Category: English

I had been working at the company for five years, and I was universally known as the ultimate office doormat. I never missed a department dinner, and I was always on call for overtime. Until today, when the guy sitting next to me went to the restroom, and his phone screen lit up. The latest message was from our department manager, Harrison: “We’re doing layoffs next week. Start with the doormat first.” The replies from my coworkers flooded in immediately. “Good call. Chloe does the most work for the least pay. She’s the easiest to push around.” “Yeah, she has no connections or family background anyway. She won’t make a scene when she’s let go.” My heart squeezed. I took another glance at the group. The group name was: *Office Survival Guide*. I counted the members. 12 people. The entire department was in it. Except for me, the “doormat.” After a long silence, I picked up my phone and sent a text to my dad: “Dad, cancel the partnership with Harrington Enterprises. I’m coming home to take over the family business.” ***

I didn’t lose my temper on the spot. My coworker, Leo, hadn’t locked his computer screen, and his Snapchat window was still open. I took a deep breath and forced myself to calm down. My fingers flew across the keyboard. Using Leo’s account, I compiled the entire chat history and emailed it to my personal address. The whole thing took less than thirty seconds. Humming a tune, Leo walked back from the restroom and picked up his mug. “Hey, Chloe, need me to grab you a coffee from downstairs?” I forced a smile and shook my head. “No, thanks. I’m good.” Once he walked away, I opened the email. The group had been created three years ago. It was during my second year at the company. I scrolled through the messages, line by line. The earliest record was from our manager, Harrison Vance. “How’s the rookie working out?” Someone replied, “Chloe? She’s great. She practically begs to take over our workloads.” “She’s a pushover. Perfect for taking the fall if anything goes wrong.” Harrison replied with a satisfied emoji. As I kept scrolling, it was all work. Whenever someone messed up, they blamed me. Whenever they had tedious work, they dumped it on me. They stole my ideas. They took credit for my achievements. And I, like an absolute idiot, had been working myself to the bone in the web they spun. I had genuinely thought I just wasn’t trying hard enough, which was why I never got promoted. Turns out, I was just their convenient, unpaid slave. The chat logs felt like physical blows to my chest. Three years ago, during the company’s annual reviews. My KPIs were the highest in the entire department. But Harrison told me in the meeting, “Chloe, you’re still new. You need more grooming. Let’s give this opportunity to the seniors first.” I believed him. I even thought he was looking out for me, protecting me from getting arrogant. But in the Snapchat group: Harrison: “We can’t give the $15,000 annual bonus to Chloe.” A coworker asked: “Why? Her performance was the best.” Harrison: “She has no background. Even if we give it to her, she might leave. Let’s give it to Maya instead. Her uncle is an executive at one of our partner firms.” So, the outstanding employee of that year became Maya. With the $15,000 bonus, she treated the entire department to a dinner at a high-end steakhouse. Except me. She said, “Chloe doesn’t really like loud social events. Let’s not bother her.” That night, I was working overtime at the office, revising a proposal they had casually thrown at me. I ordered myself an $8 convenience store sandwich. Two years ago, there was an opening for a supervisor position. I spent three months preparing for it, revising my presentation over a dozen times. Everyone thought the position was mine. In the end, it went to Maya again. Harrison called me into his office. “Chloe, you have great technical skills, but you lack leadership experience.” “Just wait a bit. You’ll get the next one.” I believed him again. But in the chat logs: The night before the presentation, Maya wrote in the group, “Manager, I’m so nervous.” Harrison replied, “Don’t worry. I’ve already talked to the executives.” “Just read Chloe’s report tomorrow. I already told her to send you the final draft.” So that was it. I had hand-delivered my own promotion to someone else. And I had even thanked Harrison for “mentoring” me. My blood ran cold. I kept scrolling. Last Thanksgiving, my mom had to undergo major surgery. I asked for three days off. Harrison only approved one. He said, “The project is at a critical stage. You can leave after you finish this.” I had no choice but to book a red-eye flight, running back and forth between the hospital and the airport. I slept for less than five hours over three days. My mom held my hand from her hospital bed, tears in her eyes, aching for me. But in the Snapchat group: On the day I took leave, Harrison sent out a virtual cash gift. “Guys, holiday is here! Company’s paying, let’s go to the hot spring resort!” The group exploded with cheers. Maya asked, “Didn’t Chloe say her mom is sick?” Harrison replied, “It’s fine, just a minor surgery. Work comes first, she knows her priorities.” They traded my mother’s health for their luxury vacation. I closed the email. My vision went blurry. Five years. I had been nothing but a joke in this company. *** ### Chapter 2

For the next three days, I went to work as if nothing had happened. I made coffee, printed documents, and smiled as I responded to everyone’s requests. “Chloe, can you look over this contract for me?” “Chloe, there’s a bug in this data. Can you double-check it?” “Chloe, grab me an iced Americano from downstairs, will you?” I accepted all of it. “Sure.” “No problem.” “Just a second.” When they looked at me, there was a faint, barely noticeable pity in their eyes. Like they were looking at a lamb about to be slaughtered. Harrison called me into his office once. “Chloe, you’ve been working hard lately. The proposal for the ‘Starlight Project’ is absolutely perfect.” He patted my shoulder, looking extremely pleased. “Once the project launches, I will personally request a bonus for you from the board.” I lowered my head, acting incredibly grateful. “Thank you, Harrison. It’s just my job.” He walked away, satisfied. The moment he turned, I saw Brandon posting in the group chat. “The old fox is dangling carrots again.” “Poor Chloe, she actually bought it.” “She’s literally getting fired next week, and she’s still dreaming.” I expressionlessly closed the Snapchat monitoring tool. It was a plugin I had casually installed on the department’s public router last month when I was helping the IT department test some software. I started digging up the old files. I didn’t have many virtues, but I had an excellent memory. I remembered during my second year, there was a prestigious training program at our European headquarters. My sales performance was the highest in the department back then. Everyone assumed I would get the spot. But in the end, the person who went was Harrison’s cousin, Ethan. Harrison had told me, “Chloe, you’re still young. You have plenty of opportunities. Focus on the project at hand first.” And I believed him. I stayed up for three consecutive nights to clean up the disastrous mess Ethan had left behind. On the final project report, the only name signed was Harrison Vance. Because of that project, he won the Manager of the Year award. I logged into the company’s internal server. I found the project folder from three years ago. Deep inside the folder, there was an encrypted document. Inside were all the original raw data and my operation logs. As well as the email exchange showing how Harrison had ordered me, step by step, to alter the data to cover up his cousin’s massive errors. I zipped the files and sent them to my private email. Then, I remembered another thing. At last year’s annual gala, the company held a raffle. The grand prize was a brand-new Tesla. Before the raffle, a girl from HR secretly told me that my name had been entered five times into the drawing box. She said, “Chloe, you’re so nice. We all hope you win.” But the winner turned out to be Brandon. He was so excited he practically jumped onto the stage, claiming he was the luckiest guy alive. Everyone went to congratulate him. Only I noticed Harrison standing in the corner, giving Brandon a subtle “OK” hand gesture. After the gala, I was responsible for cleaning up the venue. In the hidden compartment of the raffle box, I found a pile of crumpled paper balls. I opened them. Every single one had my name on it. At the time, I thought it was just a mistake. Now, I realized it was all rigged. *** ### Chapter 3

I checked the company’s financial expense reports from last year. Among the gala expenses, there was a $5,000 receipt from a VIP lounge bar. The claimant: Brandon. Reason: Department team-building. But that night, I was alone in the office, working overtime. While they were at the VIP bar, celebrating Brandon’s “lucky win.” Using our department’s team-building budget. I saved the digital copy of that receipt as well. But what broke my heart the most was Lily. She was an intern I had personally trained. When she first arrived, she knew absolutely nothing. I had to teach her how to use even the scanner. I shared all of my experience with her without holding anything back. When she made mistakes, I took the blame. When others tried to bully her, I stood up for her. She always followed me around, calling me “Chloe, Chloe,” like a loyal little puppy. I really thought she was different from the rest of them. The day before yesterday, she came to me with teary eyes. “Chloe, I heard… the company is doing layoffs.” I comforted her, “Don’t worry, you’re doing so well. They wouldn’t lay you off.” She hugged me, almost crying. “Chloe, you’re so good to me. Don’t worry, even if I have to leave, I’ll never forget how much you helped me.” I was so moved at that moment. But just now, I saw her messages in the group. “Manager Vance, can I take over the follow-up for the ‘Starlight Project’? Should I start taking over the files from Chloe now?” Someone replied: “Lily is so proactive!” Harrison replied with a single word. “Approved.” In that exact moment, my heart went completely cold. It turned out her little performance the other day wasn’t because she was afraid of being laid off. She was just worried that I, the “office doormat,” wouldn’t be fired fast enough to clear her path to promotion. Friday afternoon, right before clock-out. Harrison called me into his office. The blinds were drawn, making the room quite dim. He sat in his leather executive chair, a look of rehearsed pity on his face. “Chloe.” He spoke, his voice heavy. “You know how the company’s financial situation has been lately. For our long-term survival, we have to make some difficult decisions.” I looked at him quietly, saying nothing. I just waited for him to finish his act. “You’ve always worked hard, and we appreciate it. But…” He paused, pretending to search for the right words. “We need to optimize our department’s structure. Some roles are being merged. So… look, here is your severance package.” He slid a document toward me. It was the bare minimum required by law. Not a single penny more. He had calculated it perfectly so I couldn’t sue them. “Sign it. You don’t have to come in on Monday.” He said it so casually. As if he were just letting me know the cafeteria menu had changed. Instead of the fact that he was destroying the career of an employee who had worked herself to the bone for him for five years. I picked up the agreement. The paper was thin, yet it felt incredibly heavy. I caught the faint, smug smirk on Harrison’s face. He thought I was still that obedient “doormat” who would take the hit, sign the papers, and leave in tears. I looked up, staring straight into his eyes. Word by word, I said clearly: “I’m not signing this.” *** ### Chapter 4

Harrison’s smirk froze on his face. “What did you say?” “I said, I’m not signing.” I repeated. “And the one who needs to leave isn’t me.” He looked at me as if I had just said the most hilarious joke in the world. “Chloe, have you gone crazy from working too much overtime? You have no connections, no money, no background. How do you think you can fight me?” “With this.” I placed my phone on his desk and played a video. In the video, which was recorded two afternoons ago, Harrison was meeting with the representative of the ‘Starlight Project’ client at a cafe. The representative said, “Manager Vance, we really appreciate the core creativity and data models of this proposal. But we would like to meet the original creator, Miss Chloe Sterling, to have a deeper discussion.” Harrison took a sip of his coffee and said slowly: “That won’t be necessary. Chloe is unwell and has taken an extended medical leave. I will be handling all follow-ups personally.” The representative frowned. Harrison continued, “To be honest, Chloe is already planning to resign. She’s… not very bright, and she isn’t suited for such an important project anyway.” The video ended there. Harrison’s face instantly turned from smug to pale. “You… you tracked me?” “I just happened to be passing by.” I retrieved my phone. “Manager Vance, maliciously defaming an employee and attempting to steal credit for a core company project… I believe this is more than enough to get you fired.” He slammed his hands on the desk and stood up, pointing at me. “How dare you!” *Knock, knock, knock.* The office door was knocked. Harrison barked impatiently, “Who is it? Can’t you see I’m busy?!” The door opened. A middle-aged man in a bespoke designer suit, radiating an incredibly powerful aura, walked in. Behind him were several executives from our parent company. Even the CEO of Harrington Enterprises, Victor Harrington, was trailing behind him, sweating profusely and looking terrified. Harrison froze. “Mr. Sterling! What brings you here?!” The man Harrison called “Mr. Sterling” didn’t even glance at him. He walked right through the crowd and stopped in front of me. Then, in a helpless yet incredibly fond tone, he spoke: “Done playing around?” The entire room fell into a dead silence. Everyone stared in absolute shock. I blinked and gave my dad a sweet, innocent smile.

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Five years after my parents kicked me out of the Bennett family mansion, my ex-boyfriend, Ethan Carter, knocked on the door of my cramped studio apartment. “Your parents are getting old, Chloe. They want you back home.” I was about to say no. But then I thought about my company’s current funding round. To secure the final group of investors, I desperately needed the leverage of being a “Bennett heiress.” So, I agreed. After returning to the Bennett estate, I became exactly what they wanted. Poised, quiet, and no longer acting like an annoying personal housekeeper. The wellness tonics I used to stay up all night brewing for Mom were replaced by expensive jewelry I bought on a whim. The constant nagging for Dad to take his meds turned into empty, polite small talk. Even when Ethan was about to get engaged to Serena, the fake daughter, I just smiled and congratulated them. I thought they would finally be satisfied. But after just one week, Ethan broke down and confronted me. “Chloe, you never used to treat me like this…” Even my parents pleaded with tearful eyes, “Chloe, can’t you just go back to the way you were?” *** **1** Hearing Ethan’s voice outside, I paused for a couple of seconds before finally opening the door. “Can I help you?” I leaned against the doorframe, making no move to let him in. Ethan didn’t seem to mind. His eyes swept over the tiny, cramped space behind me, wrinkling his nose at the smell of instant ramen. He frowned. “Chloe, I’m here to take you home. Your parents are getting older, and their health isn’t what it used to be. They talk about you all the time.” “They want you back. They want us to be a family again.” I didn’t say anything. I just let out a cold laugh. What was there to go back to? Five years ago, I didn’t leave by choice. They threw me out. Five years ago, Serena secretly drank the organic gut-healing wellness broth I had spent four hours brewing for Mom. She had an allergic reaction, and her face broke out in a horrific red rash. My mother was devastated. Furious, she screamed at me: “All you do is obsess over cooking and cleaning! Do you have any dignity as a Bennett? Did I ask you to act like a cheap maid? I can take care of my own health! You’re just trying to poison us!” “I regret ever bringing you back from that middle-of-nowhere town. You’ve made me the laughingstock of my social circle!” My father cast a disgusted look at me and made a cold decision. “We brought her back, we can send her away.” “Get her out of here! Now!” The maids took the hint. They brutally stuffed my belongings into a suitcase and threw it out the door. The latches popped open when it hit the pavement. My clothes spilled out, scattered messily on the ground. Just like my dignity—shattered into a million pieces. I was so terrified back then. Feeling completely helpless, I looked at my boyfriend, Ethan, begging him with my eyes to speak up for me. Our eyes met for a split second. “Fix your own mess,” he said. Then, he coldly looked away, gently lifting the allergic Serena into his arms and rushing her to the hospital. I was left standing there like a fool, picking up my dirty clothes and shoving them back into the broken suitcase. As my mother screamed, “Get out and never come back!” I was officially exiled from the Bennett family. It has been five years. Honestly, I’m doing pretty well now. This cheap apartment was the only place I could afford when they kicked me out. I was actually scheduled to move into a nice condo next week, which is why the place was a messy disaster of half-packed boxes. And the instant ramen? It was just faster than waiting for UberEats. My startup, SIO, was close to wrapping up its Series A funding. The time I saved on cooking was time I could use to polish two more pages of my pitch deck. But then, I thought about the funding… If I had the title of “the Bennett Heiress,” those last few stubborn investors would probably sign the checks without hesitation. My tight grip on the doorknob slowly loosened. Maybe I had been too greedy back then. Why search for love when money is so much better? So, I heard my own voice echo in the hallway: “Fine. I’ll go back with you.” Ethan nodded, completely unsurprised. He probably thought I should be crying tears of gratitude to escape this dump for a mansion. “Give me half an hour. I need to pack.” “No need,” Ethan said, stopping me in my tracks. “This junk… there’s no point in bringing it to the mansion. That laptop looks decent, though. Company-issued? Just bring that.” I didn’t bother explaining. I just nodded silently, slid my laptop into my bag, threw away the ramen, and locked the door. I followed Ethan downstairs. His luxury sports car stood out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood. A familiar figure was leaning against the passenger side. Before I could even get a close look, a sweet, high-pitched voice called out: “Chloe!” It was Serena. **Chapter 2** *** **2** Ethan froze for a second, clearly not expecting Serena to show up. He quickly turned to me to explain, “Chloe, I didn’t ask her to come!” Then he turned and snapped at her, “Serena, didn’t I tell you to stay at the house? Why did you have to…” I knew exactly why Ethan was nervous. Serena and I had always been at each other’s throats. Back then, I thought she had stolen my parents’ love from me. Now I realized you can’t steal something that was never yours to begin with. I cut Ethan off to keep the peace. “It’s fine. Serena was probably just worried about you. It’s late. Let’s get in the car.” With that, I opened the door to the backseat. Ethan instinctively reached out to stop me, giving me a puzzled look. “Aren’t you riding shotgun? I saved it specifically for you this time.” I frowned, not understanding his game. In the past, no matter how much I threw a fit, the shotgun seat always belonged to Serena as long as she was around. “No, thanks. Serena likes the front seat, right? Let her have it.” “It wouldn’t feel right for me to sit there.” Ethan fell silent, but his gaze in the rearview mirror grew increasingly baffled. Serena sat in the passenger seat, stealing glances at me. Seeing me quietly typing away on my laptop in the back, she tried to bait me with a fake, sweet tone. “Chloe, you’re so lucky to be coming back.” “Mom and Dad redecorated a room just for you. They styled it exactly like my old room. Finally, you don’t have to stay in the guest room anymore!” She turned around, giving me a smug, provocative smirk. I knew exactly what reaction she wanted. But I was genuinely too busy to waste energy on her. Without even looking up, I gave a distracted reply, “Oh, really? That’s nice of them.” Serena’s smile faltered. She probably thought the last five years of living in poverty had broken my spirit, making me submissive. Her tone turned even more passive-aggressive as she rattled on. “By the way, Chloe, so much has changed since you left. For my birthday two years ago, Mom built me a beautiful glass greenhouse in the backyard filled with rare orchids. If you want to garden now, you won’t get scolded for making a mess anymore!” “And Dad bought me a gorgeous diamond necklace on his last business trip. Come to think of it, did Dad ever buy you a gift? I can give you a couple of my old ones if you want!” “Oh, and this watch? Ethan got it for me at an auction for my birthday last year…” “Serena, shut up!” Ethan’s sharp voice cut her off before she could finish boasting. My fingers paused on the keyboard, and I raised an eyebrow in surprise. What was this? A lover’s spat right in front of me? Terrified of getting dragged into their drama, I kept my mouth shut and typed even more quietly. An hour later, the car pulled into the driveway of the Bennett estate. The moment we stepped out, my parents rushed down from the porch to greet us. Under the warm lights, their ecstatic smiles looked almost surreal. My mother reached me first, scanning me up and down. “Chloe, you’re finally home! Are you exhausted?” “Look at you, you’ve gotten so thin. But you’re home now, and that’s all that matters!” Even my father, who had never given me a kind look in his life, softened his voice. He offered a warm smile. “You must be hungry. Let’s head inside. We can catch up over dinner.” To be honest, seeing them this welcoming didn’t bring me any joy. I didn’t feel like I had regained my lost family; I was just terrified of saying the wrong thing and setting them off. I replied with cautious politeness, “Thank you. I really appreciate it. I could have grabbed a bite on the way, you really didn’t have to go through the trouble of making dinner. Sorry for causing an inconvenience.” My parents’ smiles froze. They clearly hadn’t expected such a distant, formal response. My mother stammered, “Oh, silly girl. I’m your mother. You don’t need to thank me.” “Exactly,” my father added. “This is your home. It’s just dinner. No need to be so polite.” We walked into the dining room. I didn’t hesitate and headed straight for the seat furthest from the head of the table—my usual spot. When I looked up, I saw my father’s hand frozen in mid-air; he had been gesturing for me to sit right next to him. I gave him a polite, harmless smile. “Thanks, Dad. But I’ll just sit here. I’m used to this spot.” Seeing my refusal, Serena seized the opportunity and slid into the chair next to him. “Dad, if Chloe doesn’t want to, I’ll sit next to you!” My father glanced at Serena with a flicker of annoyance, giving a low grunt in response. The meal was incredibly quiet. Years ago, I would desperately try to find topics to talk about during dinner, trying to bring up things I thought they would find interesting. I would gesture wildly, babbling with a desperate, pleasing smile on my face, begging to be noticed. Back then, all I got was my mother’s disgust: “Learn some manners from Serena. Sit up and eat quietly!” And my father’s scolding: “No talking at the dinner table. When are you going to drop those uncivilized habits from that town?” Now, I had learned my lesson. I ate in absolute silence, barely making a sound as I chewed. My parents kept glancing at me, exchanging hesitant looks. Finally, unable to take the silence, Mom spoke up. “Chloe, your father and I talked it over. Didn’t you always want to work at Bennett Enterprises?” “We’ve arranged everything. You can start tomorrow.” Dad nodded in agreement. “You’ll start as an entry-level employee at one of our subsidiaries to gain some experience. In six months… a year at most, we’ll transfer you to headquarters.” He paused, then added proudly, “And we’ll make sure you get the exact same benefits and allowance as Serena.” They smiled at each other, waiting for me to shower them with gratitude. But I just shook my head slightly and turned them down flat. “No, thank you, Mom, Dad. I’m actually very happy with my current job.” “Have you heard of SIO?” My parents blinked, clearly familiar with the name. Ethan chimed in, trying to guide me. “SIO is a relatively new startup, but it’s got a lot of potential in the tech world.” “Still, Chloe, with your background, you’d probably spend your whole life stuck as a receptionist or an admin assistant there.” “Coming to Bennett Enterprises is a much smarter career move.” Hearing Ethan say that was almost comical. I let out a soft, dry chuckle. “No, you misunderstand.” “I founded SIO. I’m the CEO.” **Chapter 3** *** **3** Ethan looked like he forgot how to breathe, staring at me with wide eyes for several seconds. I didn’t bother throwing any witty comebacks his way. Honestly, the dinner had gotten boring. I stood up and nodded politely to the stunned audience. “Mom, Dad, Serena, Ethan. Enjoy your meal. I’m done, so I’ll head up to rest.” I grabbed my bag and headed straight to the second floor. I was exhausted. I didn’t care about the room Serena said was “newly decorated.” As long as there was a bed, I was fine. After a quick shower, I fell asleep the second my head hit the pillow. The next morning, I walked downstairs. Hearing movement, Mom eagerly hurried from her room toward the kitchen. She had her usual annoyed scowl ready as she began to lecture, “Chloe, how many times do I have to tell you? Stop wasting your time cooking those low-class dishes. I don’t need you to—” Her voice cut off instantly. The kitchen was completely empty. As she stood there confused, I spoke up from behind her. “Don’t worry, Mom. I won’t do that anymore.” I reached into my bag, pulled out a velvet box, and slid it into her hands. “I won this ruby piece at a Sotheby’s auction recently.” “The clarity is pretty decent. Wear it whenever you want.” My mother stared blankly at the box. As her fingers brushed against the cold metal and stones, a chill washed over her. For a split second, she found herself desperately missing the steaming wellness broths I used to bring her. Just then, Dad walked out into the hallway, massaging his temples. He was frowning, muttering to himself, “Another headache… I forgot my pills again. My memory is shot…” He looked up and noticed me standing there. Out of habit, he grumbled defensively, “Did you hear that? Don’t start nagging me. I am your father, show some respect. You used to follow me around babbling in my ear, driving me absolutely insane.” Since he put it that way, I had no intention of arguing. I nodded politely. “I understand. Good morning, Dad. I’m heading to the office now.” I turned and left immediately, not wanting to annoy him. The front door clicked shut, leaving the house completely quiet. But instead of feeling relieved, Dad’s headache worsened, and a heavy, suffocating weight settled in his chest. During lunch, Ethan texted me, asking to grab a bite together. I turned him down. A few minutes later, my phone lit up again. [Serena is coming over for lunch. Do you know any good fine-dining spots nearby?] I blinked. It was bizarre that a wealthy heir like Ethan would ask me for restaurant recommendations. But I kept my cool and forwarded him a few upscale spots. [These are all great. I have corporate accounts there, just put it on my tab.] The chat stayed quiet for a long time. I couldn’t tell if Ethan was shocked or angry. He finally replied with three rapid-fire messages: [Fine] [Fine] [Fine] I didn’t reply. There was no point. I just thought Ethan was being incredibly weird. When we were dating, I clung to him, and he found me annoying. Now, five years after we broke up, I had no idea why he was throwing a tantrum. I quickly scarfed down a sandwich and got back to work. Since the news of my return to the Bennett family had gone public, the final group of investors had started signing on. However, Vance Capital—the biggest and most crucial venture capital firm—still hadn’t made a move. I decided to customize a brand-new pitch deck specifically for them. I was so swamped that I didn’t even have time to go home for dinner. For the next few days, I kept up this exact routine. I never touched the kitchen. I occasionally dropped off expensive little gifts for Mom. I greeted Dad with polite, empty pleasantries and never asked about his health. As for Ethan’s constant messages—updates about taking Serena to an art gallery today, a movie tomorrow, a concert the next day—I barely looked at them, let alone replied. I was finally acting like the quiet, elegant heiress they had always wanted. One evening, due to a last-minute cancellation of a video conference, I arrived home two hours earlier than usual. Seeing them all chatting in the living room, I intended to give a polite nod and head upstairs. But Ethan suddenly called out, “Chloe, Serena and I are getting engaged!” **Chapter 4** *** **4** I paused on the stairs and offered a polite smile. “Oh, really? That’s wonderful news! Congratulations!” “I’ll make sure to send a generous check as an engagement gift. I wish you two a lifetime of happiness.” Ethan’s face instantly darkened. My parents stood up, looking flustered and trying to explain. “Chloe, we know you must be upset.” “But Serena is our daughter too, and she’s loved Ethan since they were kids. Before, we hesitated because of you… but now that you’re so successful on your own, we thought…” They stammered, unable to piece together a coherent, logical excuse. But I knew the truth. Favoritism is human nature. Serena was the adopted daughter, but my parents simply loved her more. Whether it was five years ago or now, they had never approved of me being with Ethan. They had always wanted Serena to marry their dream son-in-law. But it was fine. I had made peace with myself a long time ago. I was back for business, not for love. I let out a soft laugh and reassured them. “Mom, Dad, you really don’t have to explain. I mean it when I say congratulations.” “Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? Your dream is coming true, and I’m happy for Serena too.” I turned to Ethan. “And congratulations to you too, Ethan. The past is in the past. I genuinely wish you both the best.” “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll let you guys get back to planning.” I knew my boundaries. As Ethan’s ex, my presence was awkward enough. Why should I interfere in their family’s wedding planning? Besides, the heir of Vance Capital, Liam Vance, was hosting a charity gala tomorrow night, and he would be there. I needed to finish polishing the pitch deck. Getting his investment was my top priority. The gala hall was spectacular, filled with high society elites in designer gowns and tuxedos. I looked down at my phone at the text from Liam Vance: [The deck is brilliant. I’m highly impressed.] It made me want to scream. Every single time, he was “impressed,” yet he never actually wired the money. What exactly was he waiting for? I spotted Liam standing across the room, surrounded by a crowd of wealthy sycophants. I decided to walk over and get a straight answer. If he was out, I’d just pitch to other VCs. “Mr. Vance, long time no see,” I said, stepping up to him with a polite nod. Liam maintained his signature, smug smile. “Not that long. We had a meeting yesterday, Chloe.” “I know exactly why you’re here. But unlike those old traditionalists, I don’t care about your fancy ‘Bennett Heiress’ title, and I don’t buy into that family-backed startup narrative.” “I’m a straightforward guy. How about this—” Liam snapped his fingers. A waiter instantly appeared with a massive silver tray holding twelve shot glasses of dark, heavy liquor. “Drink all twenty of these.” “Do it, and I’ll double my investment. Twenty billion.” That much hard alcohol could easily land me in the ER. But without a second thought, I reached for the first glass. Before my fingers could touch it, someone grabbed my wrist. It was Ethan. My parents’ voices drifted from behind him, using that same condescending tone I knew all too well—the same tone they used when they first brought me back from that small town. “Chloe, you don’t need to degrade yourself like this.” “If you need money, just ask. Your father and I will help you.” Ethan looked down at me, nodding arrogantly. “Don’t worry, Chloe. I have connections in the VC world.” “One word from me, and your funding is secured.” Honestly, in all my backup plans, begging them for help had never even crossed my mind. When you’re disappointed enough times, you learn to rely only on yourself. I gave Ethan a polite, empty smile and handed his own words back to him. “No, thank you.” “Fix your own mess. I still remember your advice, Ethan.” I wrenched my wrist from his grip. I picked up the first glass and threw it back. The burn hit my throat, making me wince. I set it down and picked up the second. One after another, I drained all twenty of them. By the time I finished the last shot, my lips were pale. I looked up and saw Ethan standing next to me, his eyes bloodshot. Watching me drink like my life didn’t matter, it was as if he had finally realized something he was too blind to see before. His voice shook as he asked, “Chloe…” “You hate your parents, and you hate me, don’t you?”

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I married a mute girl who was nothing but a stand-in. For three years, I treated her with absolute coldness. On the day she died, she left me with only three things: a voice recorder, a diary, and a sign language translator. That was when I finally learned— She was the little girl I rescued when I was ten. She was the savior who pulled me out of the car wreck when I was seventeen. She was the wife who had loved me silently for twenty years. And I was the one who personally drove her to her death. **1** I married Sera Vance on a cloudy day. There was no wedding, no rings. We just signed the papers and took a quick photo at City Hall. She tried her best to smile for the camera, but her lips were stiff. I knew why. The night before, I had told her, “Your profile looks just like Chloe’s. Too bad you’re mute.” During our three years of marriage, she was invisible to me. Tonight, I brought another woman home to spend the night, deliberately letting her see. Sera sat in the darkest corner of the living room, looking like a faded shadow. The other woman’s high heels clicked past her, her perfume suffocatingly strong. “Ethan, your maid is really quiet,” she giggled, leaning into me. That wasn’t a maid. That was my wife. But I just said, “Yeah, she won’t make a sound.” In the middle of the night, I went downstairs for a glass of water. Sera was still sitting there. When she saw me, she slowly raised her hands. Her fingers traced shapes in the air, over and over again. I recognized that gesture: money. “Can you give me a hundred thousand dollars? It’s to save a life,” she signed, her eyes filled with fear. I laughed. I pulled my checkbook from my suit pocket, tore off a page, crouched down, and tossed it onto her lap. “Faking an illness?” I sneered. “A mute like you doesn’t deserve to copy Chloe’s pitiful acts.” Her eyelashes trembled. She looked down at the paper, slowly curling her fingers into a tight fist. Her shoulders were shaking. *Quite an actress,* I thought. I stood up and poured myself a glass of whiskey, watching her through the reflection of the bar mirror. She bent down, picked up the check, and held it up to the light. She stared at it so seriously, as if she could actually cash it. “What do you need the money for?” I asked casually. She signed, *My brother’s surgery.* “What brother? Since when do you have family?” I scoffed. “Or is it some secret lover you’re keeping on the side?” She snapped her head up, her eyes turning red. She shook her head frantically, her signing fast and chaotic: *No! My real brother! He’s in the hospital!* “Enough,” I cut her off. “I’ll have my assistant wire you ten thousand dollars tomorrow. Take it and stop bothering me.” She froze. Slowly lowering her hands, she folded the check into a tiny square and clutched it tightly in her palm. I turned and walked upstairs. At the top of the stairs, I looked back. She was still sitting there, staring at her palm. A single tear fell onto the check, and she quickly wiped it away with her sleeve. How ridiculous. She did it all for money, yet she still acted so aggrieved. Her brother? She had never mentioned him. It was probably just another lie to squeeze cash out of me. A week later, Sera vanished. At first, I didn’t even notice. She was like air—practically invisible. It wasn’t until the third day that our housekeeper asked hesitantly, “Mr. Sterling, is Mrs. Sterling on a business trip? Should I clean her room?” Only then did I realize I hadn’t seen her in a while. On the dining table lay a divorce agreement. The paper was slightly wrinkled, and her signature, “Seraphina Vance,” was shaky and uneven, as if she had barely had the strength to write it. The last stroke dragged out, unfinished. Next to it was a printed note: *I’m sorry for wasting three years of your life.* Just that one sentence. I crumpled the paper and threw it in the trash. Right then, Chloe called. “Ethan, I’m back! I made some soup right after landing. Can I bring it over?” “Sure,” I replied. “Bring enough for tonight. You’re staying over.” **2** Chloe arrived and naturally walked into the master bedroom. Spotting Sera’s lip balm on the vanity, she frowned and tossed it into the trash. “Ethan, we should redecorate this house,” she said. “There are too many traces of that other girl everywhere.” “Do whatever you want,” I murmured, wrapping my arms around her waist. Late at night, Chloe fell asleep. Driven by some strange urge, I walked over to Sera’s room and pushed the door open. It was completely empty. The closet doors were wide open, leaving nothing but bare hangers. The vanity was spotless, not even a single strand of hair left behind. Only the bookshelf remained full—stacked with sign language textbooks, from beginner to advanced, arranged by year. I pulled one out and flipped through it. On the margins, there were neat pencil notes in her elegant handwriting: *”Today I learned how to sign ‘Hello,’ but no one said it to me.”* *”The nurse signed ‘Keep fighting’ to me, and I cried.”* *”If I could speak, what would be the first thing I’d want to say?”* On the very last page, there was a tiny line: *”I want to ask him if he still remembers the little girl by the river.”* The little girl by the river? What nonsense. I shoved the book back, turned off the light, and left. It was better this way. It was time to make room for Chloe anyway. Three months passed with zero news of Sera. Since Chloe and I had made up, we had been living together. On the day she officially moved in, she hired movers to throw out all of Sera’s things. The sofa, the curtains, the tableware—everything was replaced. “Finally, this place feels like our home,” Chloe said, leaning against my shoulder. I nodded, but an inexplicable irritation clawed at my chest. That afternoon, my phone rang with an unknown number. “Hello, is this Mr. Ethan Sterling? This is the Greenfield Care Center.” “What is it?” “Ms. Seraphina Vance’s body has been kept in our morgue for three months past the limit. We need a family member to handle the final arrangements. Regarding the fees—” I interrupted, “Is this a new scam? How much did she pay you to put on this show?” The voice on the other end faltered. “Mr. Sterling, this is not a show. Ms. Vance passed away three months ago, and her body has been unclaimed. We found your number in her emergency contacts. You are listed as her husband.” I laughed. “She really knows who to target. Let me tell you, Seraphina is perfectly fine. I just heard from her yesterday.” I hung up. Sitting in my office, I lit a cigarette. Through the rising smoke, my fingers subconsciously tapped the keyboard. I logged into my online banking to check her authorized card’s transaction history. On the fifth of every month, there was a recurring $10,000 charge to “Greenfield Care Center.” It had gone on for three years, never missing a month. The last payment was made three months ago—exactly when she disappeared. Ten thousand dollars. Exactly the amount I had promised her. I clicked on the payment details. The recipient was indeed Greenfield Care Center. The memo for every single transaction read: *Care fees for Leo Vance.* Leo Vance. The name sounded vaguely familiar. Then I remembered—when we got married, I had glanced at her family registry. She had a younger brother named Leo. At the time, I thought he was just some distant relative and ignored it. I called the care center back, my tone completely different. “I’m Leo Vance’s family. I want to know what’s going on.” The representative was polite. “Mr. Vance has been in a vegetative state since a car accident in 2016. His sister, Ms. Seraphina Vance, has been solely responsible for his expenses and visits. But she hasn’t shown up in three months, and we haven’t been able to reach her.” A car accident in 2016. “We heard he was hit by a car while trying to save a child.” Leo… a vegetative state… Sera paying ten thousand a month… Where did she get that kind of money? I drove home and went straight to the guest room she had occupied for three years—which was now Chloe’s walk-in closet. Chloe wasn’t home. I pushed the door open. The room was packed with her designer clothes and bags. In the corner sat a few cardboard boxes labeled “For Trash.” Those were the last of Sera’s belongings. **3** I opened the first box. It contained her clothes—painfully plain and worn. The sweaters were pilled, and the shirt collars were frayed. Not a single decent outfit. The second box was filled with books. All about sign language and special education. At the bottom of the box was a small metal tin, locked shut. I grabbed a pair of pliers and snapped the lock. Inside was a pink diary with a worn plastic cover and a few faded photographs. I opened it. On the title page, a line of ink was slightly smudged: *To the little hero who saved me — Seraphina, June 2010.* 2010. The year I was ten. My fingers trembled as I turned the pages. *June 12, 2010. Sunny.* *Today by the river, a giant billboard suddenly fell. A boy rushed over and pushed me out of the way. He got hit instead. His arm was bleeding so much, and I was terrified. But he smiled at me and said, “It’s fine, I’m a tough guy.”* *His eyes were so bright. I asked for his name, and he said “Ethan.” Ethan Sterling.* *I took him to the clinic. He winced in pain while the nurse bandaged him up, but he kept saying, “It doesn’t hurt, really.”* *When he left, he told me, “Be careful next time, little girl.”* *I wanted to say thank you, but I was too nervous and couldn’t make a sound. I could only nod frantically.* *June 20, 2010. Cloudy.* *I went back to the river to wait for him, but he didn’t show up. Mom said I was silly, that he’d never remember a passing remark. But I believe he will.* *July 5, 2010. Rainy.* *I saw him on the street today! He was with a group of boys, laughing loudly. I wanted to say hi, but I didn’t dare. I’m such a coward.* The diary entries were sporadic, with only a few pages for each year. Every single one was about “Ethan.” The final entry was dated June 17, 2016—the day of my car crash. The handwriting was messy, written in hurried pencil: *A car crash on Redwood Road. He was hit. When I rushed over to pull him out, a shard of glass sliced deep into my neck.* *It hurt so badly. But I had to save him.* *He was bleeding everywhere. I couldn’t scream, so I could only pull him with all my strength.* *The ambulance arrived. They wouldn’t let me get in because I couldn’t speak.* *Which hospital did they take him to? Is he still alive?* *God, please, let him live.* The diary ended there. The rest of the pages were completely blank. I collapsed onto the floor, my back against the closet. The diary in my hand felt as heavy as lead. So the little girl by the river was her. She had known me since she was ten. She had remembered me all this time. Why did she never say a word? I drove straight to the hospital where Sera had been treated. I used my connections to find Dr. Robert Bennett, who had treated her back then. He was already retired, but I practically dragged him out to meet me. “Seraphina Vance? I remember her,” Dr. Bennett said, adjusting his glasses. “That poor girl broke my heart.” “What happened to her voice?” “It wasn’t congenital. When she was sixteen, she suffered a penetrating neck wound. A shard of glass severed her vocal cords. When she was brought in, she was covered in blood, but she kept frantically signing, asking about another patient’s condition.” “Where did she get injured?” “Redwood Road. On the afternoon of June 17, 2016.” Dr. Bennett remembered it vividly. “That massive pile-up killed three people. The teenager she saved was lucky to survive.” My throat tightened. “The person she saved… was it me?” Dr. Bennett looked at me and sighed. “So it was you. She shielded you with her body. When the glass flew toward you, she pushed you away, taking the blow herself…” “Why didn’t she tell me?” my voice cracked. “Why did no one tell me?” “She wanted to, but she couldn’t speak.” **4** Dr. Bennett pulled an old medical record from his drawer. “Besides, there was another girl who stayed by your bedside the whole time, claiming she was your savior. We assumed they were friends.” It was Chloe. She had stolen Sera’s credit. “And Seraphina didn’t deny it?” “How could she? She couldn’t speak, and her hands shook too violently to write.” Dr. Bennett let out a bitter laugh. “Plus, that Chloe girl told us Seraphina was just a random passerby who lent a hand. So we believed her.” I took the file and flipped to the injury report: *Penetrating neck trauma, severed vocal cords. Multiple glass shards remaining. Surgery recommended, but patient’s family refused to sign the consent form.* *Patient herself vehemently insisted on prioritizing the treatment of Ethan Sterling (the other victim).* *Note: Patient cannot speak, communicates via writing. Repeatedly inquires about Ethan Sterling’s condition and begs us not to inform the Sterling family of her injuries to avoid placing a financial burden on them.* My eyes welled with hot tears. That foolish girl. She was hurt so badly, yet she was still worried about being a burden to me. “Did her voice… never recover?” Dr. Bennett shook his head. “She missed the critical window for surgery. By the time she wanted to do it later, she had no money.” “No money?” I froze. “My family was supposed to cover all the medical expenses back then—” “She refused it,” Dr. Bennett said, looking at me. “Your father did go to see her and offered financial compensation. She turned it down. The only thing she asked for was a photo of your recovery.” I couldn’t stand anymore. I collapsed into a chair, my head spinning. So all these years, she had remained mute because of me. The car accident—she was the one who saved me. And Chloe… had lied to me for seven years. What have I done? Greenfield Care Center was located in the suburbs, a place so quiet it felt almost desolate. I registered at the front desk. When the nurse heard I was Leo Vance’s family, her expression turned complicated. “Ms. Vance hasn’t been here in three months,” she said. “She used to come every single Sunday, without fail.” “Take me to him.” The room was at the end of the second floor. I pushed the door open to see a thin young man lying on the bed, hooked up to various tubes. He looked to be in his early twenties, and his facial features closely resembled Sera’s. He lay there with his eyes closed, as if sleeping peacefully. The nurse said softly, “Leo Vance has been in a vegetative state for years. In 2016, he was hit by a car while pushing a child out of the way.” 2016 again. Saving someone again. Did this brother and sister never learn to put themselves first? “Did his sister… come often?” “Every Sunday.” The nurse retrieved a small metal tin from a drawer. “This is what Ms. Vance left behind. She said if she ever couldn’t make it, to give it to whoever came to see Leo.” I opened the tin. Inside was an old voice recorder and a stack of small notes. The notes were filled with handwritten messages, some already faded: *”Leo, today I learned how to cook your favorite braised pork.”* *”Leo, Ethan smiled today, though it wasn’t because of me.”* *”Leo, you have to wake up quickly. I might not be able to… accompany you for much longer.”* The recorder was low on battery. I asked the nurse for a charger and plugged it in. Once it powered up, I pressed play. After some static, her soft, strained breathing filled the room. The first recording, dated three years ago: *”Leo, I got married today. He’s a wonderful man, even though he doesn’t love me yet. But that’s okay. Just being able to see him every day makes me so happy.”* *”Your surgery is still short on funds, but he gave me a credit card. Leo, you’re going to be saved.”* *”When you get better, I’ll take you to meet him. I know he’ll like you.”* The second recording, two years ago: *”Leo, I’m sorry. I’m really sad today.”* *”He brought another woman home and made me sleep in the guest room. That woman wore my slippers and used my cup.”* *”But I have no right to be sad. This marriage was stolen by me in the first place.”* *”As long as you get better, I can endure anything.”* The third recording, one year ago: *”Leo, I’m sick. My throat hurts terribly, and I’ve been coughing up blood.”* *”The doctor says it’s late-stage cancer.”* *”The surgery costs a fortune, and there’s only a thirty percent survival rate. If it fails, I’ll lose my voice forever.”* *”But I’ve already lost my voice anyway. So, I won’t do the treatment.”* *”I’ll save the money for your awakening surgery. Leo, you have to live well for both of us.”* The fourth recording, six months ago: *”Ethan asked me today why I’m always acting mute. He said the way I try to play the victim makes him sick.”* *”Leo, I’m not acting. I really… can’t make a sound.”* *”If I could speak, I would tell him: I am the little girl by the river, and I am the one who saved you on Redwood Road.”* *”But I can’t. Maybe it’s for the best. Some secrets are meant to be taken to the grave.”* **5** The final recording, three months ago: *”Leo, this is my last recording.”* *”I’ve finally gathered enough for your surgery. Two hundred thousand dollars, exactly.”* *”Ethan refused to give me the money, but that’s okay. I sold everything I could—my wedding ring, grandmother’s emerald necklace, and the gold chain my mother left me.”* *”I was still short by two thousand. So I went to sell my plasma. The nurse said I was too thin and didn’t want to take it, but I begged her until she drew a full bottle.”* *”I feel so dizzy, but when I think about your surgery, the dizziness fades.”* *”Leo, I’m sorry. I can only walk with you this far.”* *”If the surgery is a success and you wake up… please don’t hate me for leaving you.”* *”And please don’t hate Ethan. He’s the boy I’ve loved since I was ten. I’ve loved him for twenty whole years.”* *”Loving someone is never a crime.”* *”The only mistake was mine, for wishing he could love me back.”* The recording ended with muffled, suppressed crying. Then, with what seemed like all her remaining strength, she uttered a few broken, agonizing syllables: *”E… th… an…”* *”I… love…”* *”you…”* The audio cut out. I sat in the hospital room, clutching the recorder. My tears splashed onto my hands, burning hot. The nurse stood by the door and whispered, “The last day Ms. Vance came, she couldn’t even walk. The orderly had to push her up in a wheelchair.” “She sat here for the entire afternoon, holding her brother’s hand.” “When she left, she signed: ‘Leo, when I become a star, I will always be watching over you.’” I buried my face in my hands, my shoulders shaking violently. Seraphina, come back. I’ll give everything back to you. Please, come back. When I stormed back home, Chloe was trying on a newly bought dress. “Ethan, look at this—” She froze when she saw the expression on my face. “What’s wrong?” “Redwood Road, 2016,” I said, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “Who was the person who actually saved me?” Chloe’s face instantly drained of color. “O-of course it was me. Why are you suddenly asking this…” “Seraphina’s vocal cords were severed by flying glass during that crash.” I glared at her. “She pushed me out of the way, taking the blow to save my life. And you—you stole her credit, lying to me for seven years!” Chloe took a step back, bumping into the vanity. Bottles and jars shattered all over the floor. “I didn’t mean to…” she sobbed, her voice trembling. “You were unconscious, and I just happened to pass by. When the nurse asked if I was the one who saved you, I… I had a moment of weakness…” “A moment of weakness?” I let out a dry laugh, tears streaming down my face. “You stole the fact that she saved my life! You stole seven years of my gratitude! You stole the love that belonged to her! And you’re telling me it was just a moment of weakness?!” “But Seraphina herself never said anything!” Chloe screamed suddenly. “If she wanted to tell you, she would have! She chose to stay silent!” “How could she tell me?!” I grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her. “Her vocal cords were severed! Her hands shook too much to write! And you threatened her, didn’t you? Tell me you threatened her!” Chloe’s pupils contracted in terror. In that instant, I understood everything. “What did you say to her?” my voice was cold as ice. “What did you tell her?” “I… I said if you knew the truth, you’d live with guilt for the rest of your life,” Chloe wept. “I said you had just recovered from a severe injury and couldn’t handle the shock. I said… I said if your life was miserable because of her, she would suffer even more.” “And she believed you.” I let go of her, stumbling back. “She actually believed your toxic lies.” That was why Seraphina stayed silent. That was why she watched me shower Chloe with gratitude, watch me pamper Chloe, and watch me give all the tenderness that belonged to her to another woman. She didn’t even have the courage to tell me who she was. Because she was terrified of making me feel guilty. Because that foolish girl would rather swallow all her pain than cause me a single moment of discomfort. “Get out,” I told Chloe. “Ethan…” “Pack your trash and get out of my house. Never let me see your face again.”

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On Christmas Eve, my husband’s secretary, Chloe Bennett, updated her Instagram. “Ugh, what kind of company makes you travel on business on Christmas Eve? Every single hotel in town is fully booked! Thank god my handsome CEO is here to spend Christmas with me…” Below the caption was a sultry selfie of her lying on a bed, wearing a plush white bathrobe. Right next to her lay a man. The photo captured only his back—a toned, sun-kissed back that looked incredibly attractive. In the comments, tons of netizens swooned over how sexy and masculine the man was. Chloe, of course, couldn’t help but show off. She replied with a blushing emoji: *“So strong, so wild… my legs are still shaking.”* I let out a cold laugh. Opening my CashApp, I sent her a transfer of $66.60 with the note: *“Enjoy the room.”* A few minutes later, Chloe called. She was sobbing hysterically, claiming she had taken the photo of Julian Sterling by accident and had absolutely no intention of provoking me. Before I could say a word, Julian snatched the phone from her. His voice was dripping with impatience. “Daisy Vance, Chloe just started working as my secretary. Why do you have to be so passive-aggressive? Can you stop being so paranoid for one single day?” Then, he turned around and spoke to Chloe in a voice so tender it made my skin crawl. “Chloe, don’t take it to heart. She’s just crazy.” Hearing the soft, sweet giggles on the other end, I hung up. Julian and I had dated for three years and had been married for four. The dreaded seven-year itch had finally arrived, and we weren’t going to survive it. *** **1** At 2:00 AM, Julian finally came home. The moment he pushed the door open, our eyes met. Neither of us spoke. Julian’s gaze drifted to the table littered with takeout boxes. He marched over, snatched the leftover pizza and cheesecake right out of my hands, and threw them into the trash. “Eat, eat, eat! That’s all you know how to do! Keep this up and you’ll turn into a land whale!” The last time he had talked to me like this was a year ago, right after Chloe returned from studying abroad. Back then, he showered her with compliments in front of me, only to turn around and mock me for being “as bloated as a cow.” Since that day, I had eaten nothing but bland meal-prep salads for an entire year. Seeing that I remained silent, he tossed a package of high-end, tight shapewear onto my lap. “Chloe bought this for you. See how thoughtful she is? She said if you still don’t accept her apology, she’ll delete her Instagram account.” I looked at the tag on the shapewear. It read in bold letters: *“Instantly flattens fat and sculpts curves.”* I smiled. Chloe really knew exactly how to push my buttons. Julian saw my smile and assumed my anger had faded. He handed me my phone. “Since Chloe is being so sweet, aren’t you going to thank her?” I ignored him and kept my eyes on the TV. “Daisy! Are you fucking deaf?” He grabbed my arm and yanked me up. Taken off guard, I lost my balance and crashed hard onto the floor. My lower back slammed right against the sharp corner of the coffee table. A sharp, blinding pain shot through my body. The injury on my waist was a scar from seven years ago. During a terrible house fire, I had dragged Julian out of the burning building, only to be crushed by a collapsing wooden beam. It was a chronic injury that never fully healed. I curled into a ball on the floor, clutching my waist, shaking from the agony. Julian looked down at me, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. “I’ll get the pain-relief cream.” I looked up at his retreating back. I wanted to tell him to stop, but the words caught in my throat. The pregnancy test results had been sitting in my drawer for three days now. When the results came out, the doctor had specifically warned me to stay stress-free in the early stages of pregnancy. She also told me to be extremely careful with medications—especially topical pain-relief creams. I had originally planned to tell him on Christmas Day that we were going to have a baby. But now, it seemed entirely unnecessary. Julian rummaged through the medicine cabinet frantically, but stopped after a few seconds. “Where is the cream? Did we…” He stopped mid-sentence. I caught the fleeting expression on his face—a mixture of guilt and sheer panic. Suddenly, I remembered Chloe’s reply to a comment on her Instagram post a few days ago: *“He’s such a caring guy. I accidentally burned my hand while cooking, and he immediately brought over his favorite imported scar gel to apply it for me.”* If this had happened in the past, I would have demanded to know if he had given my expensive prescription cream to Chloe. But this time, I didn’t even bother to expose him. I let out a tired laugh. “Julian, stop looking. I’ll go buy some myself.” Julian’s face hardened. “How are you going to go out looking like that? Just stay home. I’ll go—” Before he could finish, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and answered it instantly. “Chloe, what’s wrong?” Chloe’s whimpering voice echoed through the quiet room. “Julian… I was feeling down, so I went to a bar for a drink. Some strange men are hitting on me and trying to force me to leave with them. They said… they said if I don’t go with them, they’ll hurt me…” “Julian, can you come save me? Please… I’m so scared…” Julian slammed the first-aid kit onto the couch and stood up abruptly. “Chloe, don’t be scared. I’m on my way.” “Julian, thank you… but maybe you shouldn’t come. If Daisy finds out, she’ll be furious. I’ll… I’ll find a way to handle it myself!” “She has no right to be angry.” With that, he cast a cold, dismissive glance at me as I lay curled on the floor. After hanging up, Julian rushed toward the front door. “Julian, wait,” I called out. “Daisy, can you stop throwing tantrums for once in your life?” he snapped, not even turning around. “You left your phone and wallet. How are you going to save her without them?” I pointed at the couch. His phone and wallet were lying quietly right next to the discarded first-aid kit. Julian stared at them, stunned for a brief second. “I’ll go get Chloe first. I’ll take you to the hospital when I get back.” Then, he slammed the door and left. *** **2** Morning came. Julian never returned. The pain in my abdomen grew so excruciating that I couldn’t bear it any longer. I finally called an ambulance. While waiting for the paramedics, I scrolled through Instagram. Sure enough, Chloe’s latest post popped up. She posted a long paragraph about how she was harassed by thugs at a bar, and how Julian had arrived just in time, getting into a fistfight to protect her. She wrote about how deeply moved she was. Beneath the post was a photo of Chloe, teary-eyed, gently dabbing ointment onto a bruise on Julian’s cheek. The caption read: *“Love can conquer all, and face all.”* One comment read: *“How can you resist a man that handsome right in front of you? Girl, you must be made of stone!”* Another added: *“Right? If he were in front of me, I’d be healing his wounds too, just… in a very different way… 😉”* Chloe replied with a smug emoji: *“Why the rush? He’ll be mine sooner or later anyway!”* Then, another user posted a video in the comment section: *“Omg, what a coincidence! I ran into you guys too!”* In the video, Chloe was crying like a damsel in distress while Julian yelled at the thugs, sweeping Chloe into his arms and carrying her out of the bar. The way he looked at her was filled with nothing but tenderness and fierce protection. My mind suddenly drifted back to two weeks ago. Julian had invited a group of business partners to a VIP lounge at a high-end club. When I arrived, the guests hadn’t shown up yet. Julian texted me saying something urgent had come up at the office and he’d be a bit late. Not long after, a man walked in. It was Carter Hayes, Julian’s main business partner. Julian often talked about him, praising him as a young genius who had secured a massive round of funding and was about to take his company public. Carter eyed me up and down, then slid onto the couch, sitting uncomfortably close to me. “Hey, beautiful. You’re even hotter than Julian described.” I gasped, but before I could speak, he clamped a hand over my mouth. “Julian told me you have an amazing body. He said you’re incredibly submissive—that no matter what we do to you, you won’t fight back.” Carter yanked my hair, forcing my head back against his shoulder. He whispered in my ear, “Are you really that obedient, sweetheart? No matter how rough I get?” I fought back frantically, trying to tear myself away from him. My resistance seemed to anger him. He bit my neck viciously. When I refused to scream, he took his freshly lit cigar and pressed the burning end right against my chest. The searing pain made me scream. I shoved him away with all my strength and ran out of the room. As I bolted into the lobby, I ran straight into Julian and Chloe. Julian didn’t even look at me. He kept his arm wrapped around Chloe’s waist and walked right past me. Chloe turned her head, flashing me a triumphant smirk. Around her neck was a stunning, heart-shaped yellow diamond necklace. I recognized it instantly. Julian had bid on that exact necklace at a Sotheby’s auction. He had told me he bought it as a Christmas gift for me. Later, he told me he changed his mind because I was “too out of shape” to pull it off. Julian didn’t come home until midnight, smelling strongly of whiskey. “Daisy, what the hell was wrong with you today? You ran off before the guests even arrived! Who do you think you are, throwing a princess tantrum like that?” In response to his shouting, I unzipped my dress, exposing the dark bite mark on my neck and the raw, blistered cigar burn on my chest. He gasped, stepping closer to inspect the wounds. “Oh my god, honey… does it hurt? How did this happen?” I told him exactly what Carter Hayes had done to me. Julian let out a harsh, mocking scoff. “Daisy, do you think I’m stupid?” “If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable! Why would Carter ever look at you? Did you throw yourself at him to get his attention?” He grabbed my hair, dragging me to the full-length mirror in the walk-in closet. The woman in the mirror had messy hair, a pale face, and eyes swollen red from crying. “Look at yourself, Daisy. Who would ever want you?” “Look at the fat on your stomach. It’s disgusting.” With that, he walked back to the bedroom. I knelt on the cold floor of the closet and cried until dawn. The next day, Julian bought me a Cartier diamond necklace to “apologize.” I thought I had buried that memory deep down, but seeing the video of Julian saving Chloe today brought back all the disgust and humiliation. The ambulance arrived, and the paramedics lifted me onto a stretcher. While lying in the ER with an IV drip in my arm, I opened Snapchat and sent a message to my best friend, Mia Collins. *“Mia, I’m divorcing him.”* *** **3** After getting discharged, I rested at home for a few days. I thought I would finally get some peace, until my phone rang repeatedly, waking me up. I answered it weakly. Julian’s cold voice came through the speaker. “I’m picking you up for dinner.” Before I could reply, he hung up. Wanting to keep things civil before the divorce, I got dressed and went downstairs. Seeing my pale, exhausted face, Julian suddenly seemed to remember the pain cream he had promised to get. “The restaurant is near the medical center. Let’s stop by and get you checked out first.” “No need. It’s been days. The pain is gone.” He let out a sigh of relief. “I figured. It’s been seven years, after all. Any pain you feel now is probably just psychological.” I smiled bitterly. “Yeah. Seven years.” Seven years ago, I used every ounce of my strength to push Julian out of the collapsing house, leaving myself trapped in the raging fire. I suffered three broken ribs and a fractured tailbone. To this day, even a minor bump caused agonizing pain. I had never told him about the chronic pain because I didn’t want him to feel guilty. But he chose to believe I was just “delusional.” But then again, we had been together for seven years. If he had loved me even a little, how could he not know how much I was hurting? Julian kept talking as he drove, explaining what happened the other night. “After I got Chloe out of the bar, she was traumatized. I stayed with her for a couple of days to make sure she was safe. Don’t go making up stories in your head.” I stared out the window blankly. “I’m not making up stories. She’s your secretary. It’s only right that you take care of her.” Clearly annoyed by my flat tone, Julian slammed on the brakes. The sudden jolt knocked my AirPods onto the floor. I leaned down to search for them under the passenger seat. Instead of my AirPods, my hand brushed against a pair of sheer, lacy G-strings. If this had been two weeks ago, I would have held up the underwear and screamed at him. But now, I simply smiled, picked them up, and tossed them onto the backseat. Julian’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Oh, that… Chloe probably left them there after her swimming lesson. It was an accident.” I nodded. “Okay.” And went back to staring out the window. At the restaurant, a young couple at the next table kept staring at us. Realizing I had noticed them, the girl walked over to our table. “Excuse me, are you the billionaire CEO from Chloe Bennett’s Instagram? Oh my gosh, you are even more handsome in person!” Julian looked up at her. “Can I help you?” The girl asked eagerly, “Are you and Chloe actually dating?” Julian glanced at me as I quietly chewed my food. He smiled at the girl. “Yes, Chloe and I are dating.” I looked up and smiled politely at the girl, even as a sharp, sudden cramp bloomed in my lower abdomen. The girl looked at me, confused. “Then… who is she?” “Our housekeeper,” Julian replied smoothly. Before leaving, the girl squealed at Julian, “I’m such a fan of you two! You guys have to get married!” Julian watched them leave, then placed a scoop of ice cream on my plate. “Don’t take it personally, Daisy. The ‘Billionaire CEO falls for me’ series Chloe is posting is doing wonders for our company’s PR. She’s so happy right now. If I ruin her fantasy in public, she’ll be devastated.” “I don’t care,” I said quietly. “You don’t need to explain.” The sharp cramp in my stomach intensified. My face went completely pale, and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead. On the drive back, Julian’s phone rang again. It was Chloe. “Julian… can you come pick me up from the indoor pool? The cover-up I brought is a bit too revealing, and I don’t feel safe taking an Uber. Please? Pretty please…” Unable to resist her whining, Julian let out a fond chuckle. “Alright, alright. I’m on my way.” Julian hung up and grabbed my hand, kissing it. “Let’s go pick up Chloe together, honey. That way, you won’t have to worry.” “Julian, you can’t go,” I gasped, clutching my stomach. “My stomach hurts so bad. Take me to the hospital. Now!” His face darkened instantly. “Daisy, can you stop being so dramatic? I offered to bring you along so you wouldn’t get jealous, and now you’re playing the sick card?” “I am not playing! Take me to the hospital! I’m not joking, Julian, it hurts so bad!” “Stop acting. You’re terrible at it.” Suddenly, I felt a warm, thick rush of liquid flowing between my thighs. “Julian… I’m pregnant. My stomach is in agony, and I think I’m having a miscarriage! We need to go to the hospital right now!” Julian didn’t believe a word. He looked at me with pure disgust. “You usually play games, but now you’re lying about being pregnant?” “We’ve been married for four years without protection. You never got pregnant once. Now that I’m going to pick up Chloe, you suddenly have a baby in your womb?” His anger boiled over, and he slammed on the brakes, pulling over to the curb. “Get the fuck out! Out!” “Aren’t you in a rush to go to the hospital? Bleeding and hurting? Then get out and call an Uber! Stop wasting my time. I need to get Chloe!” “Fine. I’ll get out.” But as I reached for the door handle, he grabbed my arm. “I’ve been way too soft on you. It’s made you completely unmanageable!” “Let’s get a divorce, Julian.” The words seemed to freeze him. “Divorce?” I nodded slowly. “Mia already drafted the papers.” He let go of my arm, staring at me in shock. “Are you serious, Daisy? You better think this through. Once you leave me, no one is going to want a dramatic, manipulative woman like you.” “I’ve thought it through. Goodbye.” I opened the door and stepped out. But before I could even clear the car, Julian slammed his foot on the gas pedal. The sudden acceleration knocked me off balance, throwing me violently onto the asphalt. Amidst the screams of pedestrians, I collapsed in a pool of blood. Julian’s car sped away, never once braking. TThe blood pooled beneath me, spreading out like bright, crimson spider lilies blooming on the road to hell.

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I was pregnant. Just as I was about to go to Julian’s office to share the amazing news, his mother blocked me right outside his door. She screeched, calling me a cheap gold digger who was trying to use a baby to trap her son and climb into their old-money family. “Let me tell you something, bitch. Countless girls throw themselves at my son every single day. Look in the mirror. You think you’re worthy?” “Using a pregnancy to trap him? In your dreams!” She dragged me into the VIP lounge, kicking and punching me, trying to force a miscarriage. Afterward, she looked down at me, gloating. “My son’s life belongs to me. I make his decisions!” 0 Lately, I hadn’t been feeling well. I had no appetite and felt nauseous all the time. After a quick trip to the clinic, the doctor delivered the news: I was pregnant. My eyes welled up instantly. I grabbed the doctor’s hand, trembling. “Are you serious? Really?” The doctor smiled and nodded. At that moment, tears streamed down my face. Julian and I met back in college. We had been married for five years, but we had never been able to conceive. It had been a silent ache in our hearts. Even though Julian always comforted me, telling me not to rush it, I could always see the faint sadness in his eyes. But now, finally, I was pregnant. I gently placed my hand over my lower belly, heading straight to his company to surprise him. But the moment I reached his office suite, a woman rushed out and blocked my way. In our five years of marriage, I had never met Julian’s parents in person, but I had seen their photos. The woman standing in front of me was his mother, Judith. I kept my manners and greeted her politely. “Hello, Mom.” Hearing that, her face twisted instantly. “What did you just call me?” “Mom, I’m here to see Julian.” Her eyes turned sharp as she scanned me up and down. “Who the hell do you think you are? What business do you have with my son?” “I’m his wife.” Before the words could even fully leave my mouth, a loud *slap* echoed through the hallway. My face whipped to the side, burning. “What kind of trash dares to call herself my son’s wife?” “Clearly, he hasn’t taught you your place. I’ll do it for him today.” Before I could react, she grabbed my wrist with surprising strength and dragged me into the adjacent VIP lounge. The moment the door slammed shut, she shoved me violently to the floor. I looked up at her in utter shock, quickly shielding my stomach with both hands. The doctor’s warning was still ringing in my ears: *The first trimester is the most critical. You must be extremely careful.* “You dare glare at me?” She lunged forward and kicked me. I gasped, collapsing entirely onto the cold floor. Suppressing the sharp pain, I gasped, “Judith, even if you don’t accept me, you can’t humiliate me like this! Besides, I—” “Shut up! Who gave you permission to speak my name? My son never told me he got married.” “You’re just a cheap sugar baby he keeps on the side, yet you honestly think you can become a princess? Dream on.” She sneered, grinding the heel of her designer shoe onto my right hand. “Let me tell you the truth. Any girl who wants to marry my son has to pass me first. No worthless slut is ever getting into my family.” Staring at her twisted, disgusted face, a sudden realization hit me. I remembered asking Julian why his parents didn’t attend our wedding five years ago. He had brushed it off, saying they were too busy. Now I realized the truth. His parents had never approved. In fact, they didn’t even know he was married! Just then, the lounge door clicked open. A young female intern walked in. For a second, I thought I was saved. But Judith immediately barked at her to get out. “I’m disciplining my son’s side-chick. What are you looking at? Get the hell out!” 0

“Get out before I have my son fire you!” Terrified, the girl scrambled backward and slammed the door shut. She didn’t dare take another step inside. Whispers started echoing from the hallway outside. “Wait, is that another one of the CEO’s side-chicks throwing a tantrum?” “I know, right? So many girls these days think they can sleep their way to the top.” “Well, Julian is rich and hot. It’s no wonder these girls don’t know their place.” My entire body was shaking with pain. I carefully reached into my bag to pull out my phone, desperately wanting to call Julian to save me. But before I could dial, Judith snatched it away. “Oh? Look at this. The lock screen is a photo of you and my son.” “It seems you really are quite a favored little toy.” She looked down at me, her voice dripping with mockery. “I am not his toy. I am Julian’s legally wedded wife,” I protested again, my voice cracking. Judith just laughed. Clearly, she didn’t believe a single word. “You think I’d fall for that garbage?” With a cruel smirk, she threw my phone hard against the tiled floor. It shattered into useless pieces. Still unsatisfied, she spat out vile insults while stamping harder on my hand. “Bitch!” “Stay away from my son starting today. Do you hear me?” The pain was so intense I couldn’t even squeeze out a word. My strength was fading fast. Judith, taking my silence as defiance, grew even more furious. “Tough, aren’t you? Still refusing to beg.” “Won’t leave my son, huh? I guess you won’t learn your lesson until I make an example out of you.” “Since you love throwing yourself at men so much, let’s show the whole company what you really look like.” She opened the door and ordered two young secretaries to come inside. When I saw them holding a pair of desk scissors, my heart froze. Panic consumed me. “What… what are you doing?” I was trembling violently. Judith sneered. “Now you’re scared? Too bad. I gave you a chance, and you blew it. I won’t let the son I raised so carefully be ruined by a parasite like you.” “Strip her. I’m going to take photos of her naked and leak them. Once she’s ruined and dirty, my son won’t even look at her. Hahaha!” Her laughter echoed loudly, sending a bone-chilling shiver down my spine. “No! You can’t do this!” I tried to crawl away, but I didn’t dare make any sudden, violent movements. I had to protect the baby in my womb. “I really didn’t seduce him! If you don’t believe me, call Julian in here right now! Let him tell you!” Judith burst into hysterical laughter. “Do you have any idea how big of a deal my son is handling right now? His time is literally worth thousands a second. You think he’ll just run over because you called? Can you afford his time?” One of the secretaries quickly chimed in, eager to please. “Mrs. Zhang, you are so right. Some girls really think they’re the center of the universe when they’re actually nothing!” “Strip her clothes off!” At Judith’s command, the secretaries didn’t hesitate. They lunged forward, grabbing my blouse. I screamed and cried, begging them to stop. My desperate cries echoed through the thin walls, and soon, a small crowd of employees gathered outside the glass doors of the lounge. Most of them were just watching the drama, whispering and pointing at my torn clothes. Only a couple of younger girls looked uncomfortable. One of them stepped forward slightly. “Mrs. Zhang, maybe… maybe this is a bit too much? This is the CEO’s office, after all. If a scandal like this leaks, it might hurt his reputation.” “Yeah, she seems to have learned her lesson. I’m sure she won’t come back.” 0

Instead of listening, Judith glared at them. “You dare talk back to me for this worthless slut? Do you want me to have my son fire all of you right now?” Her threat worked instantly. The employees shut their mouths, stepping back in fear. Suddenly, one of the secretaries holding me gasped. “Mrs. Zhang… look at her. She keeps protecting her stomach. Is she pregnant?” Judith froze for a second. For a brief, naive moment, I thought she would spare me for the sake of the baby. I was dead wrong. The realization that I was pregnant only made her more psychotic. “No wonder you had the nerve to show up here! You brought a little bastard with you to blackmail my son for money!” “Well, too bad you met me today. I am not letting this mistake be born.” Judith grabbed me by my hair, yanked my head back, and kicked me hard right in the stomach. Since I was only in my first trimester, the blow was devastating. Cold sweat poured down my face from the blinding pain. My head spun, and my vision started to blur. For a second, I genuinely thought I was going to die. Using the last of my strength, I shoved Judith back, sobbing out the truth. “I am not his mistress! I am his wife!” “We have a marriage certificate! I am the legal Mrs. Zhang!” The VIP lounge went dead silent. You could hear a pin drop. “Bitch! I am Julian’s mother! If he got married, do you think I wouldn’t know?” “You’re just trying to ruin my son’s reputation!” I wiped the blood dripping from my lips. “Julian and I have been together since college. We got married right after graduation.” Judith’s face filled with pure disgust. “Are you trying to say my son went behind my back to marry you?” “My son has been a good, obedient boy his whole life. He would never hide something this big from me!” “If he did, it would mean he didn’t want me as his mother anymore. Who do you think you are to destroy thirty years of our mother-son bond?” I struggled to keep my eyes open, wanting to defend myself, but suddenly, I felt a sickening warmth pooling between my thighs. I wanted to look down, but I had absolutely no strength left. Someone in the crowd gasped, “Oh my god… look! There’s blood on the floor!” Panic surged through me. Five years. It took us five long years to finally get this baby. I wanted to crawl out the door, to scream for Julian to come save our child, but my limbs felt like lead. “It’s just a little blood. Who are you trying to scare?” Judith scoffed. “I’ve been pregnant before. Besides, a dirty girl like you has probably slept around with plenty of men. Who knows if this bastard even belongs to my son!” Her words were laced with venom. Because she was the CEO’s mother, nobody dared to contradict her. I reached out, desperately grabbing the hem of her pants. “I beg you… please save my baby. The baby is innocent!” “My poor baby hasn’t even seen the world yet… please, don’t do this. Call an ambulance, please!” But my desperate cries fell on deaf ears. The people standing around just watched with cold, indifferent eyes. It was none of their business. They didn’t want to get involved. Judith stood there, watching me bleed out on the floor. Only after a grueling ten minutes did she finally pull out her phone. For a split second, I thought she had found her humanity. But she wasn’t calling 911. She was calling Julian. “Mom? What is it now?” Julian’s voice came through the line, sounding exhausted and annoyed. “Sweetheart! Some girl just barged into your office looking for you,” Judith said, her voice instantly transitioning into a sweet, motherly tone. “Mom, people come to my office to see me every day. Men, women, everyone. Can you please stop micromanaging my life?” “Oh, sweetie, I’m just worried about you since you’re still single.” “You don’t need to worry about my personal life. I have it under control. I’m busy, I have to go.” Before he hung up, Judith deliberately put the phone on speaker. “Did you hear that?” Judith sneered, looking down at me. “My son just said he’s single. What kind of ‘wife’ are you?” “In his heart, I am the only woman who matters.” Hearing Julian’s words, my heart completely shattered. So, he had hidden our marriage from everyone. All this time, I was the only one living in this beautiful, pathetic illusion. 0

“I get it… I get it now,” I whimpered. I couldn’t fight her anymore. I just wanted to survive. “Just let me leave. I promise I’ll never see Julian again.” I didn’t dare argue with Judith anymore. I just wanted to soothe her rage so she would let me go to a hospital. “Let you go?” “How do I know you won’t creep back to my son? He’s young and easily tempted. As his mother, I have to eliminate the threat completely!” “Where are the scissors I asked for?” Judith screamed at the secretary, grabbing the scissors and hovering them over my face. “You only got close to my son because of this pretty face. If I ruin it, I’ll believe you won’t ever see him again.” “No… please, no…” As the sharp metal coldness neared my cheek, terror gripped me. But just as I braced for the worst, a phone rang. It was Julian, calling the secretary’s desk phone. He was demanding his lunch be sent up. I had arrived at the office in the morning. It was now past lunchtime. I had been subjected to hours of torture. I looked at the crowd blocking the doorway. Dozens of people, yet not a single one was willing to help me. I couldn’t escape this nightmare. But my heart ached most for my baby. My baby, who had every right to see this world, had been murdered by these monsters. I hated them. I wanted them all to rot in hell to accompany my child! Especially Judith. She was a mother too. How could she be so evil? “You still dare to glare at me?” Judith slapped me hard across the face, several times. “What? Unfair?” She raised the scissors and slashed them across my cheek. A sharp, burning pain flared up as my skin tore open. It hurt so much I could barely breathe. “What are you all doing standing around here? Don’t you have work to do? Does this company pay you to slack off?” It was Julian’s voice. Judith quickly pushed me under the coffee table, hiding me under the long tablecloth. Then, she walked out of the lounge casually. “Julian, sweetie, don’t blame them. I just had a few questions for your staff.” “Mom, why are you still here? This is a place of business, not your personal interrogation room.” “What’s that supposed to mean? I can’t even talk to your employees now?” Judith whined, pretending to be hurt. “That’s not what I meant. Just… go home, please.” Julian was standing right outside the door. I had to make some noise. I had to let him know I was in here. But the lounge was sparse, with only a sofa and a coffee table. As I tried to kick the table leg to make a sound, the secretary guarding me realized my plan. She immediately crouched down and clamped her hand over my mouth, choking back my cries. I was pinned down, completely silenced. My husband was just a door away, yet he couldn’t hear me. I hated him. I hated his mother, who killed our baby, ruined my face, and broke my body. “Aren’t you going to eat? Have someone bring it to your office. Don’t starve yourself,” Judith said smoothly. Julian sighed, turned around, and began walking back to his office. Listening to his fading footsteps, the tiny ember of hope in my chest died completely. I closed my eyes, letting my tears mix with the blood on my face. Suddenly, his voice sounded closer again. “Oh, by the way, Chloe, when you bring my lunch, bring the Q3 project proposal with you.” I heard the door to the VIP lounge creak open. “And whatever my mother asks you, just tell her you don’t know.” He finished his sentence and turned to leave, but suddenly stopped. He frowned. “Wait… why is there so much blood on the floor?”

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My husband’s mistress was madly in love with him. She actually believed his pathetic lie that he was a single, divorced dad. Naturally, she saw me as the evil homewrecker. She even brainwashed my daughter into giving me a teddy bear hidden with a spy camera. Then, she filmed a self-righteous video about “fighting back against homewreckers” and posted it on her social media. Within a single day, I was relentlessly cyberbullied by her hundreds of thousands of followers. The online hate storm drove me into severe depression. For six months, I was too terrified to even step outside my house. My husband treated me like I was invisible. Even my own daughter thought I was just throwing tantrums, throwing cruel, verbal jabs at me every single day. Unable to bear the physical and mental torture anymore, I finally set fire to the house and let the flames consume me. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back to the exact day my daughter handed me that rigged teddy bear. This time, I’m going to make sure the three of you are locked together in your own personal hell forever.

“Chloe, look! I got this teddy bear for you. Isn’t it pretty?” My daughter Lily’s voice echoed beside me. I looked down at her and suddenly noticed a flicker of… disgust in her eyes. I froze. I realized that even at this point, her loyalty had already shifted to that other woman. In my past life, to help Lily progress faster in her dance classes, I had specifically applied to work as an instructor at her dance studio. Back then, I held Lily to high standards. Because of that, she resented me deeply. So when Lily handed me this teddy bear in my past life, I was absolutely thrilled. I kept it on my office desk, looking at it happily every single day. It wasn’t until my husband’s girlfriend barged into our dance studio that I realized I had been labeled as the “homewrecker.” She shoved her phone in my face, recording a video while screaming, “Look at yourself! You actually make this poor little girl call you mom? Aren’t you embarrassed?” “Don’t you know her dad has had a girlfriend since his divorce? That’s me!” “Using a child to cling to a man—how shameless can you get!” At that time, to protect Lily from being gossiped about by her peers, I didn’t announce to the crowd that she was my biological daughter. I had only let her call me “Mom” privately in my office. Who would have thought this woman would upload that video online, calling me a disgusting homewrecker? I had looked at Lily desperately, begging for help. But my own daughter just turned her head away, refusing to say a word to defend me. That woman posted the video on her TikTok. Her hundreds of thousands of followers exploded instantly. They swarmed all my social media accounts, leaving thousands of abusive comments. The harassment lasted for six long months. Meanwhile, my husband and daughter were playing happy family with that cheap homewrecker, acting as if I didn’t exist. The pain was too much. I ended it all in a house fire. Now, I was back. Back in my office, with Lily handing me the teddy bear. I looked at her coldly. “Got it. Just leave it on the desk. And remember, we are at school. Call me Ms. Chloe.” Lily didn’t expect such a cold reaction. She pouted. “Fine.” Shortly after Lily went back to class, I received a Snapchat from my husband, Carter. “I’m taking Lily out for a dinner party with some friends tonight. Want to join?” In my past life, I suffered from severe postpartum depression and hated socializing. But back then, I didn’t want Lily to be cooped up at home with me. So, I always encouraged Carter to take her out to have fun. When Lily was three, she said she wanted to learn ballet. I picked up my old passion, practicing day and night to get a job at this prestigious dance academy. Aside from training her at school, I even built a private dance studio for her at home. I loved dancing when I was a kid, but my parents were sick and we couldn’t afford it. I wanted to give Lily everything I never had.

I never thought I’d be cheated on. Carter and I had been together for thirteen years. I thought we knew each other inside out. And I certainly never expected that the woman outside would try to steal my daughter, too. I clenched my fists so hard my nails nearly bit into my palms. I typed back: “Sure, have fun. Get back early.” Carter forgot that his current success was built on my sweat and tears, funded by every single dance show I performed back in the day. And now, he wanted to turn me into a laughingstock? I don’t think so. After dance class ended, I saw Carter standing by the door, dressed in a sharp suit, waiting to pick up Lily. Lily jumped into his car giggling, and I quietly followed them in mine. The car didn’t head to any “dinner party.” Instead, it drove straight into the luxury gated community next to our neighborhood. I remembered when we bought our current house, Carter had pointed at this exact luxury estate and said with deep emotion: “Chloe, don’t worry. This house is just the beginning. One day, I’ll buy you that villa right in the center.” We had toured that villa before. It had a perfect view, but it was priced $500,000 higher than the others. I had smiled at him and said, “It’s fine, babe. As long as our family is happy, I don’t care where we live.” Over the past few years, he kept complaining about how bad his business was, bringing home less and less money. I always comforted him: “It’s okay. I can work to help support us. You just focus on your business.” Thinking back to my past self, and looking at the luxury villa he bought for his mistress, what a sick joke. I parked my car across the street. I hopped on TaskRabbit, hired a local runner, and offered a huge tip with one condition: find out the exact villa number of the woman living there. Usually, security in these gated communities is tight, but in my previous life, I remembered the mistress’s name was Hailey. The runner called me immediately after accepting the task, asking if I had made a typo with the tip amount because it was so high. Hearing her voice, I realized the runner was a young woman. I choked up and told her briefly that my husband was cheating on me and staying in that estate. Hearing my story, she got incredibly angry. She agreed immediately, saying women need to stick together. She walked straight to the security guard. Within minutes, she managed to charm the information out of him. When she sent me the delivery confirmation photo, a man’s hand was shown taking the package. He was wearing the exact designer watch I bought for Carter. With the address confirmed, I contacted a local drama alert channel on Instagram. I asked if they wanted some exclusive tea on a rising influencer. The only thing I asked in return was a copy of the photos they took. They agreed instantly. I didn’t care if this villa was their permanent love nest or just a hookup spot. Getting hard evidence of his infidelity at the lowest cost was my priority. To prevent Carter from hiding or transferring our joint assets, I immediately contacted a top divorce lawyer to get the paperwork ready. I didn’t want the man anymore, but the money? Every single cent of it was earned through our joint hard work. I wasn’t going to leave empty-handed. I went home and acted completely normal. The only difference was that I stopped cooking, cleaning, or taking care of them. I left them to fend for themselves. Within a day, Lily couldn’t take it anymore. She sat at the empty dining table and complained loudly. “Chloe, why aren’t you making dinner? Are you trying to starve me and Dad?” “I have to study hard every day, and Dad works so hard to make money. How can you be so lazy and not cook?”

In the past, when Lily said things like this, I used to feel jealous, thinking she was just closer to her dad because they spent more time together. But now I realized she was completely brainwashed by Carter. I slowly chewed on my toasted bread, looking at her blankly. “You have school, and your dad has work. But guess what? I have a job too. My name isn’t written on these chores. I don’t owe you a clean house.” Lily stared at me in disbelief, her eyes wide with shock. “How is that the same? Do you make as much money as Dad? You do nothing all day but sit in your stupid office.” “Plus, you love shopping. If Dad didn’t give you money, you couldn’t even afford the clothes you wear!” So that was it. In the eyes of the daughter I cherished so much, I was just a useless housewife, a parasite. Carter hadn’t put a single penny into our joint account for two years. Every single dollar spent on this house came from my salary. Yet, to Carter and Lily, I was just a freeloading leech. She really was her father’s daughter. I smiled, looking straight into her eyes. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you. Even if I am a leech, your dad is still legally obligated to support me.” “From now on, if you want to eat, order takeout or cook it yourself.” Carter, who was putting on his coat, froze. He walked over, frowning at me. “Chloe, how can you speak to Lily like that? She’s just a kid!” I washed my hands, grabbed my purse, put on my heels, and turned to him. “She’s eight years old. She has her own thoughts and opinions.” “Since she thinks I’m a useless housewife, I might as well act like one. From now on, you do the chores.” With that, I walked out. Today was the day Hailey was going to show up at my studio to make a scene. I sat in my office in a great mood, admiring my new designer necklace in front of the hidden camera in the teddy bear. My coworker, Sarah, noticed it and gasped. “Oh my god, Chloe! That necklace is gorgeous!” I blushed, acting shy. “Thanks. My husband got it for me.” The other teachers started teasing me, complaining about how their husbands never bought them anything nice. I checked the time. It was almost showtime. I saw Lily standing at the door, looking at me with a confused expression. When I walked out, she couldn’t wait to whisper-hiss at me. “Why are you lying? Dad didn’t buy you that. He only buys things for—” She cut herself off, but I knew exactly what she was going to say. She wanted to say that Carter only bought luxury items for Hailey now, and that she preferred Hailey over me anyway. In my past life, those six months of depression made me constantly question myself. Why did my own daughter abandon me? I used to drown in anxiety and self-doubt, wondering what I did wrong. But now? Why should I suffer for their sins? They were the ones who lied and cheated. As long as I didn’t care, they couldn’t hurt me. I tilted my head and smiled at her. “How do you know Dad didn’t buy this for me?” “Of course he did. He loves me so much.” Lily looked utterly bewildered. She was just a kid, after all, probably struggling to figure out who was telling the truth. When I walked back to my desk, the drama channel sent me a Snapchat. It was a photo of Hailey driving out of her luxury community. Right on schedule. Suddenly, Lily’s eyes lit up. She ran toward the entrance, waving her hands excitedly. “Hailey! Over here!” Hailey gave Lily a quick nod, but the fury on her face was unmistakable. With a loud *bang*, she kicked my office door open, her phone raised to record. Sarah stood up, startled. “Excuse me? Can I help you?” Hailey rolled her eyes at her and glared at me with pure venom. “Help? Oh, you can help me expose this disgusting homewrecker!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “453560”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

High society is built on a scaffolding of silent, suffocating rules. When we walked out of the boutique, Willie strode shoulder-to-shoulder with my best friend, Cathy, while I was expected to walk exactly half a step behind him. “Willie, you promised you’d charter a private jet to take me to see the Northern Lights. Don’t you dare back out!” Cathy turned back, flashing me a sweet, dimpled grin. “Don’t worry, Zoey. I know how much you love the auroras. I’ll take tons of photos and send them right to you.” My feet froze on the pavement. My throat felt as if it were stuffed with dry cotton. “You two are going to see the Northern Lights… but what about me?” No one answered. They were already in the car. Cathy sat in the passenger seat of his low-slung Ferrari, looking at me with faux-contrition. “Oh, Willie, your sports car only has two seats! There’s no room for Zoey. What should we do?” Willie leaned over to click Cathy’s seatbelt into place. “She’s the future Mrs. Hogan. My mother is sending a town car to pick her up for her deportment class.” But he had forgotten—or ignored—the fact that his mother despised my working-class roots. There was no town car coming. I stood in the freezing rain for hours, waiting. And as the water soaked through my thin coat, something shifted inside me. If he wanted to walk shoulder-to-shoulder with my best friend, then I would simply step out of the frame and let her have him. … When I finally got back to our penthouse that night, Willie was sitting in the living room, waiting. “You skipped your etiquette lessons at the estate today. Mother is furious.” I said nothing. I just flipped on the light. His eyes swept over my dripping wet clothes, his brow furrowing. “Look at you. You’re a mess. Is this how the future Mrs. Hogan behaves? You have no sense of decorum.” I had been standing in a downpour all day. My skin was burning with a high fever, yet his only concern was that I was embarrassing him. “Willie…” I started, my voice cracking. But before I could finish, his phone chimed. It was a high-pitched, childish ringtone—a nursery rhyme melody. It was Cathy’s custom ringtone. Three days ago, when she had whined and begged him to set it, Willie had scoffed and called it childish. Yet, he had never changed it back. Willie raised a finger to his lips, signaling me to shut up. “Willie,” Cathy whimpered on the other end, her voice thick with tears. “I cut my finger. It hurts so bad.” He immediately grabbed his leather jacket from the coat rack. “Hang tight. I’m on my way.” As he brushed past me, I reached out and grabbed his sleeve. My voice was a dry rasp. “I have a fever, Willie.” He paused, pulling out his phone to make a quick call. “Have Dr. Gallagher head over to the penthouse. The future Mrs. Hogan is sick.” I bit my lip, a faint warmth blooming in my chest. But a second later, Willie gently but firmly pried my fingers off his sleeve. “I’ve got the doctor and my assistant on the way to look after you. But Cathy needs me right now.” I stared at him, numb. “Willie, I am your fiancée.” “I know,” he said, his expression flat. “Which is exactly why I can’t stay.” “A Hogan man is meant to rule the boardroom, not play nurse to a sick wife. You know the family rules.” Always those rules. To marry Willie, I had to mold myself into a ghost. At dinner, I had to wait for him to take the first bite. The moment he set his fork down, I had to stop eating too. In the beginning, when I lay awake at night, starving, Willie would sneak into my room with takeout, wrapping his arms around me. ‘Just bear with it a little longer, for me,’ he’d whisper. I bore it. For three years. But those sweet midnight visits had long since stopped. When I lay awake starving now, Willie was thousands of miles away. His Instagram location tag was set to a luxury resort in Malaysia. So was Cathy’s—my best friend of ten years. Cathy had posted a photo of the two of them on her feed. The caption read: ‘Day one of testing out Willie’s husband potential on behalf of my girl Zoey.’ Beneath it, she added: ‘I mentioned wanting to see the ocean, and he whisked me away to paradise.’ My phone buzzed. It was a direct message from Cathy: ‘Zoey, it’s my first time seeing the ocean! It’s so beautiful. I know you always wanted an island wedding, but with the strict Hogan rules, you probably won’t ever get to come here. Don’t worry, though—I’m enjoying the view for both of us!’ In the photo she attached, Cathy wore a flowing white sundress. Willie stood beside her in a tailored white linen suit. It wasn’t a wedding, but it looked exactly like one. And while they were sipping cocktails on a beach, I had been standing in his mother’s salon, a heavy book balanced on my head, my palms raw and bruised from the wooden ruler his mother used to correct my posture. During a brief five-minute break, I had pulled out my phone, desperate to cry to my fiancé about how much I hurt. Instead, I saw their vacation photos. The words ‘it hurts’ died in my throat. Every time after that, he chose her. When Cathy wanted to travel the world, Willie booked the flights. When Willie wanted to drag race down dark coastal highways at midnight, Cathy was the one laughing in his passenger seat. They lived out a wild, reckless youth together, singing at the top of their lungs to heal their phantom regrets. Meanwhile, I was kneeling on the cold marble floor of the Hogan private chapel, reciting their ancestral codes of conduct over and over, terrified of making a single mistake. I wasn’t blind. I knew something was deeply wrong, but I had been too afraid to look closer. How do you throw away a twenty-year friendship and a seven-year relationship? But tonight, the thread finally snapped. I stared at Willie’s retreating back, my eyes burning. “If you walk out that door to go to Cathy, we’re over.” Willie stopped in his tracks, his shoulders stiffening. “What is wrong with you? Don’t start throwing tantrums.” “I’m doing this for you. Cathy is your best friend. If something happens to her, won’t you be the one crying?” But they had crossed the line of friendship a long time ago. Willie still didn’t understand. I wasn’t angry because he was helping Cathy; I was angry because, in every single moment that mattered, he never chose me. The passenger seat next to him always belonged to her. I looked at him, my voice barely a whisper. “So you can’t stay to take care of your sick fiancée, but you can run to take care of her?” “Why are you comparing yourself to her?” Willie said, his tone entirely reasonable, as if explaining something to a child. “You’re going to be Mrs. Hogan. She is just a friend. The family rules don’t apply to friends.” If being “just a friend” meant receiving your devotion and protection, then I would rather be your friend. But I wasn’t. I lowered my head, hiding the raw vulnerability in my eyes. “If that’s how you see it… then go.” “Being understanding is the grace expected of a Hogan wife,” Willie remarked, offering his usual critique. As he opened the door, he looked back one last time. “Dr. Gallagher is the family’s private physician. He’s the best there is. A minor fever is nothing to him. You’re in good hands.” I gave a faint nod, silent. He took my quietness as stubbornness and let out a cold laugh. “You still haven’t learned your place, have you? To think you’re actually giving me attitude. I’ll have Mother give you a proper lesson tomorrow.” There wouldn’t be a tomorrow. Willie, the moment your foot crossed that threshold, we were done. I opened my mouth to say it, but the elevator doors had already slid shut, whisking him away. I let the words dissolve. It didn’t matter anymore. I called Dr. Gallagher and told him not to bother coming. I found some generic ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet, swallowed them with cold water, and dragged myself into a hot shower. When I came out, my phone was buzzing on the counter. It was a text from Cathy: ‘Zoey, I am so incredibly jealous of your fiancé! By the time he got here, the scratch on my finger was already scabbing over, but he was still so worried that he practically dragged me to the ER anyway.’ A sharp, physical pain bloomed in my chest. My fever was a “minor illness,” but her tiny scratch deserved an emergency room run. Quiet tears slipped down my face. I wiped them away with the back of my hand. Cutting out infected flesh is always agonizing, but I didn’t have another seven years to waste on a man who didn’t love me. I pulled a suitcase out of the closet and began to pack. It took less than ten minutes. The penthouse held almost nothing of mine. Willie had always told me: ‘You are going to be Mrs. Hogan. The family’s legacy has no room for cheap, unrefined trinkets from your past.’ Yet, on his nightstand sat a cheap plastic bunny Cathy had bought him at a dollar store. Hanging from his Ferrari key fob was a tacky two-dollar keychain she had given him. Only my gifts—like the intricate, hand-woven cord bracelet I had spent days making—had been taken off his wrist and left to gather dust in a drawer. I grabbed the bracelet and threw it into the fireplace, watching the threads blacken and curl into ash. Beside the jewelry box was the cherrywood charm I had hand-carved. The year he went to London for his MBA, I couldn’t bear the thought of being apart from him. There was a trend on campus back then—gifting a ‘bleeding heart’ charm, a hollowed-out wooden cube with a single red seed sealed inside, symbolizing a love carved deep into the bone. I had spent nights sanding that tiny piece of wood, my fingertips raw and bleeding, just to hollow it out and slip a single scarlet seed inside. When Willie received it, he had nearly cried. ‘Zoey, if you don’t want me to go, I won’t.’ And he didn’t. He stayed, while I worked three different part-time jobs, running myself ragged trying to keep us afloat. Cathy had sipped her iced coffee, offering with a sweet smile, “I’ll look after him for you, Zoey. I won’t let any social climbers get close to him.” I had believed her. Back in the orphanage, when the older kids used to bully me, Cathy was the only one who stood up for me. She would take the punches, her face bruised and swollen, but she never let go of me. When we aged out, I worked double shifts to pay for our apartment and college tuition. Willie had scoffed back then. ‘Is Cathy helpless? She’s a grown woman—can’t she take care of herself?’ ‘Don’t talk about her like that!’ I had snapped back. ‘I promised I would take care of her forever. Even if she never gets a job, I’ll support her.’ Back then, I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world to have them both. But in the end, the two people I would have died for were the ones who stabbed me in the back. I threw the carved cherrywood charm into the trash can. I was throwing them away, too. When I changed, I didn’t touch any of the designer clothes Willie had bought me. Instead, I pulled out an old flannel shirt and a faded pair of jeans from the back of the closet—the exact clothes I had been wearing the day I moved in. I looked at the suitcase. It was completely empty. After a moment of silence, I shoved the suitcase back into the closet. I walked out of the penthouse carrying nothing but the battered backpack I had arrived with. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Willie: ‘Family dinner tomorrow night. Don’t leave after your etiquette class. I’ll have the driver pick you up to get your hair and makeup done.’ I stared at the screen, hesitating, before typing back: ‘Can you transfer me five thousand dollars?’ The day I became his fiancée, Willie’s mother had declared that a Hogan woman does not work in public. I was forced to quit my job. Worried about Cathy’s living expenses, I had given her every penny of my savings. When Willie found out, he had handed me a black card linked to his account. ‘From now on, use your husband’s money for whatever you want.’ Back then, I had been deeply moved. I never realized that once we broke up, I wouldn’t even have enough money to rent a basic apartment. Within seconds, Willie replied: ‘1’. But no money was transferred. I stared at the screen, a hollow laugh escaping my lips. I realized that for months, no matter what I texted him, Willie always replied with a simple, automated ‘1’. It meant ‘read.’ He saw the notifications, but he never actually read the words. A dull ache throbbed in my chest. I typed again: ‘I’ll sign a promissory note. Please, just lend me five thousand dollars. I really need it.’ Willie’s reply was instant: ‘1’. I stared at that single digit. A self-deprecating laugh escaped me. Cathy used to gush about it. ‘He replies instantly, Zoey! A man in his position—whose time is literally worth millions—drops everything to answer you. That is true love!’ But he never gave me anything besides that automated response. He saved his actual time, his actual presence, for her. With trembling fingers, I sent one last text: ‘My mistake, Willie. I’ll never ask you for anything again.’ This time, the reply wasn’t a ‘1’. He texted: ‘I’m at the hospital waiting on Cathy’s x-ray results. Can you please stop suffocating me?’ Fine. I wouldn’t suffocate him anymore. Never again. With no money for a hotel, I walked down to the public park, curling up on a cold wooden bench with my backpack as a pillow. In the shivering dark, memories of the day I was abandoned at the orphanage drifted back. It had been an overcast day just like this one. I could still hear my father shouting at my mother: ‘If we don’t dump this useless girl, how are we supposed to afford a son?’ My mother had been sobbing, but she still let go of my hand and left me on the orphanage steps. Watching her walk away, I had sworn to myself that I would make them regret it. I studied until my eyes bled. I worked until my bones ached. I did everything to prove I wasn’t useless. But look at me tonight. A park security guard tapped my bench with his flashlight. “No sleeping on the benches, miss. Move along.” I scrambled up, heat burning my cheeks. I looked down at my faded jeans and worn sneakers. You failed, Zoey. You’re right back where you started. As I stumbled out of the park gates, I ran right into them. Cathy was clinging to Willie’s arm, whispering something that made him chuckle. The moment Willie saw me, the smile died on his face. “Zoey?” Cathy waved excitedly. “Willie told me you had a fever! I bought a fresh durian from the market—I know how much you love it. We were just heading to the penthouse to see you. What a coincidence!” My lips twisted into a bitter smile. “Are you sure I’m the one who loves durian?” Cathy was the picky eater. She loved exotic durian. Back in college, when we had no money, I would skip meals for a week just to buy her one because she said she was craving it. I did it every single time, even if it meant living on dry ramen for days. Cathy pouted, her eyes welling with instant tears. “Zoey, you’ve changed. You never used to speak to me like that. Back then, when you bought me durian, I knew you wanted some too, but you always insisted on giving me the whole thing. Now that I have my own money, of course I wanted to buy one for you.” Willie chimed in, his voice dripping with pride. “Cathy took over your old position at the firm, Zoey. She’s a completely independent, modern career woman now.” “She took over my old position?” I stared at him, hollowed out by the betrayal. “You forced me to resign so I could learn Hogan etiquette, but you hand-delivered my job to her?” “Is there a problem with that?” Willie stepped protectively in front of Cathy. “You’re going to be my wife. You don’t need a job. But Cathy does—she doesn’t have anyone else to protect her. I pulled some strings at your old agency, handed them a few major accounts, and got her the Creative Director position you had to turn down.” Cathy smiled sweetly, stepping around Willie to loop her arm through mine. “Honestly, Zoey, you are so lucky. You get to be a lady of leisure while someone else pays for your entire life.” Her voice held a thin, sharp edge of jealousy. “Unlike me. I actually have to work for what I want.” I looked at her, quiet for a long moment. “You’re wrong,” I whispered. “A man who truly loves you doesn’t clip your wings. He helps you fly.” Just like Willie had done for Cathy. She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a cruel whisper against my ear. “And what do you call a woman who stays in a house where she isn’t loved? A mistress?” The slap echoed in the quiet street before I even realized my hand had moved. “Cathy! We can stop being friends, but how dare you—” How dare she desecrate twenty years of shared history! I was shaking so hard I could barely stand. Black spots danced across my vision. Cathy collapsed onto the pavement, her hand landing squarely on the spiky husk of the durian. She let out a sharp cry of pain, immediately looking up at Willie with tear-filled eyes. “Willie, please… it’s just a little blood. Don’t be mad at Zoey. She didn’t mean it.” Willie’s face darkened instantly. He knelt down and scooped her into his arms. “Okay, okay, I won’t. Let’s get you to the hospital.” As he turned to leave, he barked an order to the security detail trailing behind him. “Take Zoey back to the estate. Lock her in the reflection room until she learns some goddamn discipline.” The reflection room was a windowless, cramped panic room in the basement of the Hogan manor, barely large enough for a person to curl up in. Once the heavy steel door was locked, there was nothing but suffocating darkness. During my years of being molded by Willie’s mother, I had been locked in here for days at a time. But I wasn’t Willie’s fiancée anymore. What right did he have to imprison me? I hammered on the cold steel door until my knuckles bled, drifting in and out of a feverish consciousness. But Willie never came. I bit my cracked lip, tasting copper. “Willie… please. I have a fever. Let me out.” From the other side of the door, a guard sighed. “Save your breath, miss. Mr. Willie took Miss Cathy on a private flight to Norway. He’s trying to make up for her hand injury by showing her the Northern Lights.” I froze. With trembling fingers, I pulled my phone from my pocket. In the dim blue glow of the screen, Cathy’s Instagram post loaded: ‘A trip just for me. Private jet, endless skies. Heading to see the auroras with the man who ruins me.’ The comments underneath were filled with congratulations from our mutual friends. ‘Willie taking his girl out again!’ ‘One at home, one on the road—how do you pull this off, man?’ ‘What do you mean ‘on the road’? Willie and Cathy are the real deal. I heard they’re planning to get their marriage license soon while the other one is still stuck in deportment class.’ My heart felt like it was being shredded. I dialed one of those mutual friends. “What do you mean, getting a license?” The girl on the line gasped. “Zoey? You… you saw her post? Did she forget to block you? Look, we didn’t want to keep you in the dark, but you’ve been “learning the rules” for three years. Everyone figured if you found out Willie was going to marry Cathy instead, you’d make a scene.” A yawning chasm opened up in my chest. “How long?” I managed to choke out. “How long has it been going on?” There was a pause on the other end. “Three years? Maybe four? Honestly, we lost track.” While I was working myself to the bone, giving Cathy every cent I had so she wouldn’t suffer, she was sleeping with my fiancé behind my back. Hot tears spilled over, stinging the cuts on my raw hands. The seven years of devotion, the humiliating etiquette classes, the endless sacrifices… they were all a joke. Willie, you ruined me. My phone battery died, plunging the room into absolute pitch black. I pulled my knees to my chest, sobbing until my throat was raw, eventually slipping into unconsciousness. When I finally woke up, I had lost all sense of time. My stomach was cramping violently from hunger. Over the last three years, I had learned to ignore hunger. But this pain was different—sharp, white-hot. Cold sweat drenched my clothes, leaving me unable to make a sound. Suddenly, the heavy steel door screeched open. Bright light flooded my eyes. I squinted, shielding my face as Willie stormed in, grabbing my arm and wrenching me to my feet. “Zoey! When the hell did you become a thief? Is this the kind of trash my mother is trying to turn into a Hogan?” I gritted my teeth against the pain in my stomach, barely whispering, “What… what are you talking about?” He sneered, shoving his hand into my jeans pocket and pulling out a small plastic card. “This is Cathy’s debit card! She saved her very first paycheck to buy you a nice gift, and you stole it from her!” “I didn’t,” I sobbed, shaking my head weakly. “I don’t even know her PIN.” Willie let out a harsh laugh. “Her PIN is your birthday, Zoey. It wasn’t hard to figure out.” Cathy slinked into the room behind him, looking small and helpless. “Willie, please, I’m sure Zoey didn’t mean to. Don’t be too hard on her. She must have been desperate when she asked you for money. Since you were with me and didn’t see her texts, she probably just… panicked and made a mistake.” Hearing her words, Willie’s rage flared even hotter. “I gave you a black card! Was that not enough? You had to go and steal the money Cathy worked so hard to earn?” He let go of my arm with an expression of deep disgust. “When did you become so pathetic, Zoey?” I gritted my teeth, forcing the words out. “I didn’t steal it. She must have slipped it into my pocket when we were at the park.” “Enough!” Willie barked. “Kneel down and apologize to Cathy right now, or I will have the police arrest you. Once you have a criminal record, you can forget about ever marrying into this family.” I collapsed back onto the floor, coughing violently as my stomach cramped. “I didn’t do it. I will never apologize.” I looked up at him, my eyes burning with pure, unadulterated hatred. “I don’t want to marry you anymore, Willie. Your threats don’t work on me.” For a fraction of a second, he looked stung, taking a step back. Cathy burst into noisy tears. “Please, stop! You two are the most important people in my life. Don’t fight over me!” Willie’s expression hardened again. He turned to his guards. “Take her to the police station.” The guards grabbed my arms, dragging me down the cold stone corridor. As we reached the grand entrance of the Hogan estate, a sleek black Maybach pulled up to the curb. A man stepped out. It was him. With every ounce of strength left in my feverish body, I wrenched myself free from the guards’ grip. I fell to the ground, reaching out to grasp the hem of his dark trousers. “I’ll marry you,” I gasped, my voice raw. “Please, save me.” I couldn’t go to prison. I couldn’t let them ruin my life. Willie came rushing out of the double doors. “Have you finally decided to apologize to Cathy?” But the man didn’t look at Willie. Instead, he bent down, lifting me effortlessly into his arms. His gaze flicked up, locking onto Willie’s stunned face. “Have you forgotten how to greet your older brother, Willie? Or do you not know how to address your sister-in-law?”

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I had been married to Derek for seven years, and it took me begging him for two weeks straight just to get him to agree to spend our daughter’s birthday with us. But when the day arrived, he didn’t come home. I slipped out onto the balcony, out of Hazel’s sight, and called him a dozen times. Every single one went straight to voicemail. Hazel stood by the front door, her eyes fixed on the driveway, yet she still turned to comfort me. “Don’t worry, Mommy. Daddy’s probably just picking up my present.” She knew her father didn’t love her. But she desperately hoped he loved me. So she didn’t cry, she didn’t throw tantrums, she didn’t complain. She was so heartbreakingly good. It was almost midnight when my phone finally buzzed with Derek’s name. “I’m going to be late,” he said, his voice clipped. “Don’t wait up.” Before I could speak, a massive explosion of fireworks erupted outside the window. The deafening booms drowned out the background noise on his end. Hazel and I both froze. Just yesterday, he had mentioned preparing a birthday surprise. My heart skipped a beat. But in the next second, a little girl’s ecstatic voice echoed through the receiver. “Whoa! My very own fireworks! Thank you, Daddy Derek!” The line went dead. The light in Hazel’s eyes vanished. Her head drooped, and her tears began to fall, hot and heavy, straight onto her untouched birthday cake. A sharp ache flared in my chest. I knelt in front of her, gently cupping her tear-stained face. “Hazel,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “What if we don’t want Daddy anymore?” … Hazel wiped her eyes quickly, forcing a brave, fragile smile. “Mommy, let’s give Daddy one more chance. Maybe he really had something important to do.” But as she spoke, the tears spilled over again. My heart felt like it was being shredded. I pulled her into my arms and held her tight. At 2:00 AM, the front door clicked open. Derek slipped in, trying to keep his footsteps quiet as he flicked on the light. He gasped, startled to see me sitting on the dark sofa. Bright, colorful confetti was still tangled in his hair. There was a smear of frosting on his collar. And he was covered in the heavy scent of Chanel No. 5—Amber’s signature perfume. Before I could say a word, he looked at the half-eaten cake on the table and frowned. “You guys really didn’t wait for me?” I clenched my fists, my nails digging deep into my palms. “Hazel and I waited from six o’clock. Eight hours, Derek.” He hesitated, then shifted the subject with practiced ease. “Well, today is Zoe’s birthday too. Amber is a single mom, and she doesn’t have anyone else. I couldn’t just leave them.” As he pulled off his coat, a small, plush velvet box rolled out of his pocket. A jewelry box from Tiffany’s. I knew the brand; a simple necklace there cost thousands. I thought, for a fleeting second, it was Hazel’s birthday gift. But when it hit the floor, the lid popped open. It was empty. He had already given the piece away. Suddenly, I remembered the dress Hazel had insisted on wearing tonight. It was a size too small, tight across her chest, but she had squeezed into it because it was the only thing Derek had ever bought her. A month ago, Hazel had tugged on my sleeve in the hospital hallway. “Mommy, will Daddy really be here for this birthday? The nurse said if I don’t wake up after my surgery, I might never see you guys again.” I had held her small, fragile face and promised her through gritted teeth: “You will wake up, baby. And I promise, Daddy will be there this time.” I hadn’t been sure myself, which was why I spent the last two weeks reminding him daily. When he finally nodded last night, I had been so happy I couldn’t sleep. I never imagined he would break his promise again for Amber and her daughter. Years ago, Amber had been forced by her family to marry someone else and move abroad. Derek had been utterly devastated. Soon after, he married me—the girl who had loved him in silence for years. On our wedding night, he survived a horrific car crash. I was the neurosurgeon who performed his emergency craniotomy. While he was comatose, fighting for his life, the only name he muttered was Amber’s. That was the moment I realized I had never truly entered his heart. When Amber’s husband died, she returned to the states with Zoe. Derek started running over to her place every chance he got. I used to think my tolerance was a sign of maturity, of understanding. But it was just a weapon I handed him to hurt me and our daughter. Derek loosened his tie and walked toward the bathroom. “Alright, it’s just a birthday. We can celebrate it anytime. Next week, when I’m free, I’ll make it up to her.” Looking at his aloof, careless silhouette, a profound exhaustion washed over me. I took a deep breath and said quietly, “No need.” Because while Hazel was crying herself to sleep, I had already submitted my transfer request to the hospital in my hometown. It was approved instantly. Sensing something different in my tone, Derek paused and turned back. “Nicola, are you seriously picking a fight over something this trivial?” I stood up, holding my phone out to show him the screen. “Trivial?” It was a video Amber had posted. Derek was holding Amber’s hand with one arm and cradling Zoe with the other. Zoe planted a loud kiss on his cheek, squealing, “Thank you for spending my birthday with me, Daddy!” Derek’s face paled slightly. “She’s just a kid. She doesn’t know any better. Why do you let things like this get to you?” I gripped my phone tighter. “Yes, she’s a kid. But what about you? Are you a kid too? Or do you just forget you have a daughter of your own?” My confrontation hit a nerve. His voice flared. “Nicola, stop being so paranoid! Amber is raising a child alone, it’s exhausting. What’s wrong with me helping out? Besides, didn’t I order food delivery for Hazel tonight?” In the video, Zoe fed Derek a bite of her cake. He—a man with extreme germaphobia—ate it without a second thought. Yet, when Hazel had accidentally used his water glass months ago, he had thrown the glass directly into the trash in front of her, claiming she hadn’t brushed her teeth. Hazel had been so terrified she wouldn’t touch his things for months. I had given him the cold shoulder for two weeks over that, only forgiving him when he bought her that dress. But now I knew the truth. The dress was just something Zoe had thrown away because she thought it was ugly. Without this video, I would have never known that my otherwise frugal husband had spent thousands on a lavish party for his ex’s daughter at a five-star hotel. Derek’s raised voice pulled me back to the present. “And I have a million things to handle at work. How am I supposed to remember every kid’s birthday?” My throat felt tight, as if someone were choking me. For years, he couldn’t remember his daughter’s birthday or our anniversary. But he never forgot to boil ginger tea and drive it over to Amber whenever she had menstrual cramps. I swallowed the bitterness. “Tomorrow is Hazel’s school field day. You promised to go with her.” He hesitated, his brow furrowing deeper. “Zoe has a talent show tomorrow. I promised Amber I’d video it.” “There’s a father-daughter piggyback race. If you don’t go, is Hazel supposed to run alone? In her condition…” He cut me off. “Fine. I’ll go. Just stop accusing me of being biased.” As the bathroom door slammed shut, Hazel crept out of her room, clutching her stuffed bunny, Barnaby. She ran into my arms. “Mommy, see? Daddy still loves us.” I forced a smile, trying to feel relieved, but my chest only felt heavier. The next morning, Hazel happily climbed into the backseat of Derek’s car, her tiny backpack secured. Three hours later, my phone rang. It was the state highway patrol. “Is this Nicola? Your daughter was found on the shoulder of the I-95. She’s fainted from panic. You need to get here immediately…” My hand shook so violently I nearly dropped the phone. I drove to the station like a madwoman. The moment Hazel saw me, she broke down. I ran to her, wrapping her in a tight embrace. She clung to my shirt, still trembling. An officer watching the highway camera feed shook her head in disgust. “Who is this man to her? Leaving a child alone on a highway shoulder? Unbelievable.” I looked at the screen. The man who had abandoned my daughter on the interstate was Derek. The footage showed Zoe throwing Hazel’s backpack out of the window, screaming. Instead of reprimanding Zoe, Derek stopped the car, forced Hazel out onto the side of the road, and drove off. With cars rushing past her at eighty miles an hour, my little girl had clung to the guardrail, so terrified she had wet her pants. The last string of sanity in my mind snapped. With shaking hands, I dialed Derek’s number. He answered before I could speak, his voice frantic. “Nicola, Hazel might be in trouble. She snuck some wild flowers into her backpack, and it triggered Zoe’s asthma. I made her step out onto the shoulder for five minutes to cool down, but when I came back, she was gone.” Five minutes? It had been five hours. “Nicola, are you listening? She’s lost. Go look for her. Zoe’s on an IV right now, I can’t leave her…” So he was still at the hospital. He was just calling to delegate the search to me. Looking at my daughter’s pale, traumatized face, I hung up on him for the first time in my life. Then, I texted my mother: “Mom, Hazel and I are coming home tomorrow.” My mother replied instantly: “Really? I was just thinking about you guys! How long are you staying? What does Hazel want to eat? I’ll send your dad to the market right now…” Hazel reached up, her small hand wiping my cheeks. “Mommy, I’m okay. Don’t cry.” Only then did I realize my face was soaked with tears. I wiped them away and replied to my mother: “Mom, this time, we aren’t leaving.” There was a brief pause. My mother understood. “Okay, sweetie. Whatever you decide, your dad and I are behind you.” When we got back to our apartment to pack, the air was filled with the distinct, custardy aroma of durian. Hazel looked at me, terrified. It was her favorite fruit. But because Derek couldn’t stand the smell, I had stopped buying it years ago. Hazel stared at the freshly peeled plate of durian on the kitchen counter, swallowing hard. With my nod of approval, she reached for a piece, but Derek—who had just walked through the door—slapped her hand away violently. “You run off on the highway and the first thing you think about is stuffing your face?” Hazel shrunk back, hiding behind my legs. I glared at him. “I bought that for her.” Derek ignored me, pulling a mango from a bag and handing it to Hazel. “This is for you. You caused Zoe’s allergic reaction today. Consider the durian a peace offering for her.” He began packing the durian into a container. But he had forgotten—Hazel was severely allergic to mangoes. Three years ago, because of his carelessness, she had ended up in the ICU. He had sworn back then he would never let her suffer like that again. My hands began to shake. I couldn’t take it anymore. Before I knew what I was doing, I grabbed the mango and threw it hard against his chest. The sticky juice splattered all over his shirt. Derek stared at me, dumbfounded. “Nicola, what the hell is wrong with you?” Hazel clutched my jeans, tears streaming down her face. “Mommy, don’t fight. I’m not hungry anymore. I won’t eat anything.” Derek softened his tone slightly as he looked at her. “Daddy didn’t want to fight. Your mom is just being unreasonable.” Before he could finish, his phone rang. It was Zoe’s voice, sweet and demanding. “Daddy Derek, where are you? Zoe already finished her durian cake and candies!” Derek’s voice turned incredibly gentle. “I’m on my way, sweetie.” Once the door clicked shut behind him, I knelt down and hugged Hazel. “Hazel, if Mommy and Daddy get a divorce… will you be scared?” She wrapped her arms around my neck, her voice quiet. “I’m not scared, Mommy. I’m just scared that if I’m not here anymore, you’ll be lonely.” My heart broke. She loved her father so much, always wishing for a sliver of his affection. But this was the absolute last time. I had just finished packing our suitcases when Derek returned, with Amber and Zoe trailing closely behind him. Amber stood in the entryway, her eyes scanning our luggage before resting on me. I had been working back-to-back shifts at the hospital; my dark circles were heavy, and my hair was tied in a messy bun. She, on the other hand, had perfectly styled hair and soft, fresh makeup. At the exact same age, I looked ten years older than her. Amber smirked slightly, then looked at Derek. “Oh, Nicola already packed? That was fast.” Meeting my cold stare, Derek finally spoke. “Amber’s pipes burst, and they aren’t comfortable staying at a hotel. I was thinking… maybe you and Hazel could make a small sacrifice…” “A sacrifice?” I repeated. Derek nodded, trying to sound casual. “Just for a couple of weeks, maybe a month. Hazel is going to be admitted to the hospital next month anyway, so her room will be free. Amber is struggling on her own. We should help out where we can.” I let out a harsh laugh. “Why should we? I don’t even know her.” Derek’s face darkened. “Nicola, you’re becoming incredibly difficult. I try to talk to you, and all you do is give me attitude. If you’re going to be like this, fine—I’ll move out with them!” I marched into our bedroom, grabbed his clothes from the closet, and threw them into the hallway. “Perfect. Get out. And don’t forget to sign the divorce papers!” Derek froze. He stayed silent for a long moment, then, for the first time in months, he stepped closer to placate me. “Do you really have to embarrass me in front of guests? I know I’ve been distant lately, but Amber and I are just friends. Stop overreacting, okay?” In the past, if he had used that tone with me, I would have folded. But now, I was just tired. Suddenly, a sharp, piercing cry echoed from Hazel’s bedroom. We rushed in. Hazel was on the floor, her hands covered in blood, sobbing as she clutched a pile of broken glass. I panicked, lifting her up. “Hazel! What happened?” She gasped through her tears. “Zoe… Zoe broke my jar. She said she was going to burn all the paper cranes I folded for Daddy…” Zoe was standing nearby, clutching one of her fingers and crying even louder. “She’s lying! I just wanted to see them, and she threw the jar at me! Mommy, my finger is bleeding! Am I going to die?” Amber’s face went white. She yelled at Derek, “Derek! Zoe has a bleeding disorder! A tiny cut could be fatal!” Derek panicked, turning on Hazel with fury. “Is this how I raised you? How can you be so vicious at your age?” He threw a glare at me. “This is what happens when you spoil her! Look what she’s become!” He didn’t know that Hazel never lied. He didn’t believe her. But I did. Ignoring the blood dripping from Hazel’s small hands, Derek scooped Zoe up and rushed out the door with Amber. Looking at the crushed paper cranes scattered on the floor, Hazel wiped her tears. “Mommy, I don’t like Daddy anymore. Take me away. Please.” Half an hour later, after I bandaged Hazel’s hands, I called a moving company. By the next morning, the apartment was completely empty. I received a text from Derek: “Let’s stay apart for a bit to cool down. I’m not divorcing you. Nicola, I’ll say it again: Amber and I are clean. When you’ve cleared your head, bring Hazel to the hospital to apologize to Zoe.” I looked at the message, scrolling up through our chat history. It was a sea of blue bubbles from me, met with occasional one-letter responses from him. “K. Busy.” On a whim, I opened Amber’s Instagram. As I scrolled down, my chest grew cold. He had liked every single photo of her new manicures. On her selfies on rainy days, he commented: “Make sure you stay warm.” When she complained about Zoe not sleeping, he replied instantly: “It’s hard on you. Get some rest.” On a photo of her IV drip, he had left multiple likes and comments asking which hospital she was at. Even a random photo of a wildflower by the road had a heart from him. But when I looked at my own profile? The video of Hazel speaking her first words had gone completely unnoticed by him. A selfie I took during a grueling 3:00 AM hospital shift only had comments from my colleagues. When Hazel had a 104-degree fever and I posted a prayer for her recovery, a dozen friends checked in. His icon was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t avoiding his phone. He was just filtering me out. At that moment, I finally understood. Seven years of quiet endurance had bought me absolutely nothing. I smiled bitterly and texted back two words: “Suit yourself.” As I dragged our suitcases out the door, I left the signed divorce papers on the kitchen counter. Hazel held my hand, whispering, “Mommy, I promise I’ll wake up after my surgery. I won’t leave you alone.” I kissed her forehead. “I know, baby.” On the train, the city skyline blurred past the window. My phone began to vibrate wildly. Derek was calling, over and over—more times than he had in the last seven years combined. I didn’t answer. Ten minutes later, an unknown number popped up. I picked up, and Derek’s voice came through, raw and panicked. “Nicola! Where are you? Get to the hospital right now for emergency surgery! Zoe is in critical condition!”

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I listed our World Cup final tickets on a resale app, and in less than five minutes, a buyer messaged me. “Hey girl, I’ll pay seventy thousand for the pair.” “If you aren’t happy with that, I can go higher.” I stared at the offer for a few seconds, my chest tightening. I typed back: “No need. That’s way too high. I’ll transfer them to you at face value.” Her reply came instantly, bubbling with gratitude: “Oh my god, thank you so much! I’ve been looking everywhere and couldn’t find tickets anywhere.” “My husband told me that as long as I’m happy, money doesn’t matter.” My throat went dry, a bitter taste rising in my mouth. Those two tickets were supposed to be our fifth-anniversary present. I had spent months planning this. But Jack, my husband, had scoffed at the price and insisted I sell them. The night of the final, Jack was away on another “business trip.” During the eighty-seventh minute of the match, my phone lit up with a text from him. “Hey babe, I’m going to have to pull an all-nighter at the office. Go to sleep early.” I had just typed back “Okay” when the game-winning goal was scored on screen. The stadium erupted. People were screaming, embracing, lost in the collective madness. The camera panned across Section C of the crowd, capturing a man fiercely wrapping his arms around a young woman and kissing her deeply. The shot lasted only a second, but it was long enough for the glow of the television to wash over my suddenly bloodless face. Section C, Row Seven. Consecutive seats. The exact tickets I had hand-delivered to the buyer on the resale app. And the man who was holding her—the one who, a minute ago, told me he was stuck at the office—was Jack. … The referee’s final whistle blew. Around the world, millions cheered. But my world went completely, terrifyingly quiet. To capture the raw energy of the stadium, the broadcast slowly zoomed back in on Section C. There, amidst the sea of screaming fans, Jack was dropping to one knee in front of the girl. She was wearing an oversized jersey, but it couldn’t quite conceal the gentle curve of her belly. I watched the replay all night. I played those short three seconds twenty-seven times. There was no mistake. It was him. At dawn, a notification popped up. The girl from the resale app had sent me a friend request on Instagram. My fingers felt numb as I accepted it. Instantly, a barrage of voice notes flooded my inbox. “Thank you again! My husband just proposed to me right there in the stadium!” “If you hadn’t sold us those tickets, I would have missed the most magical night of my life!” I stared at the screen, my mind completely blank. I typed out a hollow reply: “Congratulations.” Perhaps my easy transaction made her feel like she could confide in me. “I’m so sorry, my voice is practically gone today. He was just so excited last night. Once we got back to the hotel, he didn’t care about the baby at all—he kept me up until dawn…” A raw, bitter laugh escaped my throat. I remembered frantically calling Jack last night, my chest tight with panic, only for every call to be instantly declined. All I had gotten in return was a cold, text-message brush-off: “I’m in the middle of something. Stop acting crazy.” Jack didn’t come home until the following evening. He looked exhausted as he walked through the front door, immediately pulling me into his arms. “Babe, I am so sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with simulated fatigue. “This launch has been brutal. I’ve been running on nothing but coffee, and I can’t believe I missed our anniversary.” I hadn’t slept in over thirty hours. I didn’t even have the energy to push him away. But as my cheek rested against his shoulder, my nose caught it—the distinct, lingering scent of another woman’s perfume on his collar. After a moment, Jack pulled back and slipped a cheap, plastic soccer-ball keychain into my hand. “Things were so crazy, I didn’t even have time to run to a proper store,” he said, offering a weak, apologetic smile. “I saw you were keeping up with the tournament, so I grabbed this as a little souvenir.” He kissed my forehead. “I’m exhausted. I’m going to wash off the flight.” He turned and disappeared into the bathroom. Before I could even process the weight of the plastic keychain in my palm, my phone buzzed. It was Melanie. “Hey girl! I just landed back in the States! I’d love to take you out for lunch to say thank you in person.” Directly below the text, she sent a photo of herself holding an iced latte. My eyes locked onto the ring finger of her left hand. A massive, brilliant-cut diamond ring. A month ago, I had accidentally stumbled upon the receipt for that exact ring in Jack’s email. Fifty thousand dollars. I had spent the last four weeks quietly believing it was my fifth-anniversary surprise. Now, I looked down at the plastic keychain in my hand. The price tag was still stuck to the back. “$5.” A moment later, the bathroom door opened and Jack stepped out, towel-drying his hair. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re miles away.” I looked up at him, the question finally tearing through my chest. “Jack. Were you at the game last night?” A flicker of pure, unadulterated panic flashed across his face, gone as quickly as it came. “Why would you ask that? Did you hear something?” “No,” I said, lowering my eyes to hide the shattering of my heart. “Just wondering.” He visibly relaxed, his shoulders dropping. “Babe, I was buried under a mountain of spreadsheets. I barely had time to eat, let alone go to a game.” He came over, squeezing my shoulder. “Don’t let your mind wander. I’m going to head into the study to answer a few quick emails. You should get some sleep.” Once the study door clicked shut, I went into the bedroom. There was another message from Melanie. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask—why did you sell those tickets? They were practically impossible to get.” A sharp ache bloomed in my chest. To surprise Jack for our anniversary, I had spent ten months waking up in the middle of the night to enter ticket lotteries. It was a miracle when I finally secured them three months ago. But when I had excitedly told him, his only reaction was to snap at me for spending fourteen thousand dollars on “something so trivial.” Yet he had happily dropped fifty thousand on a ring and seventy thousand on tickets for Melanie, just to make her smile. I took a slow, trembling breath and typed: “I was planning to go with my husband. But… I think he just didn’t want to go with me.” The screen remained silent for two minutes. Then, Melanie sent a long, earnest voice note. “Honestly, girl, I’ve always believed that if a man really loves you, he’ll make the time. No excuses.” “Last week, I had terrible stomach cramps, and my husband postponed a ten-million-dollar board meeting just to fly back and sit by my bed.” Another message popped up—a photo of a breathtaking sunrise over a private beach. “I casually mentioned that I wanted to see the sunrise on the coast, and he chartered a private jet to take me there the next morning.” Reading her words, I remembered the agonizing stomach cramps I’d had the previous week. I had called Jack, unable to even stand, and his only response was to send a pharmacy courier with a box of painkillers. I had asked him so many times if we could just take a weekend to drive down to the coast and watch the sunrise. Every single time, he told me he was too busy at the firm, adding that we were “an old married couple” and didn’t need to chase cheap thrills. It turned out he wasn’t incapable of romance. He just didn’t want to waste it on me. I stared at the screen for a long time before replying: “You’re right.” I paused, my fingers hovering over the keyboard before typing: “Are you two married?” The status changed to “typing…” and remained there for a while. Finally, she responded, her tone laced with a touch of performative guilt. “To be honest… he actually has a family.” “But I’m not some home-wrecking mistress! They don’t love each other anymore. The spark died years ago.” A cold shiver ran down my spine. I forced my shaking fingers to type: “If there’s no love left, why hasn’t he filed for divorce?” A few minutes later, Melanie sent a screenshot of her conversation with Jack. It was his face. His work account. In the screenshot, Melanie had written: “If you can’t let her go, we should end this. I don’t want to make things difficult for you.” Jack’s reply was immediate: “Mel, don’t say that.” “What I have with her isn’t love anymore. It’s just history, duty, and routine. But you… you are the one I actually want to love.” “I’ll give you everything you could ever ask for. Everything except that piece of paper.” I sat in the dark, unable to move. Ten years. Ten years of building a life together, of weathering storms, of quiet sacrifices. And in his eyes, it had all boiled down to “duty and routine.” If this was where we stood, then it was time to let the curtain fall. The next morning, before Jack could leave for the office, I called out to him. “Jack. I want a divorce.” He was standing in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie. He didn’t even turn around, just frowned slightly. “Nadine, are you seriously still throwing a fit because we didn’t go to the game?” “I’m serious.” “Look, I have a massive client meeting in thirty minutes,” he said, checking his watch before giving me a quick, dismissive kiss on the forehead. “Stop playing games. I’ll come home early tonight and we can talk.” He hurried out the door. I watched him go, a hollow laugh escaping my lips. I pulled out a suitcase and began packing, but before I could finish, my phone rang. It was the hospital. My mother had suffered a massive, sudden cardiac arrest. She was in critical condition. By the time I rushed into the ICU, the doctors told me she needed to be transferred immediately to the specialized heart unit at the city’s private medical center. If she didn’t get in, she wouldn’t survive the night. But the private wing had a waiting list miles long. Terrified and desperate, I called Jack. “Jack, my mom… she’s dying. They need to transfer her to the private wing at Presbyterian. You know the chief of medicine there. Please, can you just call him? Just ask for a bed…” On the other end of the line, Jack let out a long, irritated sigh. “Nadine, calling in a massive favor like that for a routine transfer? It’s really not worth the political capital.” My voice cracked, tears finally spilling over. “Jack, she’s dying! I’m not asking for a favor, I’m begging you to save her life!” “Look, I’ve already had my assistant call Mercy West,” his voice hardened, brooking no argument. “Their cardiac unit is perfectly fine. It’s more than enough. I’m in the middle of a board meeting. I have to go.” “Jack, please—” The line went dead. A second later, a notification banner popped up on my screen. Melanie had posted on her story. It was a photo of a small Golden Retriever puppy with a tiny pink cast on its leg. “My poor baby fell off the bed and fractured his paw. I’m literally crying.” “Thankfully, my amazing husband pulled some strings to get the head of orthopedic surgery from the private hospital to do an emergency house call.” I stared at the image, the room spinning around me. My mother’s life was a minor inconvenience. A puppy’s sprained paw was a crisis worthy of a medical director’s personal intervention. My mother didn’t make it through the afternoon. She passed away in the back of the transfer ambulance, her hand turning cold in mine before we ever reached Mercy West. In the days that followed, the sheer weight of the funeral arrangements and the suffocating grief crushed me. During a meeting with the funeral director, my vision went black, and I collapsed. When I woke up in the hospital bed, the doctor handed me a thin slip of paper. I was pregnant. I held the paper in my trembling hand, feeling nothing but a profound, sickening sense of irony. When I finally went back to the house that evening, Jack was actually in the kitchen, cooking dinner. He smiled warmly, guiding me to the table. “Nadine, try not to worry so much,” he said, pouring me a glass of water. “I made sure everything was set up at Mercy West. Your mom is in good hands there. She just needs rest, and she’ll be back on her feet in no time.” He didn’t even know. He hadn’t bothered to check. I didn’t correct him. I just stared at him, my voice completely devoid of emotion. “The doctor asked me today if we were planning on having kids soon.” The spoon in his hand paused mid-air. “Nadine, honestly, I hate the thought of you going through the physical toll of pregnancy,” he said, his tone dripping with protective concern. “And with my workload right now, I wouldn’t have the energy to support you. Let’s put that on the back burner for a few years.” I slowly folded the pregnancy test results in my pocket, my fingers squeezing the paper tight. “Okay,” I whispered. Late that night, Jack slept soundly beside me. I lay awake in the dark, my phone illuminating the room. Melanie had posted another update—a photo of a half-assembled crib. “Our little miracle gave me a kick today!” “My husband is the sweetest—the second I texted him about it, he literally walked out of his afternoon executive meeting to rush home and feel the baby move!” “An important meeting.” The exact excuse he had used to let my mother die. At 4:00 AM, while Jack’s breathing remained deep and even, I quietly got out of bed, took my keys, and drove to the women’s health clinic. I lay on the cold sterile table, letting the tears stream silently into my hair. I didn’t want this child. I didn’t want this marriage. I wanted to burn every bridge that connected me to him. As the procedure began, a sudden, blinding agony tore through my abdomen. “Wait, we have a problem! Severe hemorrhaging! Get the clamps, now!” The room erupted into chaos. The pain was a physical wall, crushing the air from my lungs. My vision began to dim. Through the panic of the nurses, my phone on the tray began to ring. A nurse, frantic, swiped it open and hit speakerphone. Jack’s voice came through, sounding annoyed. “Nadine, where the hell are you? Why aren’t you home?” The doctor barked into the phone: “Is this Nadine’s husband? Your wife is currently undergoing an emergency procedure at the medical center and is hemorrhaging severely. You need to get here immediately!” Silence fell over the line for a heartbeat. “Nadine…? What do you mean hemorrhaging? What happened?” Jack’s voice finally cracked with panic. “I’m getting in the car right now! Tell her to hold on!” His desperation gave me a fleeting anchor of consciousness. But five minutes passed. Ten minutes. Thirty minutes. The cold was seeping into my bones. My body felt weightless. Just as I felt myself slipping under, the phone rang again. The nurse answered. This time, Jack’s voice was filled with a frantic, frustrated helplessness. “Nadine, I’m so sorry! There’s a massive pileup on the bridge. Traffic is completely gridlocked. Just hang on, please! As soon as the lanes open up, I’m coming!” The call disconnected. I lay there, a final, cold clarity washing over me. He was lying. The clinic was barely two miles from our house. There was no bridge between here and there. Due to the critical blood loss, they rushed me onto a gurney to transfer me to the main emergency room. I stared at the ceiling tiles flying past, gasping for air, feeling my life slowly draining away with every beat of my heart. The double doors of the ER lobby burst open. As the gurney screeched to a halt, I turned my head slightly. And there, standing in the middle of the crowded waiting room, was Jack. He was holding Melanie in his arms, cradling her as if she were made of glass. Melanie was whimpering, holding up a finger adorned with a tiny pink band-aid. “It hurts so much, Jack…” Jack’s face was a mask of sheer panic as he yelled at a passing nurse. “Someone look at her hand! She cut herself while slicing fruit! It’s bleeding!” My gurney jolted forward, the paramedics pushing through the crowd. “Make way! Critical hemorrhage! Trauma room one!” The shouting caught Jack’s attention. He turned, looking in our direction. But he didn’t recognize me. He didn’t see the woman covered in blood as his wife. Instead, his brow furrowed in distaste, and he quickly pulled Melanie back several steps, shielding her face. “Don’t look, babe,” I heard him whisper, his voice carrying over the din. “It’s too graphic. It’ll upset you and the baby.” As the heavy doors of the trauma room swung shut and the harsh surgical lights blinded my eyes, I closed them. And in that quiet, freezing dark, the Nadine who had loved Jack for ten years finally died. ### Chapter 2 The medical team fought for four hours to pull me back from the edge. By the time the anesthesia began to wear off, my phone was blowing up with missed calls and texts from Jack. “Nadine, the clinic said you had a hemorrhage? What the hell is going on?” “Answer me, Nadine. Are you okay?” I stared at the screen, my expression flat. I didn’t reply. Half an hour later, another text arrived. “An emergency came up at the firm. I have to fly out of state for a couple of days. I’ll be back the day after tomorrow. Take care of yourself.” An emergency. Before I could even lock my phone, a message from Melanie popped up. “Hey girl! My fiancé is throwing me an engagement party tomorrow! You absolutely have to come!” Attached was a digital invitation. Emblazoned in elegant silver script were the names: “Jackie & Melanie”. The “emergency” he had to fly out for was his own engagement party to another woman. For the rest of the day, Jack’s calls and texts were relentless. “Nadine, what is this attitude?” “I am incredibly busy right now. Can you please stop throwing tantrums?” I muted his notifications. I didn’t offer a single word. The next evening, I discharged myself from the hospital. I spent an hour doing my makeup to cover the hollow, bloodless pale of my skin. I put on a sharp, floor-length black silk dress, slipped the signed divorce papers into my bag, and headed to the venue. Just outside the private club, I texted Melanie. “I’m here. I’m wearing a black dress.” Melanie replied instantly: “Come on up! We’re in VIP Suite 8!” I pushed open the heavy oak doors of the suite. The room was loud, filled with laughter and the clinking of expensive crystal. At the head of the long table, Melanie caught sight of me. Her eyes lit up. “Oh my god, you’re finally here!” She beamed, pulling Jack up by his arm. “Babe, let me introduce you. This is the amazing girl I told you about from the resale app!” Jack turned, a polite, practiced host’s smile on his face. But the moment our eyes met, his smile shattered. His hand seized, and his champagne flute slipped through his fingers, crashing onto the hardwood floor.

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I filed the paperwork to dissolve the gallery I had spent three years building for Alex. My business partner, Mitch, stared at me in sheer disbelief. “The renovations are practically finished,” he said, his hands trembling as he held the drafts. “We’re just waiting on the final walkthrough. You’re not even going to wait for Alex to get back so you can cut the ribbon together?” I calmly pushed the set of keys across the mahogany table. “No. He’s too busy chasing the Northern Lights with his muse.” We had been together for seven years. Every November, without fail, Alex would vanish for two weeks. He always called it his annual pilgrimage to the Arctic—a trip to find his creative spark, to let the frozen wilderness breathe life into his paintings. I believed him. Until yesterday, when I found a hidden folder on his old iPad, the one he had tossed into the study drawer and forgotten. Seven years of photos. Same coordinates. Same snow-swept landscape. And in every single shot, the same woman. She was wearing a custom-tailored polar parka he had personally designed for her, her smile bright and unbothered. Yet, when I asked him—begged him, just once—to come with me to the hospital for my post-op tumor screening, he told me he was too busy. “You’ve always been the strong one, Nancy,” he had said, his voice flat and dismissive. “Don’t start acting like one of those fragile, high-maintenance women now.” I had swallowed my fear and gone alone. I had believed him. But I was done. I didn’t want him anymore. … The ink was barely dry on the dissolution agreement, and Mitch’s hand was still shaking. “Nancy, are you out of your mind?” he pleaded. “You pulled all-nighters for three months straight for this place. You went through twenty drafts of the floor plans. You don’t just walk away from this.” I smiled faintly, capping my pen. “I do.” Mitch stared at me, searching my face for some sign of hysteria, but found only a quiet, chilling resolve. He let out a long, defeated sigh. “Does Alex know?” “He’s in Iceland.” “For inspiration again?” I didn’t answer. I had heard the word “inspiration” for seven years, and frankly, I was exhausted on his behalf. “Did you two fight?” Mitch probed gently. “No.” “Then what is this? This gallery was supposed to be his thirtieth birthday present!” “I just realized,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, “he doesn’t deserve it.” Mitch froze, the words dying in his throat. I picked up my coat, stepped out of the conference room, and walked out into the Chicago winter. It was the first snow of the year. I stood on the curb, pulling my collar tight against the wind, and pulled out my phone. My text thread with Alex had been dead for three days. His last message was brief: “Landed. Reception is terrible out here. Don’t blow up my phone.” I had replied with a simple, “Okay.” For three days, he had been completely silent, as if he had vanished off the face of the earth. But his old iPad was very much alive. I had dug it out of the drawer to look up an old design file, plugging it in to charge. When it booted up, the iCloud library had automatically synced, revealing a hidden album. It was titled: “The Lights and Her.” Four hundred and twelve photos. Every single one of them was composed beautifully—the lighting, the shadow, the framing. They looked like cinematic stills. The woman in the photos was Talia. She was Alex’s junior from college, the girl he had always described to me as “a sweet, talentless kid who just tries really hard.” In the photos, Talia was wearing a vibrant red parka, standing on the black sand beach in Vik. Talia was cradling a steaming mug of coffee inside a luxury glass-domed cabin. Talia was closing her eyes, her hands clasped in prayer beneath a brilliant neon-green sky. In the bottom right corner of every single image was Alex’s professional watermark. Seven years. Every November. I had asked him once why he always chose November. He told me the aurora was at its purest then. I asked him when he would finally take me with him. He told me to wait—just until he had his first major solo exhibition. I had poured my soul into making that happen. I worked eighty-hour weeks, drained my personal savings, and pitched to stubborn investors, all to give him his dream gallery. I thought I was building our future. In reality, I was just funding his romantic getaway with another woman. My phone buzzed, shattering the cold silence. It was my best friend, Rachel. “Nancy, tell me Mitch is lying,” she demanded the moment I answered. “Did you really shut down the gallery?” “Yes.” “That was half a million dollars in startup capital and lease penalties! You didn’t even hesitate?” “I paid the termination fees,” I said, watching my breath cloud in the freezing air. “The remaining funds are back in my account.” Rachel was silent for a long moment. “Are you really okay with this?” “There’s nothing to be upset about. It’s just cutting my losses.” “And what about that miserable bastard? Have you confronted him?” “He’s in Iceland with Talia. The signal is bad, remember?” Rachel let out a sharp, venomous curse. “Are you kidding me? He actually took her? She posted an aurora photo on Instagram yesterday with some caption about ‘Our seventh-year promise.’ I thought she’d just stolen a stock photo!” “Our seventh-year promise.” So they had a promise. Meanwhile, my seven years with Alex had yielded nothing but a lecture on how “independent” I was. “Nancy, what are you going to do?” “I quit my job. I listed the condo this morning.” “You’re leaving?” “Yeah. I need a change of scenery.” “Where are you going?” “I don’t know yet. Just somewhere he isn’t.” I hung up and hailed a cab. On the ride back to the apartment, a notification popped up. It was a WhatsApp message from Alex. It was a single photo of an icy Icelandic mountain, beautiful and desolate. Underneath, he wrote: “Freezing to death, but the lights are beautiful.” I pinched the screen to zoom in on the lower-left corner, where the black ice acted like a mirror. There, clearly reflected in the dark surface, was a figure in a bright red parka. Talia. Even his half-hearted attempts to keep me placated carried the shadow of another woman. I didn’t bother to reply. When I got to the apartment, I began to pack. I didn’t own much; everything of value fit into two large suitcases. The closet was suddenly half-empty, and the bathroom counter looked barren without my things, leaving only his expensive cologne and skincare products. As I walked toward the front door, my gaze fell on a pair of red designer heels sitting on the shoe rack. He had given them to me for my birthday last year. They were a size six. I wear a seven. When I had pointed out the mistake, he merely rubbed his temples and said, “I must have mixed it up. I’ll exchange them next time.” There was never a next time. The shoes had sat there for a year, gathering dust. Yet, Talia’s custom parka had been ordered from a high-end technical brand, tailored precisely to her measurements. I picked up the red heels and tossed them directly into the hallway trash chute. Then, I sat on the living room sofa and watched the city lights flicker through the window, waiting for the sun to rise. This was my last night in Chicago. “Alex, enjoy the lights,” I thought. “Enjoy them while they last. Because after today, you don’t have me anymore.” Alex arrived home the following afternoon, bringing a gust of freezing air with him as he pushed the door open. “Nancy, I’m back,” he called out, kick-starting his boots off. He placed a small glossy bag on the entryway table. “Brought you something.” I remained seated on the couch, watching him. He had lost a bit of weight, but his eyes were bright, carrying the residual glow of someone who had just experienced something profound. It was the look he got only when he was deeply satisfied with his work. “What is it?” I asked, my voice flat. “A snow globe.” He pulled it from the bag and set it on the coffee table. Inside was a miniature snow-capped mountain. If you shook it, plastic white flakes drifted lazily to the bottom. It was the kind of cheap, twenty-dollar trinket you buy at a gas station gift shop. “Thanks,” I said, leaving it untouched. He shed his heavy coat and slid onto the sofa beside me, stretching his arms. “God, I’m exhausted. Three layovers.” He leaned in, preparing to rest his head on my shoulder, but I casually shifted away. He blinked, caught off guard. “What’s wrong? Bad day?” “No.” He frowned, sensing the shift in temperature, but shook it off. “How’s the gallery coming along? Mitch told me you haven’t been by the site all week.” “I dissolved the company. I cancelled the lease.” “What?” Alex sat up straight, his face instantly hardening. “What do you mean you dissolved it? What kind of joke is this?” “It’s not a joke. The papers are filed. I paid the penalties.” “Nancy, have you lost your mind?” his voice cracked, rising an octave. “That was my thirtieth birthday present! You spent three years planning it, and you just threw it away?” “Yes. Because I decided I didn’t want to give it to you.” Alex stared at me, his chest heaving. “What is this really about? You’re throwing a tantrum because I went to Iceland? I told you, it was a business trip! I needed inspiration!” “Does finding inspiration require bringing Talia along?” Alex froze. A flicker of sheer panic crossed his eyes, quickly masked by defensive anger. “You’re spying on me?” “I don’t have the time or the energy,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “Your old iPad synced to the cloud. Four hundred photos, Alex. You really captured her best angles.” He swallowed hard, his throat dry. “Nancy, it’s not what you think. She happened to be traveling in Iceland at the same time. We ran into each other, and since I had my gear, I took a few shots for her. It was professional courtesy.” “For seven years?” I asked, my voice incredibly calm. “You just happened to run into her in the middle of a frozen wasteland every single November?” The lie lay between us, pathetic and shattered. Alex’s expression turned ugly. “Fine! If you already knew, why are you interrogating me?” He threw himself back against the sofa cushions, defensive and petulant. “Talia has severe clinical depression. The only time she feels any peace is when she’s watching the aurora. It’s not safe for her to travel to places like that alone. I’m her mentor, Nancy. What was I supposed to do? Leave her to spiral?” “What was I supposed to do?” I almost laughed at the sheer absurdity of his righteousness. “Alex, last year, when my doctor found a mass on my ovary and said there was a strong chance it was malignant, they wanted a family member there for the biopsy. I called you, crying. You told me you were at an art retreat. You told me I was independent, that I shouldn’t be so dramatic.” I looked at him, my eyes dry. The tears had burned away long ago, leaving only a cold, hollow space. “And while I lay on that sterile table alone, terrified I was going to die, you were in Iceland, curing Talia’s depression with the Northern Lights.” “Her illness required your presence under the aurora, but my potential cancer was something I had to face by myself. Do you think that’s fair, Alex?” Alex opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He ran a frantic hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at me. “But… the mass was benign,” he muttered, defensive to the very end. “Your final biopsy came back clear.” “Yes, it was benign,” I nodded. “I suppose if I had actually died, you would have complained that my funeral interfered with your travel plans.” “Nancy! That’s out of line!” He stood up abruptly, towering over me, his face flushed with anger. “Talia and I are platonically clean. Nothing happened between us! Do you have to make everything so toxic?” “Platonic?” I stood up to meet his gaze. “You custom-order her high-end gear, but you buy me shoes that don’t fit. You’ve been to Iceland with her seven times, but you haven’t sat through a weekend movie with me in three years. She is your muse, and I am your unpaid business manager. You call that platonic?” Alex stepped back, momentarily stunned by the sheer weight of my words. He had never seen me like this. I had always been the quiet supporter, the one who handled the logistics while he played the tortured artist. “Fine,” he spat, grabbing his jacket off the chair. “You’re completely hysterical right now. Cool down. I’m sleeping at the studio tonight.” The heavy oak door slammed shut behind him. I looked around the empty living room and smiled. It was always the same. Whenever he was cornered, he ran. He would stay away for a few days, wait for my anger to cool, and then come back with some cheap token, expecting me to have swept everything under the rug. But he didn’t realize that this time, there was no rug left. I went into the bedroom, zipped up my final suitcase, and felt a profound, beautiful sense of relief. On Saturday, our mutual friend Tyler hosted a welcome-back dinner for Alex at a upscale Italian restaurant downtown. I had planned to skip it, but Rachel dragged me along. “You are not hiding,” she insisted as she did my makeup. “If you’re leaving this city, you’re doing it looking like a queen. We aren’t letting them think you ran away with your tail between your legs.” She was right. I wore a sleek, black velvet slip dress that hugged my curves, did a bold red lip, and slipped into a pair of brand-new, perfectly fitting size-seven heels. When we walked into the private dining room, the atmosphere was loud and warm. Alex was sitting at the head of the table. Talia was seated right next to him. She was wearing a cream-colored cashmere turtleneck, and pinned to her chest was an intricate, custom-designed meteorite brooch. I recognized it instantly. Alex had bid on it at an estate auction a month ago, spending a significant portion of his quarterly art sales. I had assumed it was an early anniversary gift for me. It turned out it was for his muse. “Nancy! You’re here!” Talia squeaked, standing up with a fragile, innocent smile. “Come sit! Alex was just saying he didn’t know if you’d make it.” She called him “Alex” with a quiet, domestic intimacy, as if she were the hostess of the evening. I ignored her completely and took a seat next to Rachel. Alex looked at me, his eyes dark and conflicted, but he didn’t say a word. After a few rounds of drinks, Tyler started raising his glass. “So, Alex, did you bring back anything good from the frozen north?” Alex smiled faintly. “Just a few keepsakes.” “Like that gorgeous brooch on Talia?” another friend chimed in. “That doesn’t look like a standard souvenir.” Talia touched the metal delicately, her cheeks flushing. “It’s a birthday gift from Alex. It’s actual meteorite. He said the cosmic energy helps ground my anxiety.” The table went quiet. Everyone in our social circle knew Alex and I were engaged. Watching him present another woman with a piece of jewelry that cost thousands of dollars was a bridge too far, even for them. Tyler, sensing the thick tension, scrambled to save the night. “Hey, let’s play a game to liven things up. A classic couple’s trivia. Alex, you’re up. What is Nancy’s absolute favorite meal?” Alex hesitated, his brow furrowing. “She… well, she’s not picky. She’ll eat anything.” “Wrong!” Tyler laughed nervously. “She’s obsessed with sweet and sour ribs. She orders them every time we go out. Come on, man.” Alex rubbed the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. “Okay, next one,” Tyler continued. “What is Nancy allergic to?” This time, Alex answered instantly. “Seafood.” “Really?” Rachel let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Nancy is severely allergic to peanuts, Alex. She nearly went into anaphylactic shock last year because of a peanut sauce. Did that slip your mind?” Alex’s face drained of color. He had forgotten. Because the afternoon she was in the emergency room, he had been rushing to O’Hare to pick up Talia, leaving his phone on silent. “Well, what about Talia?” Rachel pressed, her voice dripping with venom. “What is she allergic to?” Without a second thought, Alex blurted out, “Mangoes. It triggers her hives.” A suffocating silence descended upon the room. He couldn’t remember his fiancée’s life-threatening allergy, but his junior’s dietary restrictions were permanently etched into his brain. Talia kept her head down, but I saw the faint, triumphant curve of her lips. “Oh, Alex just has a terrible memory for these things,” Talia said softly, raising her glass of water. “Nancy, please don’t be upset. I wanted to toast you, actually. Thank you for taking care of Alex all these years so he could focus entirely on his masterpiece.” The sheer condescension of it was breathtaking. She was speaking to me as if she were the wife and I were the hired help. I looked at her glass, then met her eyes. “Talia, in what capacity are you toasting me?” Talia’s hand froze mid-air. Her eyes instantly filled with tears. “Nancy, I… did I say something wrong? Alex and I are just friends…” “Friends?” I stood up, my chair scraping loudly against the hardwood floor. “Do friends require a man to abandon his fiancée every single winter? Do friends accept jewelry that costs half his yearly income? Do friends make him memorize their minor allergies while his fiancée almost dies in an ER alone?” With every word, Talia shrank back, her face turning pale. Alex slammed his hand on the table and stood up, pulling Talia behind his shoulder. “Nancy, that is enough! If you have an issue, deal with me. Don’t take your insecurities out on her!” “Bullying her?” I looked at him, at the protective stance he took over her, and felt the final, lingering thread of my affection snap. “Alex, look at yourselves. You’re the ones who have been humiliating me for years.” I reached down, picked up my glass of Cabernet, and threw it directly into his face. The dark red liquid dripped down his nose, staining his crisp white shirt like fresh blood. “We are done, Alex.” I turned on my heel and walked out. “Nancy!” he yelled, but I didn’t stop. The moment I hit the street, the Chicago rain began to pour. Rachel ran out after me, holding a large umbrella over my head. “That was spectacular,” she breathed, her eyes shining. “The look on his face was worth every penny.” I took a deep breath, letting the icy air fill my lungs. I had never felt lighter. “Rachel, I’m leaving tomorrow.” “I’ll help you load the car.” The last seven years had been a beautiful, foolish dream. But the fever had finally broken. On Sunday morning, I made a quiet breakfast in the apartment. Two pour-over coffees, two plates of toast. When Alex walked out of the bedroom, his hair was a mess and his eyes were heavily bloodshot. He had crept in very late the night before, and we hadn’t exchanged a single word. He looked at the breakfast, surprised, and slowly took a seat across from me. “Nancy, about last night…” “Let’s just eat,” I interrupted gently. He watched me, cautious, and took a sip of his coffee. “Do you have plans today?” I asked. “No. Why?” “Can you just stay here and spend the day with me?” Alex looked down, his eyes shifting away. “Today… today isn’t great.” “Why?” “There’s something urgent at the studio. A few collectors are coming by to view the new series.” It was a clumsy lie. He didn’t even have the energy to make it believable. Right then, his phone buzzed on the table. The screen lit up with the name: “Talia.” He grabbed it immediately, turning his shoulder to hide the screen as he answered. “Hey. What’s wrong? Don’t cry, tell me.” “What? He’s throwing up? Okay, okay, calm down. I’m coming right now.” He hung up and turned to me, his face frantic. “Nancy, Talia’s cat is severely sick. She’s having a panic attack and can’t drive him to the clinic. I have to go.” “If a cat is sick, she can call an animal ambulance,” I said, my voice entirely level. “She has depression, Nancy! That cat is her entire support system. If anything happens to him, she’ll spiral! I have to go.” He grabbed his coat, rushing toward the door. He was already slipping on his boots, not even bothering to look back at me. “Alex.” My voice stopped him. He turned, his face tight with impatience. “What now, Nancy? I’m in a hurry.” “If you walk out of that door today, we are completely over.” Alex stared at me. He seemed to be weighing whether I was bluffing. Then, he let out a harsh, irritated laugh. “Don’t do this. Don’t use ultimatums to control me. Talia actually needs me right now. You’ve always been so cold, Nancy. Do you really have no empathy for a living thing?” With that, he pushed the door open and left. The moment the lock clicked, I took my cold coffee and poured it down the drain. “Cold.” Yes, I was cold. I was the one who kept him warm when he had nothing, who cooked his meals, washed his clothes, and managed his career so he could remain a pure artist. I had given him the best seven years of my life. And my reward was being called cold-blooded. I walked into the bedroom and rolled my two suitcases into the living room. I slipped my engagement ring off my finger and set it on the glass coffee table. Beside it, I lined up the seven cheap snow globes he had brought back from Iceland over the years. Seven years of thoughtless, low-effort guilt offerings. I pulled out a sticky note and wrote: “Alex, the gallery is gone. The ring is yours, along with seven years of your guilt. Go be Talia’s savior. You are no longer mine.” I pressed the note under the heavy platinum band. I took one last look around the apartment. Every corner held my touch. I had chosen the mid-century sofa, selected the linen curtains, and planted the succulents on the balcony. But none of it mattered anymore. I grabbed my suitcases and walked out. Downstairs, Rachel’s SUV was idling at the curb. “All packed?” she asked, helping me lift the bags into the trunk. “Yes.” “No looking back?” “There’s nothing left to look at.” I climbed into the passenger seat and watched the brick townhomes of our neighborhood fade into the distance. I switched my phone to airplane mode. From this moment on, Alex was dead to me. Two hours later, the plane tore through the gray Chicago clouds. As we reached cruising altitude, I looked out at the endless white expanse below, and the tears finally came. I wasn’t crying because I missed him. I was crying for the girl who had spent seven years believing she was loved.

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