said flatly. “Oh, wonderful!” she clapped her hands together with glee. “Could you teach me? There are a few parts I just can’t get right.” Helen immediately latched on. “Nora, if you have time, you should help your sister.” I put down my glass. “I don’t have time.” The mood at the table soured. Ethan frowned. “What would it hurt to help her for a few minutes?” “It would waste my time,” I said, standing up. “Her basic technique is all wrong. I have no interest in teaching someone from scratch.” “How would you know my technique is wrong?” Holly retorted, offended. I gave her a deadpan look. “In the third bar of ‘Für Elise,’ your fingering is incorrect. In the seventh bar, your rhythm is off. In the eleventh, you failed to control the dynamics. Should I continue?” The color drained from Holly’s face. I had only heard her play it once, through a wall, and had memorized every single one of her mistakes. That’s what you call talent. 7 Three days before the birthday, the house was a flurry of activity. Party planners, florists, and stylists bustled about, all of them focused on Holly. I was invisible, and no one asked me what I wanted or needed. It was peaceful, in a way. That afternoon, Holly came into my room without knocking. She was holding a small, elegantly wrapped box. “Sister, I got you a birthday present!” I didn’t look at it. “I don’t want it.” “Oh, don’t be like that,” she said, perching on my bed. “I truly want us to get along.” “Do you?” “Of course!” She opened the box to reveal a delicate diamond necklace. It was a classic design from a luxury brand, probably worth about fifty thousand dollars. Pocket change for the Sterlings. But her claiming it was her “favorite” was what made it interesting. “I’m giving you my favorite necklace.” “I don’t want it,” I repeated, turning a page in my book. “Sister,” she said, suddenly grabbing my hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong. “I know you hate me. You hate me for taking your place. But it’s not my fault! I’m a victim in all this, too. I wish I had my real parents.” Her eyes began to well up as she spoke. I pulled my hand away. “Who’s the audience for this performance?” Her tears began to fall in earnest. “I’m not performing! Do you have any idea what it’s like? Every time Mom and Dad call me Holly, I wish I was their real daughter. But I’m not! I never will be!” Right on cue, the door creaked open, and Helen appeared. “Holly, darling, why are you crying?” Perfect timing. Holly threw herself into Helen’s arms. “Mom, sister won’t accept my gift! Is it because… because I’m not worthy of giving her one?” Helen shot me a furious glare. “Nora! Holly was being kind to you. How could you treat her this way?” I closed my book and spoke slowly and deliberately. “First, I didn’t ask for a gift. Second, I have the right to refuse it. Third, why she’s crying is none of my business.” “You!” Helen was trembling with rage. “How can you be so cold and heartless!” Cold and heartless. That was the second time I’d heard that today. “Mom,” I said, standing up. “Have you ever stopped to wonder why Holly only ever seems to have these dramatic crying spells when you’re about to walk into the room?” “What are you implying?” “I’m implying she’s putting on a show,” I said, walking towards the door. “She knew what time you’d be coming to my room, so she came here beforehand with her little gift, ready to burst into tears the second you opened the door. Her goal was to make you think I’m bullying her.” Helen shook her head in disbelief. “Holly would never do something like that!” “Believe what you want,” I said, pushing past them. “Excuse me. I need to get out of here.” As I reached the top of the stairs, I glanced back. Holly, still nestled in Helen’s arms, looked over her mother’s shoulder and shot me a triumphant, teary-eyed smile. I smiled back. I’ve seen this cheap little trick a thousand times before. 8 The day before my birthday, a package arrived for me. It was from Aurelia University, with my class schedule and dorm assignment. I had applied for early move-in. I could be out of here next week. Perfect. That evening, relatives started to arrive for Holly’s party the next day. They all swarmed around Holly, cooing over how beautiful and talented she was. No one paid any attention to me in the corner. Until an elderly woman with a stern face approached me. “You must be Nora.” I looked up. It was Richard’s mother, my grandmother. “Grandma,” I said, standing up. She looked me up and down, her eyes critical. “Well, you certainly look like a Sterling.” The phrasing was subtle. I looked like one, but that didn’t mean I was one. “I hear you’ve had a difficult life,” she said. “It was manageable.” “Manageable?” she scoffed. “I heard all about your foster parents. What kind of person can a child from that environment possibly grow up to be?” I looked at her calmly. “You’re right, Grandma. I didn’t turn out to be much.” She blinked, clearly not expecting me to agree with her. “Not like Holly,” I continued, my voice sweet as poison. “Raised like a princess, a master of piano and dance. By the way, which university did she get into again?” The old woman’s face soured. Holly’s acceptance into a third-rate college was a sore spot for the family. “Your granddaughter might not have turned out to be much,” I said, smiling, “but I got lucky. I was accepted into Aurelia University.” I paused. “The number one university in the country. You’ve heard of it, right?” Her face was turning a blotchy red. “You—!” “Grandma, don’t be angry,” Holly said, appearing at the perfect moment to support her wilting grandmother. “Sister didn’t mean it.” “See? Holly is always so considerate,” the old woman said, patting Holly’s hand before shooting me one last withering look and walking away. Holly turned to me, her brow furrowed with concern. “Sister, why did you have to upset Grandma?” “I was just telling the truth.” “But—” “Holly,” I interrupted. “Aren’t you tired?” “What?” “Pretending to be the perfect, obedient girl for eighteen years. Doesn’t it get exhausting?” I leaned in close. “I know what you are.” Her expression flickered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sister.” “It’s better if you don’t,” I said, turning and walking away. 9 On the morning of our birthday, the Sterling mansion was a scene of controlled chaos. Makeup artists and hair stylists buzzed around Holly, transforming her into a princess. I was in my room, packing the last of my things to move into the dorm. Helen knocked and entered. “Nora, aren’t you going to get ready?” “Ready for what?” “For the party tonight.” I looked up at her. “I thought you said I didn’t have to attend.” “Well, not attend, exactly, but…” she stammered, embarrassed. “You could watch from upstairs. And come down for some food if you get hungry.” Ah. So I was to be hidden away, kept out of sight of the guests. “I understand.” Helen looked relieved and turned to leave. “Mom,” I called out. She stopped. “Have you ever thought that if the switch had never happened, I would be the one downstairs in the beautiful dress, surrounded by everyone?” Her body went rigid. “And Holly would be somewhere in a small town, worrying about how to pay for college.” “Nora…” “I’m not trying to steal her party,” I said with a small, sad smile. “I just want you to understand how strange fate can be.” Helen fled from the room as if escaping a fire. At seven p.m., the guests began to arrive. I watched from my third-floor window as luxury cars streamed into the driveway, depositing the wealthiest and most powerful people in the city. Holly, in a custom-made gown, glided through the crowd, accepting accolades like a true queen. Richard gave a speech, calling her the Sterling family’s most beloved treasure. Ethan gifted her a brand-new sports car. Helen presented her with a stunning set of jewels. For Holly, her eighteenth birthday was a fairytale. I remembered my last birthday. I had spent it in the back kitchen of the diner where I worked. The owner, taking pity on me, gave me a day-old cupcake. I pulled out my phone, logged into my “Luna Thirteen” account, and posted a status: It’s my birthday today. Happy birthday to me. Within seconds, the comments poured in. Happy birthday, Luna! Author, when’s the next book coming out? Happy birthday! Happy birthday! We’ll always support you! I smiled. See? Someone remembered my birthday. Even if they didn’t know who I really was. 10 I was scrolling through the comments when my door opened. It was Ethan, holding a small cake with a single candle. “Happy birthday.” I looked at him, surprised. He looked uncomfortable. “Don’t get the wrong idea. Mom sent me.” The cake was tiny. The frosting just said “Happy Birthday,” without even a name. “Thanks,” I said, taking it from him. He lingered in the doorway. “You’re not angry?” “About what?” “About… downstairs.” “That’s Holly’s party. It has nothing to do with me,” I said, opening the cake box. “I don’t care about any of that.” He frowned. “Can’t you just act normal for once?” I looked up at him. “What’s normal? Throwing a tantrum and demanding to be the center of attention? Is that what you want?” He was silent. “Ethan,” I said, meeting his eyes. “Do you know why I worked so hard to get into Aurelia University?” “Why?” “Because I knew I had to rely on myself.” I took a bite of the cake. It was sickeningly sweet. “I don’t need the Sterlings’ charity. I don’t need your pity. And I certainly don’t need you to ‘cut me some slack.’ I have hands, and I have a brain. I can make my own way in this world.” He just stared at me. “So stop looking at me like I’m some pathetic creature you need to feel sorry for,” I said with a small smile. “I, Nora Sterling, am not pitiful.” After a long silence, he finally asked, “Do you hate us?” I shook my head. “Hate requires an emotional connection. We don’t have one.” The words hit him like a physical blow. His face paled, and he turned and left. At the door, he paused. “You know, Nora, you’re too rational. You don’t act like an eighteen-year-old girl.” I looked out the window at the glittering city lights. “I stopped being a girl when I was ten.” The year I turned ten, my foster father brought his gambling buddies home for the first time. When he lost, he tried to shove me towards them, to pour their drinks and entertain them. From that day on, I knew I had to be strong, had to be rational. Because no one was ever going to protect me. After Ethan left, I finished the entire cake by myself. It was so sweet it made my teeth ache. The party music from downstairs didn’t stop until the early hours of the morning. 11 The next day, I moved into my dorm at Aurelia University. The only people home when I left were the maids. Richard and Helen had taken Holly to the hospital, claiming she was suffering from post-party excitement that had stressed her heart. Ethan was at the office. It was better that way. No goodbyes necessary. My dorm was a quad, and I was the first to arrive. After unpacking, I went to the library. It was enormous, a temple of knowledge with millions of books. I found a quiet corner, opened my laptop, and started writing a new story. This time, I decided, it would have a happy ending. Even if I couldn’t have one in real life, I could create one on the page. I wrote until evening, when my phone rang. It was Helen. “Nora, where are you? You’re not at home.” “I moved into my dorm.” “What? Why didn’t you tell us?” “Would it have mattered if I did?” The line went silent. “Just take good care of Holly,” I said. “I’m fine.” I hung up and went back to writing. When I got back to my room, my roommates had arrived. They were three friendly, normal girls. One of them looked at me with a flash of recognition. “Wait, aren’t you that… the Sterling girl?” “Yeah,” I said, knowing what she meant. The story of the long-lost Sterling heiress had made a few headlines. “Then why are you living in a dorm?” another roommate asked, curious. “The house was a little crowded,” I said vaguely. They took the hint and changed the subject. That night, lying in my narrow dorm bed, listening to the sound of their laughter and chatter, I felt a sense of peace I hadn’t felt in a long time. Here, I wasn’t the real daughter or the replacement. I was just Nora, a freshman at Aurelia University.

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