Category: English

My son had been kidnapped. The ransom was one hundred million dollars. When I went to wire the money, I discovered my husband’s executive assistant had frozen our accounts. I stormed into his office to confront her. She tossed a check on the desk—it was for two hundred and fifty dollars. Chloe smirked. “Maybe you could negotiate with them? Ask for a payment plan? I’m sure they’d be willing to return the kid in installments, too.” Rage, white-hot and blinding, washed over me. I slapped her, hard, across the face. Then again. That’s when Carter arrived. He didn’t hesitate. A swift, brutal kick landed squarely in my chest, knocking the air from my lungs. He pulled Chloe into his arms, shielding her as if I were the threat. His eyes, when they met mine, were chips of ice. “Chloe was just making a joke, Evelyn. You had no right to lay a hand on her.” His voice was dangerously calm. “And since we’re being honest… our son isn’t coming back. So I might as well tell you. Chloe and I have a child together. A boy. If you play your cards right, he might even be generous enough to call you ‘Mom’ one day.” My world fractured. At that exact moment, my phone buzzed. A video from the kidnappers. It was a close-up of a small hand, followed by the sickening crack of bone as they broke every single one of his fingers. But as the child’s face, contorted in agony, filled the screen, a strange, chilling calm descended over me. I recognized that face. I smiled, a thin, brittle thing, and transferred the $250. I attached a note: His mother said you can have the money in installments. I guess you can return him the same way. 1 The first thing I did after the transfer was place a video call to my son, Leo. He answered almost immediately, his sweet, familiar face filling my screen. “Mom! I’m still in Berlin with Uncle Mark for the robotics championship! We’ll be on a flight home this afternoon. Don’t miss me too much, okay?” A wave of relief so powerful it felt like grief washed over me. My heart, which had been a stone in my chest, finally started to beat again. I hung up and turned, just in time to see Chloe directing facilities management to hang black-and-white portraits of Leo around the office. Memorial photos. The rage returned, a tidal wave in my blood. I snatched one of the portraits from the wall and tore it to shreds. Chloe blinked, a perfect picture of innocence. “Evelyn, I know this is hard to accept, but I was just trying to help you find some closure. There’s no need to lash out.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “The only person who needs to be grieving here is you. It’s your son they took.” For a split second, her face went slack, her skin ashen. Then she crumpled into Carter’s arms, her shoulders shaking with manufactured sobs. “Even if I didn’t pay… how could she say something so horrible? How could she curse my Sterling?” Carter’s eyes burned with a righteous fury. He struck me, a sharp, stinging slap that rocked my head to the side. “So what if I don’t want to pay?” he snarled, his voice low and menacing. “For years, you and that boy have been leeches, bleeding me dry.” He gestured to my clothes with a contemptuous flick of his wrist. “You want money? Start taking things off. Ten thousand dollars an item.” The scornful gazes of his employees were like a thousand tiny needles piercing my skin. My entire body trembled with fury. Fine. I walked to the head of the boardroom, connected my phone to the projector, and played the kidnapper’s video on the massive screen. The brutal, bloody images filled the room. No one could watch it without flinching in horror. Chloe let out a theatrical shriek and buried her face in her hands. Carter’s attention snapped to her immediately, which is why he missed it—the unmistakable resemblance between the tortured child on the screen and the woman sobbing in his arms. “Carter, it’s horrible,” she whimpered, clutching his suit jacket. “I’m going to have nightmares for weeks. I’m so scared.” He instantly ordered someone to smash the projection system, then shot me a look of pure loathing. “You think showing me this will make me feel sorry for you? Make me pay? You want to put on a show, Evelyn, you have to go all the way. Tell the kidnappers to send me his body.” I stared at the man before me, a stranger carved from ice and cruelty. We were college sweethearts, had built an empire together, weathered more than a decade of storms side-by-side. I couldn’t believe this was our final chapter. My voice was flat, devoid of all emotion. “Just make sure you don’t regret this, Carter.” He had the IT department forcibly wipe the video from my phone, ensuring Chloe wouldn’t be “traumatized” again. Tucked safely in his embrace, she shot me a triumphant, mocking smile. Just then, Carter’s phone rang. It was the kidnappers. “Mr. Harrison,” a gravelly voice threatened. “You’re a colder bastard than I thought. Don’t you even want your favorite son back?” “Maybe hearing him will change your mind.” A child’s agonized screams filled the line. “Daddy! Mommy! It hurts so much! Please, help me!” The color drained from Carter’s face. He looked down at Chloe, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “Chloe… that sounds a little like Sterling.” She rolled her eyes, a perfect imitation of loving exasperation. “Don’t be silly. Sterling is safe at the Greenwich estate. It’s obviously Leo, trying to imitate his voice to trick you into saving him.” Comprehension dawned on Carter’s face, followed by a renewed wave of disgust directed at me. He spoke into the phone, each word a block of ice. “Kill him. I have other children.” He paused. “But do me a favor. Keep his kidneys. Freeze them and send them to me. Sterling needs a transplant. You do that, and I might even throw in ten million for your trouble.” The kidnapper laughed, a harsh, incredulous sound, and hung up. Watching Carter’s smug, cruel expression, a wave of nausea rose in my throat. I couldn’t take another second. I pulled the divorce papers from my purse and slammed them on the table. “I’m done, Carter. We’re getting a divorce.” He stared at me for a moment, then his face hardened into a mask of contempt. “Can’t get the ransom, so you threaten me with divorce? You’re getting more creative, I’ll give you that, Evelyn.” He snatched a pen and scrawled his name across the signature line, then threw the papers in my face. “Your doctor told me years ago, remember?” he sneered. “Your fertility was declining. By now, you’re nothing but a barren old hen. I was going to be generous. I was thinking I’d let you stay on as Sterling’s nanny, give you a few hundred bucks a month so you wouldn’t die alone. But you threw that away. Don’t come crawling back to me when you realize what you’ve lost.” My knuckles were white as I clutched the papers. It took every ounce of my self-control not to scream the truth at him—the truth I had hidden for years to protect his fragile ego. The doctor’s diagnosis hadn’t been for me. It had been for him. He swept Chloe into his arms, a picture of adoration. “Come on, darling. Let’s go to the hospital and arrange that transplant. Sterling is going to be whole again very soon.” True to their word, the kidnappers sent the kidney. Carter had me dragged to the hospital, insisting that since it was Leo’s kidney, I was the one who had to sign the organ donation consent forms. When I arrived, he was in the middle of wiring ten million dollars to the kidnappers, not blinking an eye. The voice on the phone was dark, laced with a strange significance. “You’re a generous man, Mr. Harrison. But like I said before, if I don’t see the full hundred million, you’re going to get your son back… piece by piece.” Carter hung up impatiently and shoved the forms at me. “Sign.” I looked at him, my face a blank mask. “This isn’t Leo’s kidney. It’s Sterling’s. Shouldn’t Chloe be the one signing this?” His fingers clamped around my jaw, his grip so tight I thought the bone would snap. “If I hear you curse my son’s name one more time,” he ground out, his voice like grinding steel, “I will kill you.” Just then, one of his executives rushed in, breathless with excitement. “Mr. Harrison! The tech team tracked the calls! We have the kidnappers’ location. We can give it to the police and get your son back!” I wrenched myself from Carter’s grasp. “Then what are you waiting for? Call them!” I despised Carter and Chloe, despised the secret life they’d built on a foundation of lies. But the child didn’t deserve to die. “No!” Carter’s voice was a whip crack. “Do not call the police! And tell the tech team to wipe all the location data immediately.” I stared at him in disbelief. “Carter, are you insane? That’s your son!” He whirled on me, his face a mask of rage. “Sterling needs that kidney! If the police get involved, they’ll put it back in Leo’s body. Are you really willing to let a child die just to save Leo? Is that how selfish you are?!” To make sure I couldn’t act, he had his bodyguards smash my phone and tablet. I watched it all, numb, a storm of hatred and vindication brewing inside me. You chose this, Carter. This is all on you. At that moment, Chloe ran in, her face streaked with tears. “Carter! I called the estate to have them bring Sterling for the surgery, but they said he’s gone! He’s missing!” Panic flared across Carter’s handsome features. Chloe’s eyes, full of venom, locked onto mine. Then, she threw herself to the floor, kneeling at my feet. “Evelyn, I know you’re in pain,” she sobbed. “I know you resent that my Sterling is alive while you’re losing your own son. But take your anger out on me! Please… just give me my son back! I’m begging you!” I frowned, bewildered by her insane performance. Before I could speak, Carter’s foot slammed into my stomach. Pain exploded through me. I collapsed, gasping for air as agony ripped through my abdomen. Carter stood over me, his shadow falling across my face as he delivered his judgment. “Tell me where Sterling is. Now,” he said, his voice deadly soft. “Or I swear to God, I will end you.” It was a struggle to speak through the pain. “I told you… the kidnappers have Sterling. You need to talk to them, not me.” He let out a series of short, cold laughs. “Right.” He turned to his assistant. “Evelyn’s brother has been out of the country. Find out where he is. Now!” Minutes later, a stack of photos was in his hands. It was my brother, Mark, with Leo at an airport. Mark’s security detail is legendary; they’re the best in the world. The photographer had only been able to get shots from a distance, mostly of their backs. Even just seeing the familiar shape of Leo’s back made my heart ache. But in that moment, I had never been more grateful that he was safe. I pointed a trembling finger at the photo. “Open your damn eyes, Carter. That jacket Leo is wearing? You had it custom-made for his birthday last year. It’s one of a kind. That is Leo with my brother. Not Sterling.” Carter’s hand tightened on the photos, a flicker of panic in his eyes. But Chloe snatched them from him. “Don’t listen to her, Carter,” she insisted. “Look at his height, his build. It’s exactly like Sterling’s. That is our son. Believe me, the kidnappers would never touch Sterling.” Her absolute confidence was jarring. A wild, impossible thought began to form in the back of my mind. Carter’s brow smoothed. He stepped forward and ground his heel into the back of my hand. A sickening crunch echoed in the sterile room, followed by my own scream. The pain was blinding. In a frenzy, I lunged forward and bit his leg, my teeth sinking into the flesh. He yelped and pulled back, a sadistic smile twisting his lips. “Stop pretending. I know your brother has the resources to snatch Sterling without anyone knowing. But your protector isn’t in the country now, is he? If you don’t have him return my son, you’ll be joining yours in the grave.” I fought back tears of pain, about to speak, when a security guard entered with a box, a coppery smell wafting from it. “Mr. Harrison. This just arrived from the kidnappers.” He opened it. Inside lay a child’s severed arm. A note was tucked beside it. The first installment. If the money doesn’t come, the next one will be fatal. I stared at Carter, my voice ringing with desperate clarity. “If you have a shred of sense left, you’ll have a doctor do a DNA test on that arm and prove I’m telling the truth!” The challenge hit its mark. He started to call for a doctor. “Carter, no!” Chloe wrapped her arms around his, pouting. “Don’t fall for her tricks. A DNA test will take time. She’s just stalling until her brother gets back to save her.” He froze, understanding dawning in his eyes. The look he gave me was pure venom. “It seems you won’t learn until you’ve lost everything,” he whispered. “In that case, don’t blame me for what comes next.” He had me dragged to the estate’s dog kennels, where he kept a pack of half-starved wolves. Sterling’s arm was hung from the cage. The frenzied snarling of the animals made my blood run cold. Chloe leaned against Carter, a picture of smug pity. “You should just tell your brother to bring Sterling back, Evelyn. In a few minutes, that arm is going to be wolf food. I’ll tell you what… if you get on your knees and apologize for everything, I’ll be merciful and give you ten more minutes to think about it.” Carter stroked her hair. “You’re always too kind, my love.” I looked from them to the arm, my voice eerily calm. “You two really are a perfect match. Blind in exactly the same way. Can’t you see it? There’s an oval birthmark on the forearm. Leo doesn’t have a birthmark.” Chloe’s composure faltered for an instant. She stepped closer, squinting at the arm. Then she burst out laughing. “A birthmark? Evelyn, that’s a smudge of dried blood. I think you’re finally losing your mind.” Carter gently fed her a grape and gave a cold command. “Throw it in.” The wolves descended on the arm in a flurry of teeth and snarls. Carter watched me, his eyes searching my face for a flicker of grief, of pain. He found nothing. “Has she really gone insane?” he muttered, lighting a cigarette with a frustrated flick of his wrist. With a wave of his hand, a swarm of reporters and news crews flooded the area. Chloe winked at me. “See? I even called the media for you. With all this attention, I’m sure your precious Leo will be rescued soon.” She leaned in closer. “I’m even willing to forgive you for having your brother kidnap Sterling.” I couldn’t help but laugh, a raw, humorless sound. Everyone knows that involving the media in a kidnapping is a death sentence for the hostage. It only angers the captors. My heart ached for that poor, innocent child. I couldn’t stop the tears that welled in my eyes. “Do you really have to take it this far?” I whispered. Chloe moved beside me, her voice a venomous hiss for my ears only. “You should know, even if you returned Sterling, your son would still be dead. He’s in my son’s way. If he survives this, I’ll just arrange another accident. And another. Let’s see how long Leo’s luck holds out, shall we?” I snapped. My hand flew out, the crack of my palm against her cheek echoing in the sudden silence. She expertly used the momentum, stumbling backward and collapsing to the ground, her beautiful eyes filling with tears as she let out a wounded sob. Carter’s chest heaved with fury. He rushed to Chloe’s side, lifting her into his arms before turning to face the cameras, his voice booming with authority. “We have investigated this matter thoroughly. The kidnapping of my son, Leo, was orchestrated by his own mother, Evelyn Vance.” “Therefore, I will not be paying the ransom. Furthermore, as of this moment, I am officially and legally severing all ties with him. He is no longer my son.” He gestured to a lawyer, who stepped forward with a document. “The contract is prepared. It will be signed and effective immediately.” The media erupted. Cameras flashed, microphones were shoved in my face, capturing my humiliation from every angle. The crowd of onlookers jeered, shouting insults, calling me a monster. Someone lunged forward, grabbing my hand, trying to force my thumb onto an ink pad. I wrenched free and locked eyes with Carter, a long, silent moment passing between us. Then, with a resolve that felt ancient and absolute, I bit down on my own thumb, drawing blood, and pressed a crimson print onto the paper. My voice was steady, each word a vow. “This is your choice, Carter. From this day forward, Leo has nothing to do with you.” A triumphant smile spread across Carter’s face. He leaned down and kissed Chloe. “It’s done, my love. From now on, everything I have belongs to Sterling. I promised you, and I delivered.” As they celebrated, a phalanx of large, professional-looking men in dark suits cut through the crowd, clearing a path. And then I heard a small, worried voice behind me. “Mom, don’t be scared! I brought Uncle Mark to come save you!”

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1 My son was trapped in a burning building while my billionaire husband photographed his new obsession. “Hold that pose, baby,” Scott Taylor said, his face lit by flames. “I’m getting you ‘Hero of the Year’.” His phone wasn’t aimed at real firefighters—but at Bella, drowning in an oversized uniform, posing with a discarded hose in the safe zone. She tried to turn it on, recoiled, and shrieked, “Jules, it’s too heavy!” Her foot slipped. The nozzle flew, and the water jet—powerful as a ram—shattered the last load-bearing wall. The building collapsed. Coddling her cost my son his last chance. He died buried alive. Scott emerged from rubble clutching his trembling pet, handing me a document coldly: “Sign this accident waiver. Your son was lost anyway. Bella’s traumatized—can’t be blamed.” My fingertips turned icy. He thought our son Leo was buried there. A cruel smile stretched my lips. “I can’t sign this. You’ll need his real mother to.” … Scott’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “Sarah, what the hell are you talking about?” “Just sign the damn paper. Don’t push your luck.” Bella, nestled in his arms, began to sob, her body trembling like a leaf in an autumn wind. “Jules, don’t be mad at Sarah.” “Her son just… she must be heartbroken…” Giant, theatrical tears rolled down her cheeks. “It’s all my fault. I was so stupid. If I had just been a little braver, maybe this wouldn’t have happened…” Scott looked as if his heart was breaking for her, his eyes filled with a tenderness I had never, ever seen directed at me. “Bella, you’re just too good for this world,” he murmured. “That little brat was never going to amount to anything. His death is a public service. It has nothing to do with you.” He turned, his gaze stabbing into me like shards of ice. “Sarah, are you trying to drive a twenty-year-old girl to her grave? Is that what you want?” “Sign the paper. Then go online and tip Bella a million dollars on her livestream. Make a public statement thanking her for her bravery. Do you hear me?” I almost laughed out loud. When Scott got the call about the fire at our old family estate, he had rushed over with Bella, playing the hero. I’d foolishly thought it was a flicker of sentimentality. I see now he was just eager to create a PR opportunity for his new plaything. Now a child was dead, and the family was expected to pay the killer and sing her praises? But since Scott believed the dead boy was worthless, why should I argue? “I can sign,” I said. “But your word isn’t enough.” “Let’s do this: I’ll start a recording. You just repeat everything you just said. We’ll call it a supplementary statement for the authorities and the public.” Scott stared at me like I was insane. “Are you brain-dead? It’s your son who died, not mine.” “What the hell do I care that he’s dead?” That look on his face. So familiar. A few days ago, I’d overheard my mother-in-law on the phone. Scott’s son from his first marriage to Victoria, a boy named Marcus, was coming home from overseas to surprise him. Marcus was the pride of the family, a world-renowned architect at a young age. In contrast, my son with Scott, Leo, had always been frail and introverted. Later, Scott asked if Leo was playing at the old estate again. My mother-in-law shot me a look, begging me to keep Marcus’s surprise a secret, so I went along with it. Only now did I understand the thoughtful, calculating expression on Scott’s face when I’d confirmed it. It was disgust. And relief. Seeing me just standing there, holding my phone, he waved his hand in dismissal. “Fine, fine! I, Scott Taylor, confirm that Bella Vance bears no responsibility for this incident. Happy now?” “Now get out of my sight. Can’t you see how shaken she is?” Bella shrank into his embrace, but over his shoulder, her seemingly innocent eyes flashed with a triumphant, malicious glee. Scott shoved me aside. As he passed, he paused. “Stop playing the victim, Sarah. A kid like yours? The world is better off without him.” I truly hope he can maintain that same detached calm when he finds out it was his genius son who died. During a break in the recovery team’s work, a few firefighters and a police officer approached me to take my statement. They looked uncomfortable. Scott was the property owner, a family member of the deceased, and a powerful public figure. Before they could speak, I handed them the blank liability waiver and my phone with the recording. Every single one of them froze. Leaving the temporary command post, I walked toward the ruins. Halfway there, I saw Scott and Bella, wrapped around each other. He stopped me, shoving a piece of paper in my face. 2 I picked it up. It was an On-site Cremation Consent Form. Even knowing it wasn’t my son buried under that rubble, my face hardened. “I refuse. We find a body, dead or alive.” Bella let out a derisive laugh. “Oh, Sarah. Now is not the time to be so stubborn!” “If you ask me, the kid was just bad luck. A curse on his parents. God himself must have wanted him gone, burying him alive like that.” “Otherwise, why is everyone else fine, and he’s the only one in there?” Scott nodded with a smug, condescending smile. “Sarah, your son never did a single thing to make you proud in his life. Now that he’s dead, let’s not have him waste any more public resources.” “Disposing of the remains here saves the state some trouble. It’ll be the only contribution he’s ever made.” Have some respect for the dead. Even if it wasn’t his son. How could any human being say something so monstrous? I fought to control my rage. “That was a human life,” I said through clenched teeth. “Scott, do you even have a heart?” “I will never agree to this!” I turned to leave, but he grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight I thought the bones would snap. He raised his other hand, his eyes burning with menace. “You really want to do this the hard way, don’t you? You just don’t understand plain English!” I looked up, my gaze as cold as steel. “You lay one finger on me, Scott, and my parents will destroy you.” CRACK. The slap was so hard my head whipped to the side, my ears ringing. “You think your daddy the politician makes you untouchable?” he snarled. “You’re always holding your parents over my head. You think I’m scared of them?” He dragged my hand forward and forced my thumbprint onto the consent form. Then he shoved me violently, and I fell to the ground in a heap. I pushed myself up, staring at him in disbelief. The man who once couldn’t bear to speak a harsh word to me… had just hit me. Bella immediately rushed to his side, cradling his hand. “Jules, honey, don’t be angry. It’s not worth hurting your hand over someone like her!” Scott’s fury vanished, replaced by a tender concern for his little treasure. “You’re right, you’re right. Let’s not give her another thought.” “Come on, I’ll take you somewhere nice to eat. Help you calm your nerves.” Bella’s eyes darted around. “You go ahead, Jules,” she cooed. “I want to stay and help a little longer!” “Let me do one last thing for the deceased!” Once Scott was gone, Bella’s expression transformed. She walked to the edge of the rubble and picked up a blood-stained piece of concrete. She dropped it in disgust. “Ugh, so gross.” She then picked up a charred piece of wood and began poking at the debris. “This is such a huge mess. It’s going to take forever to dig him out.” “I wonder what he looks like under there. Probably all burnt up. I hope it doesn’t give me nightmares.” While she poked, she took out her phone, snapped a selfie with the ruins in the background, and sent it to Scott. The caption read: Mourning the lost. Hope there are no fires in heaven. Scott’s voice message came back instantly, dripping with affection. “My Bella is as beautiful as she is kind. Not like some people, who are just cold-hearted bitches.” “Don’t stay in that gloomy place too long. Don’t want you catching the bad juju from that place. I’m waiting in the car, baby.” I clapped a hand over my mouth, my stomach churning. Bella looked at me, a sweet, poisonous smile on her face. “Your son is so tragic. Not even a whole body left to bury.” “Sarah, he’s just a pile of meat now. What difference does it make if they dig him out or not? This is for the best. Don’t take it personally.” Of course I didn’t mind. If Scott, his own father, didn’t care, why should a stranger like me? But now that I had seen his true colors, I couldn’t stay with him a moment longer. God only knew when he would sell me and Leo out for his precious Bella. I snatched the phone from her hand and spoke into it. “Scott. I want a divorce.” 3 Scott stormed out of the car. “Sarah, have you lost your mind?” “Rescues are dangerous! Accidents happen! Your son is dead, and now you’re going to blame me?” I looked at him calmly. “I’m not blaming you. I just think we’re not right for each other.” He gritted his teeth, trying to suppress his anger. “I know this is hard for you to accept right now, but Bella and I did everything we could. You can’t just throw the word ‘divorce’ around like it’s a game.” Beside him, Bella let out a delayed gasp, pointing a finger at her own chest. “Sarah, if you’re not blaming Jules… are you blaming me?” Her eyes instantly reddened, and she sank to the ground, burying her face in her hands. “It’s all my fault. I couldn’t save your boy.” “Sarah, hit me, scream at me, do whatever you want! Just please, don’t divorce Jules! He’s innocent!” Scott rushed to help her up, then roared at me, “Bella is already under so much pressure, and you’re deliberately saying things to provoke her! What’s your problem?” “You want a divorce? Get a grip, Sarah. Your son is gone. Your parents are old. You think you’re still some untouchable princess?” “Let me make this clear: the only person you have to rely on from now on is me! Not those two washed-up relics you call parents!” I just watched him. His ugly, twisted face was reflected perfectly in my eyes. “Scott. You finally said what you really think.” “You used my father’s connections to climb the ladder, and now that you’re on top, you see my whole family as a burden.” “The sight of you right now makes me sick.” Scott’s face turned a shade of dark crimson. Bella looked completely lost, her eyes darting between us. “Fine! Divorce it is!” he screamed. “You’ve got balls, Sarah! I’ll give you that!” “You just better pray that your parents stay safe and sound for the rest of their lives, and you don’t come crying to me for help!” Before he left, he glanced back at the ruins. He picked up a property manager’s walkie-talkie and barked into it, “He’s a lost cause. Don’t waste any more manpower. Notify the family to prepare for the funeral.” I had intended to let Scott see his son one last time. Now, I realized, there was no need. A few days later, I arranged a small memorial service for Marcus and notified Scott and his family. He was, after all, my son in name. It was the least I could do. When I returned to the memorial hall after finishing the preparations, I was stunned by what I saw. Red paint had been splashed across Marcus’s portrait, and a cartoon turtle had been crudely drawn on his face. The tables, meant for flowers, were littered with snacks and beer cans. The solemn funeral music had been replaced by a deafening DJ track. “This is much better!” Bella giggled, kicking a funeral wreath aside before grabbing a marker to doodle on the memorial scrolls. I stared, my throat tight, unable to speak. Just then, the door opened. Scott strode in. He glanced at the chaos, but there was no anger on his face. In fact, a cold, satisfied smirk played on his lips. Bella winked at him and ran over like a puppy seeking praise. “Jules, you said you didn’t want the memorial to be so gloomy. What do you think of my decorations? Creative, right?” Scott walked up to the portrait and looked at the defaced image. He didn’t recognize his own son. He even reached out, straightened the frame that Bella had knocked askew, and nodded in satisfaction. His voice was low, but every word was a dagger. “Not bad. All that crying and wailing is so pathetic.” “This is how it should be. A big party. A fitting end.” 4 Even if he wasn’t my biological son, a person deserves respect in death. I stared at Scott, my voice trembling with rage. “You… you can still smile?” He looked at me, bewildered. “It’s a celebration of life, don’t you get it? Does everything have to be doom and gloom to be respectful?” “Your son loved a good party. I’m just giving him what he would have wanted.” “A celebration of life?” I walked toward him, my voice rising with every step. “This is a memorial service! You’ve destroyed his portrait so badly you can’t even recognize him… and you call that respect?” My voice was nearly a roar. “This isn’t honoring the dead! This is desecration!” Bella, startled by my outburst, pouted. “Oh, please. It’s the 21st century. Why are you so old-fashioned? It’s just a dead kid. No need to be so dramatic.” Seeing Scott’s completely unconcerned expression, I suddenly laughed. “If you don’t see a problem with it,” I said slowly, “then who am I to object?” “Let’s do it your way. A celebration of life it is.” Scott paused, a slight frown creasing his brow, as if he hadn’t caught the ice in my tone. He took it as surrender. “Sarah, that’s the spirit,” he said with a smile. “Don’t worry. From now on, I’ll be twice as good to you.” Seeing my compliance, Bella cheered and waved her pack of degenerate friends into the hall. The room quickly filled with the stench of alcohol and the sound of their drunken games. I sat in a corner, watching them, my face a mask of indifference. The emcee arrived on time, holding his program sheet, and froze in the doorway. “What are you waiting for?” Scott ordered. “It’s time. Let’s get started.” The man had no choice but to begin. “Friends, family… today we gather with heavy… uh… joyful hearts, to hold this… celebration of life for the deceased.” A few stifled snickers rose from the crowd. “I’ve seen a wedding get wild, but never a funeral!” “If the kid knew his memorial was a rave, he’d probably rise from the dead just to haunt them!” “No peace even in death. This family must have a lot of enemies.” Bella giggled, making sure I could hear her. “See? Even the emcee called it a celebration of life!” “And you were so angry before. You really need to get with the times! This is all the rage overseas!” Scott shot me a contemptuous look. “Some people are just so rigid. We went to all this trouble to throw your son a unique memorial, and you’re not even grateful.” My lips curved into a smile. “I’m sure my Leo would never be able to appreciate such a… unique memorial,” I said calmly. “As for whether your older son likes it… well, that I don’t know.” Scott’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I just smiled and said nothing. He snorted. “You think being clever with words will bring your son back?” “Pathetic.” Bella immediately linked her arm through his. “Jules, honey, ignore her. She just can’t stand to see you happy.” Just then, the emcee cleared his throat to move to the next part of the program. “And now, we invite the family of the deceased to come forward and say a few words.” As he spoke, the large doors to the hall swung open. An grief-stricken elderly couple walked in, supporting a pale, trembling woman who looked as if she was about to collapse. The smile on Scott’s face froze. The woman was his ex-wife, Victoria. I stood up and walked toward them. “Father, Mother,” I said to his parents. “You’re here.” I paused, my gaze sweeping past the petrified Scott to his red-eyed parents, and added, my voice clear and cutting, “This memorial service was Scott’s idea, for Marcus. He said… it’s a celebration of life.” “He said Marcus always loved a good party, and that this was a fitting end.”

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In our elective, my boyfriend saved a seat only for his childhood best friend. Again. This time, I didn’t fight her. I didn’t make a scene. Clutching my textbook, I just sat down next to the campus genius, Mario Lewis. As my boyfriend and his bestie were deliberately getting cozy, I tugged on Mario’s sleeve. “Your girlfriend and my boyfriend are getting pretty friendly over there. Doesn’t that make you jealous?” Mario’s gaze was cool. “I don’t have a girlfriend.” I bit my lip, leaning in closer. “Well, do you want one?” He stopped writing and looked at me then. “What’s in it for me?” My cheeks flushed. “You get to blow off some steam, and I get my stress levels under control. It’s a win-win.” 1 The moment I stepped into the lecture hall, I saw him. Liam. And right next to him, with an arm slung casually over his shoulder as they laughed about something, was his childhood best friend, Chloe. They saw me at the same time. Liam instinctively tried to push Chloe away, but she just tightened her grip, shooting me a smug, defiant look. “Sorry,” she chirped, her voice loud enough for the rows around them to hear. “Liam only saved one extra seat. First come, first served.” The chatter in the hall slowly died down. All eyes were on us now. This wasn’t the first time Liam had saved a seat only for Chloe. The first time it happened, I was so hurt I just burst into tears and ran out of the room. The second time, Chloe hit me with the same taunt. I fought back, we argued, and I took the seat by force. Liam and I fought for days after that because of her. The stress was so bad my skin was a mess. This time, watching them pull the same tired stunt, I just felt… empty. It was all so pointless. I didn’t fight with Chloe. I didn’t argue with Liam. I didn’t even spare them a second glance. Clutching my textbook, I walked straight to the back row, to the only other empty seat in the entire hall. “Excuse me,” I said softly. “Is this seat taken?” 2 The guy sitting there, headphones on and head down, was scribbling furiously in a notebook. He looked up at the sound of my voice. His gaze seemed to linger on my face for a heartbeat before flickering away. He stood up, giving me room to slide in. “Thanks,” I murmured, settling into the seat by the wall. From the front of the hall, there was a loud thump as a book was slammed onto a desk. I looked up just in time to meet Chloe’s glare. Her eyes were burning with a hatred that was almost startling. Suddenly, I remembered a rumor I’d heard when I first got to campus. Something about Chloe and the guy next to me, Mario Lewis, having some kind of childhood promise—that their families had always planned for them to get married. I couldn’t help but sneak a glance at him. He’d already put his headphones back on, head bent in concentration as he worked through a problem set. All I could see was his sharp profile, radiating an aura of cool, untouchable distance. My phone buzzed. A text from Liam. Lost a bet last night. That’s why I had to save Chloe a seat. Don’t be mad, babe. I’ll take you out for a fancy dinner tonight to make it up to you. I stared at the words, a bitter laugh threatening to escape. There was always an excuse. It was always something. Either Chloe was sick and he had to ditch our date to take her to the clinic, or he was reminding me they grew up together, that they were “basically brothers.” If there was really something going on between them, he’d say, would I even have had a chance with him? Liam was my first love, and I had thrown myself into this relationship completely. That’s why it was always so easy for him to play with my emotions. But now? All I felt was a profound sense of boredom. I didn’t reply. I just closed the message. During the mid-class break, Liam and Chloe started roughhousing again. “Oh, you’re asking for it now, Liam!” Chloe shrieked, lunging at him playfully. It looked more like aggressive flirting than a real fight. She wrapped her hands around his neck, and from his expression, he was loving every second of it. “Alright, alright, can you try acting like a girl for once?” he chuckled. “Please. I’m not one of those fragile little things,” she said, her voice dripping with meaning as she shot a look in my direction. “I don’t burst into crocodile tears to get attention. And I definitely don’t talk in some fake, high-pitched voice. It’s disgusting.” I lowered my head, a small, humorless smile touching my lips. Under the desk, my hand reached out and gently tugged on the sleeve of Mario’s shirt. “Mario.” He turned his head. I pursed my lips and pointed to his headphones. He didn’t say a word, just lifted the earbud on my side. Taking a deep breath, I pitched my voice just like Chloe had described—sweet and a little breathless. “Your girlfriend is being awfully friendly with my boyfriend. Doesn’t that make you jealous?” 3 Mario’s eyes were clear and cold. “I don’t have a girlfriend.” “But I heard… she has a childhood promise with you.” “That’s baseless gossip,” he said, his voice dropping a degree, becoming even colder. I found myself looking at him again, my eyes tracing the clean, sharp line of his jaw before drifting down to the hand holding his pen. Sunlight streamed through the window, enveloping him in a soft glow. In that light, his long fingers looked like they were sculpted from marble. I bit my lip, leaned in closer, and whispered, “Well, do you want one?” “Want what?” He suddenly turned to face me fully. I didn’t have time to pull back. The fresh, cool scent of mint washed over me, and my breath hitched. “A girlfriend.” Mario put his pen down. “What’s in it for me?” My cheeks flushed. I looked down, my lashes casting shadows. A new pimple, red and swollen, was throbbing on the right side of my chin. It was itchy and sore. My roommate said it was from all the stress—my hormones were all out of whack. In the front row, Liam and Chloe were still at it. Chloe was now perched on the edge of a desk, her foot playfully kicking at Liam’s leg. Every so often, she’d glance back at me, letting out an obnoxiously loud laugh. It was the kind of laugh that was supposed to sound carefree, but to me, it was just grating. I remembered the first time I met her. Liam introduced us. She was standing next to him, arm draped over his shoulders just like one of his guy friends, and she looked me up and down with open disdain. Then, she punched Liam playfully in the arm. “Seriously, man? I can’t believe this is your type. A sweet little damsel in distress.” She’d added, “You better not ditch your friends for a girl. I’ll be the first one to call you out.” And Liam… he had just grinned, like he enjoyed being the prize in some twisted competition. I took a deep breath. Just as Chloe let out another theatrical laugh and glanced our way, I tugged on Mario’s sleeve again. “You get to blow off some steam,” I whispered, “and I get my stress levels under control. It’s a win-win.” I’d heard whispers. Mario was working on a killer thesis project. He’d been pulling all-nighters in the lab for weeks. He didn’t speak. He just picked up his pen, twirling it between those perfect fingers. After a long moment, he looked at me again, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that might have been a smile. “Sounds like a decent proposal,” he said softly. “There’s just one problem…” I held my breath. The sun disappeared behind a cloud, and the light in the room dimmed. Mario’s voice seemed to cool with it. “I’m not interested in someone else’s girlfriend.” 4 Class resumed. Chloe was back in her seat, acting like a model student. When the professor walked back in, the room fell silent. In a voice only Mario and I could hear, I whispered, “I’m planning on breaking up with him.” Mario’s eyes stayed fixed on the blackboard. “Then do it. We can talk after.” I didn’t dare say another word. He had a reputation for being a genius, and when he was focused, he had a “do not disturb” aura that was seriously intimidating. For the rest of the lecture, I stared obediently at the professor, but my mind was a million miles away. Just before the bell rang, my phone buzzed again. Liam. Something came up tonight. Can we meet up tomorrow instead? I typed back instantly. No need. Let’s just break up. His reply was almost immediate. Ava, don’t be like this. I promise I’ll spend the whole weekend with you. How many times do I have to tell you, Chloe and I are just friends. Okay, fine. I promise I won’t let her tag along on our date this weekend. I didn’t reply. The moment class was dismissed, Chloe grabbed Liam and started dragging him out of the room. At the doorway, she glanced back, but this time, she wasn’t looking at me. She was looking at Mario. He didn’t notice. He had his headphones on, packing his books away. Chloe’s face fell with a flicker of disappointment before she pulled Liam out into the hallway. “Mario,” I said, my heart pounding as I worked up the courage to stop him as he stood up. “Can I… get your number?” He didn’t pull out his phone. “Break up with him first.” He was tall, and when he looked down at me, I felt completely exposed, like he could see right through me. I couldn’t meet his eyes. Instead, I pulled up my text conversation with Liam and held my phone out for him to see. “Look,” I mumbled. “I already did.” He glanced at the screen. Then, right there in front of him, I deleted and blocked Liam’s contact. “Do you believe me now?” Mario’s impossibly handsome face remained a blank mask. But then, he took out his own phone and pulled up a QR code. “Add me.” 5 Right after I added him, Mario left. He said he was swamped with lab work for the next couple of days and suggested we meet up on Saturday night. I just sat there, watching him walk away until he disappeared from view. Then I sank back into my chair, feeling dazed. If his name wasn’t sitting right there in my contact list, I would’ve thought the whole thing was a dream. I couldn’t sleep that night. Chloe was spamming her social media feed with pictures from a party with their group of childhood friends. In almost every single photo, she and Liam were the center of attention. The last picture was a shot of them kissing. I wanted to be numb, to feel nothing, but I couldn’t. A bitter, self-mocking smile twisted my lips as I deleted Chloe from my contacts. Then, I posted a picture of my own. It was a photo my roommates had taken of me earlier that evening, a shot of my back as I walked across the campus green. It was a beautiful, ethereal picture. For the caption, I wrote: Basking in the clean, sweet air of being single. My phone immediately blew up. Comments from mutual friends flooded in. ??? Ava, did you and Liam have a fight? No way, did you guys break up? I knew this would happen. It’s because of Chloe, isn’t it? I didn’t answer any of them. Because a new message had just popped up. From Mario. Can’t sleep? A little. Are you still in the lab? Yeah. Tonight’s not going well. He sent a picture. On a lab bench, next to a bunch of complex equipment, was a small tortoise shell and some incense sticks. I’ve even resorted to superstition, and the data is still wrong. Oh no. What are you going to do? Is it urgent? Very. The report is due tomorrow. Then… I won’t bother you. A few seconds passed. Then, a voice message appeared. I pressed play. “Weren’t you going to help me blow off some steam?” His voice was low and husky, laced with an undeniable exhaustion that made my stomach flutter. I shot up in bed, my face burning. My heart was hammering against my ribs so hard I thought it might burst. I typed and deleted a reply a dozen times, completely flustered. Another message from him came through. Your chin. Does it still hurt? I bit my lip, hard enough to leave a mark. Yeah. And it’s a little itchy. 6 Mario picked me up and took me to the lab. The first thing I saw when I walked in was an altar-like setup on one of the counters. It had a turtle shell and still-smoldering incense. “A grad student from a few years back left it,” Mario explained. “Swears it’s magic.” On a nearby incubator, a yellowing, hand-written talisman was taped to the glass. “That’s from the student before him,” he added. “We can’t remove it. The fungal cultures won’t grow otherwise.” I quickly pulled back my curious hand. So this is what the most advanced labs at a top university looked like. I guess the end of science really is superstition. Mario slipped on a clean white lab coat. He leaned against the windowsill, the dark circles under his eyes stark against his pale skin. “Unfortunately,” he sighed, “none of it is working tonight.” “So what now?” He shook his head. “I don’t know. All I can do is run the test again.” “Will I… be in your way here?” A small smile touched his lips. “No. I have to wait for the data to process anyway. It’s boring sitting here alone.” “I can keep you company, then.” I walked over and leaned against the windowsill next to him. The moonlight was soft, bathing us both in its gentle glow. I don’t know where the courage came from. “Mario.” “Hm?” “My chin really hurts.” “I can go buy you some…” “My roommate said it’s my hormones. All out of whack from stress.” I turned and looked up at him, my face tilted towards the moonlight. “Want to help me regulate them?”

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The Nth time Parker Presley threatened to break up, I was pulling an all-nighter on my promotion pitch. “Ivy Reed, you have twenty minutes to get to the club and apologize, or we’re done.” I snapped. “This is crucial for my promotion. Can you pick another day to cause a scene?” His voice turned icy. “A scene? Clearly your work matters more. We’re done.” He paused. “And I can be very petty. One call from me, and that promotion vanishes.” I slammed the phone down, trembling. But as I stared into the dark monitor, strange comments scrolled like subtitles across my vision: 【She’s not taking him seriously, is he? He secretly fast-tracked her promotion!】 【If she showed she’d drop her career for him, he’d give her the whole company. He’d never sabotage her.】 【That’s how avoidant types are—we push you away hoping you’ll hold on tighter.】 【He’s probably outside waiting for her to chase him. I live for this angsty romance!】 Doubt crept in. I almost grabbed my coat when a new message lit up my screen: “Heard your promotion’s on the rocks. Interested in jumping ship?” 1 I stared at the bizarre message, trying to place the sender. The display name was just a pair of stylized wings. After confirming it wasn’t a prank, I was still drawing a blank. Could it be Parker, testing me with a burner account? I dismissed the thought almost immediately. Parker was far too proud for such games. In our ten years together, I was always the one to bend, to apologize, to make peace. The late-night cab ride to win him back was a scene we’d rehearsed countless times. My devotion had always been his safety net, making him fearless. So, who sent the message? The phantom comments provided an answer. 【It’s his arch-rival, trying to poach his girl! He must have overheard Parker on the phone in the club’s restroom. He moves fast.】 【Ivy isn’t just Parker’s lover; she’s a rising star at Presley Corp. Of course, Adrian Thorne, as the rival CEO, would try to snatch her up.】 【Come on, you really think the infamous Adrian Thorne, the man who supposedly fantasizes about her nightly, is doing this purely for business?】 My eyes narrowed. Adrian Thorne. I had led the team that beat Thorne Industries on the last major bid. At the corporate gala that night, someone had drunkenly suggested we should connect, to foster “friendly competition.” He hadn’t even glanced at me. I stood there, my smile frozen on my face, until he finally, coldly, held out his phone for a QR scan. I’d assumed he deleted my contact the second he got home. Apparently not. Still, I only half-believed the spectral commentary. Parker never hid our relationship, but in public, he treated me with the detached chill of a superior. To the uninformed, I was just another corporate drone earning a modest salary. Adrian loved to mock him for it. “Keeping a workhorse who warms your bed for free,” he’d sneered once. “A brilliant businessman indeed, Mr. Presley.” Adrian Thorne looked down on me. This offer felt less like a genuine opportunity and more like a calculated move to spite Parker. I swiped his message away, only to see a voicemail from Parker’s assistant. “Ivy, you have to come down here. Mr. Presley is drunk and refuses to leave.” He followed up with a short video of Parker making a scene. I hesitated, starting to change my clothes, but then I froze. At the thirty-second mark, Stella Moon’s silvery laugh cut through the noise. 【Here we go again. He always calls the other woman over just to make the heroine jealous.】 【It works every time, though. The moment he threatens to replace her, she loses her mind.】 【Just go, Ivy! I’ll bet my premium subscription that if you just apologize and coax him a little, he’ll be on his knees for you tonight.】 【I get him completely. There’s nothing more satisfying than seeing your partner fall apart over the thought of losing you. It proves how much they love you.】 I stood there, stunned. So, the comments weren’t a hallucination. They called me the heroine, and Parker the hero. And just as they described, Parker was constantly threatening to leave, waiting for me to come running back. If I didn’t, he’d sic his entourage on me. But even when I did show up, he wouldn’t yield immediately. The last time, I took an overnight train to appease him. I walked into his hotel room, exhausted and disheveled. He didn’t even look at me, instead pulling Stella closer to him. “Who told you to call her? I thought she was so determined to break up.” But a moment later, his body betrayed him. He was across the room, his hand finding mine, leading me away. That night, he was insatiable, and the next day, he showered me with gifts and planned a lavish vacation to make up for it. I once asked him if he wasn’t afraid I’d actually leave. He’d buried his face in my neck, murmuring like a child. “My love would never leave me over something so small.” “Ivy, as long as you take one step towards me, I’ll always take the other ninety-nine.” But he didn’t understand. After being put through this wringer time and time again, I didn’t want to take a single step. This emotionally draining dance… I was done. When I didn’t reply, his assistant started calling incessantly. I wavered, wondering if I should just give in one last time. Then, a message from Stella popped up. “Parker says you don’t need to come. He’s taking me to see the sunrise!” She attached a video. “Parker, darling, Ivy still isn’t here. You don’t think she’s actually serious about breaking up, do you?” Parker downed his drink in one go. “We’re done. Don’t mention her.” He turned to Stella. “You’ve always wanted to see the sunrise with me, right? Let’s go.” His eyes flickered towards the camera for a split second. He knew she was recording. I took a deep breath and threw my phone onto the bed. I went back to polishing my presentation slides. Believing in my own capabilities was a much safer bet than trusting a phantom comment feed that claimed Parker had already guaranteed my promotion. Unlike Parker and Stella, I wasn’t born with a silver spoon. For someone like me, who started with nothing, every opportunity had to be seized with my own two hands. 2 Parker didn’t come home. I didn’t sleep a wink. The next morning, I walked into the office with a heavy heart, only to find him already there. He was impeccably dressed, his expression unreadable, radiating the oppressive aura of a CEO. He was a world away from the childish, volatile man from last night. I delivered my presentation, my voice tight with nerves. When I finished, he applauded along with everyone else, his gaze cool and professional. I was baffled. Had my refusal to play his game actually… worked? After the meeting, I found a small, elegant gift box on every desk. The Director of Finance next to me gasped. “Wow, having a CEO for a boyfriend has its perks! He’s even giving out gifts for his girlfriend’s promotion.” An admin assistant cleared her throat. “Actually, these are welcome gifts from the new executive assistant to the CEO.” The director was floored. “A limited-edition perfume for every single person? As a welcome gift? What is this, some new way for the rich kids to flex on us wage slaves?” The admin shot a nervous glance in my direction and pulled the director aside. “The new assistant is the sole heiress to the Moon Corporation, one of our biggest clients. Mr. Presley paid for the gifts himself. Said he wanted to help his childhood friend make a good impression.” So, it was Stella. Of course. Stella had always wanted a position at Presley Corp to get closer to Parker. Her family had repeatedly proposed a corporate marriage alliance between them. Parker had always refused, for my sake. But after one night, he’d caved. And he’d given her a position in the CEO’s office—his personal assistant. A position I, his actual girlfriend, was never allowed to hold. I tried to force the thoughts of what happened between them last night out of my head and opened a file, determined to work. A colleague informed me that Parker wanted to see me. It was perfect timing; I needed to see him too. I walked straight to the executive office. The door was ajar. Inside, Stella was perched on the edge of Parker’s desk, her back to me. The curve of her waist in the tight pencil skirt was cupped in Parker’s hand. A sharp, stinging pain shot through my own palm. I never thought I’d see him be so intimate with someone else. I cleared my throat. Stella jumped, startled. When she saw it was me, the smile vanished from her face. She pouted. “Been working here for years and you still don’t know to knock?” I flinched. I’d never once considered knocking on Parker’s door. “My apologies. Next time you’re doing something… private, you should remember to close the door.” Parker, who had been waiting for my outburst, saw the cold calm on my face and his expression shifted. But he quickly masked it. “What can I do for you, Mr. Presley?” I asked, my voice devoid of emotion. “Regarding your promotion,” he said evenly, “the board has decided to put it on hold.” Stella shot me a triumphant look. I stared at the tips of my shoes. “I see,” I murmured. He wasn’t lying. Because I didn’t come running, he had blocked my promotion with a flick of his wrist. A crushing weight settled in my chest, and a hot sting pricked the back of my eyes. Thank God for the phantom comments; their warning was the only thing allowing me to maintain my composure. “Okay. Noted.” The silence in the room was suffocating. “If you want to fight for it…” he started. “I don’t,” I cut him off. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be going.” I turned sharply, but he called my name. “One more thing. The Atheria project will be handled by Stella from now on. You can transfer everything over to her today.” I whipped around. “What did you say?” I had poured six months of my life into the Atheria project. I’d gone months without a single day off, my nights fueled by a cocktail of pills just to get a few hours of restless sleep. That project was my lifeline. It was my chance to prove to everyone that I wasn’t just Parker’s girlfriend who’d coasted her way up. He knew how much it meant to me. He had even secretly pulled strings to help me secure resources. And now, just as it was about to bear fruit, he was handing it over to her? “Stella is new here. She needs a high-profile project to establish herself,” he said, his voice cold as steel. “The Atheria project is well-known and on the verge of success. It’s perfect for her to cut her teeth on.” My voice trembled, thick with unshed tears. “You know that project is everything to me. Why would you do this?” A cruel, vengeful smile touched his lips. “I told you. I’m petty. And I hold a grudge.” He leaned back in his chair. “Besides, I’m the boss. I don’t need your approval to assign a project. If you’re not happy, you’re free to resign.” Stella covered her mouth, her eyes sparkling with amusement. I looked from one to the other—her gloating, him utterly composed. They were both so certain I wouldn’t dare let go. “Fine,” I said, my voice ringing with a finality that wiped the smirk off Parker’s face. “I quit.” His smile vanished, replaced by disbelief. He raised his voice, a crack in his composure. “Ivy, don’t think for a second that being my girlfriend gives you the right to throw a tantrum. Don’t push me. I’m not afraid to let you walk!” I met his glare with a cold stare of my own. “You seem to be forgetting, Mr. Presley. We broke up.” He was speechless. Stella, seeing the escalating tension, feigned concern. “Parker, darling, maybe we should just forget it. I don’t want you two fighting because of me.” She then turned to me, her eyes glinting with provocation. “I’m so clumsy, I’d probably just mess up the project and waste all of Ivy’s hard work.” Parker stroked her hair, his voice dripping with affection. “It doesn’t matter if you mess it up. It’s just a small project. Trivial.” A hot rage surged through me, so powerful I had to physically restrain myself from lunging at them. My nails dug into my palms, drawing blood. “A company that uses projects to woo women isn’t a place I care to work for anyway.” I let out a bitter laugh. “I guess all my years of hard work were just thrown to the dogs.” Stella’s face contorted. “Who are you calling a dog?” “Whoever the shoe fits,” I sneered. “Ivy!” Parker’s face was thunderous. I turned and walked away without a backward glance. 3 I stumbled back to my desk like a zombie. Only when I was sure no one was looking did the tears finally come, hot and silent. The comments reappeared. 【You fool! That was all an act for you! The second you left, he kicked Stella out of his office.】 【He just wanted to see you get jealous and back down. He never thought you’d be stubborn enough to quit over it.】 【If you’re going to date a man in power, you have to learn to be submissive. You can’t have your pride and the money.】 【She’s not thinking straight. Without this job, who’s going to pay for her sick mother’s medical bills? Does she think her pride pays for prescription drugs?】 They were right. My mother’s life depended on an outrageously expensive imported medication. The salary Parker paid me was the only thing keeping her alive. If the treatment stopped, the only family I had left in this world would be gone. Just as the financial panic set in, a message from Parker appeared—a rare occurrence for him to initiate contact. “Apologize to Stella, and I’ll consider giving you the project back.” “I’ll also put you in charge of the new portfolio in the fall.” “And your access card. Come get it.” This was the first time Parker had ever backed down. The comments chimed in with their support. 【He’s finally bending! You have no idea how hard that is for a man with his pride.】 【As a fellow avoidant, I’m touched. We have to really love someone to be the first to apologize! Ivy, you have to cherish this!】 【Aside from his pride, he’s rich, handsome, and devoted. Don’t throw away a man like that.】 It was true. For all his theatrics, Parker had been good to me. If I could just endure this one aspect of him, he was, by all accounts, an excellent partner. But I typed my reply without hesitation. “My letter of resignation will be with HR by the end of the day.” A long pause. Then, his reply. “You’re serious?” “Fine. Don’t come crying to me later.” “Don’t regret this when you realize your stubbornness cost you both your relationship and your career.” I collapsed onto my desk, sobbing without a sound. My heart ached for our ten years together, and I mourned the job I loved. But I couldn’t accept being treated this way. He had a black hole of need inside him, and he tried to fill it by hurting me. I was trapped in a darkness with no end in sight, and I was losing myself. If our relationship was a slow, painful death, then it was better to end it myself. 4 I sent my resignation email, then pulled up Adrian Thorne’s contact. “Mr. Thorne, is your offer still on the table?” He replied instantly. “It is. But not for Parker Presley’s girlfriend.” Me: “Ex-girlfriend. And ex-employee.” Silence. My heart leaped into my throat. Had I been right? Was this all just a game to get back at Parker, and he never expected me to actually follow through? After what felt like an eternity, my phone buzzed. It was a picture of a stunning corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the river. “The office is ready for you. Should I come pick you up for a tour?” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. What kind of grudge did Adrian hold against Parker? I was just a mid-level manager at Presley Corp. Why was he rolling out the red carpet? “Let me finish the handover here first.” Him: “Don’t bother. Let’s twist the knife a little. Whatever the penalty is, I’ll cover it.” Before I could respond, another message came through. “You know what, never mind. Say a proper goodbye to your past. I know how breakups feel. If you need to get blackout drunk, call me. I’ll be your designated driver.” I sighed. No wonder people said Adrian Thorne was eccentric and unpredictable. This was… a lot. … Parker was nowhere to be seen for the rest of the afternoon. His assistant said he was personally escorting Stella on a tour of every department. A presidential escort—a privilege I’d never had. When I first joined the company, Parker was still finding his footing at Presley Corp. He was terrified of office gossip, so we kept our relationship a secret. He asked me to understand. Parker had been kidnapped as a child and spent three years living in the slums with me, collecting scrap to survive before his family found him. When he returned, his parents had already moved on, doting on their second son. Parker became an awkward, superfluous presence. He poured himself into his studies and his work, desperate for his family’s approval. To support him, I pretended not to know him for my first two years at the company. It wasn’t until I had a string of successful projects under my belt that we finally went public. And now, Parker, fully aware that people in the office shipped him and his “childhood sweetheart,” was parading her around without a second thought. That blatant favoritism was a knife in my heart. “See? I told you the billionaire CEO would end up marrying the girl from his own world. Stella joining the company is just the first step to becoming Mrs. Presley.” “Some people think climbing into the boss’s bed is a ticket to the top. They should take a look at where they come from first.” The whispers followed me as news of my resignation spread. Colleagues who had always disliked me no longer bothered to hide their contempt. I ignored the gossip. Growing up scrounging for tuition money, I’d been looked down on my whole life. I was used to it. Then, HR called. Her voice was strained. “Ivy… Ms. Moon says your office has a better view. She wants to move in. So… could you please clear out your things immediately?” Before I could answer, a guy from IT was standing in front of my desk. “Ms. Reed, I’m here to supervise your data transfer and ensure no company property is compromised upon your departure.” He spoke loudly, and the chatter around us intensified. I looked at my computer, where my access had already been revoked, and gave a bitter laugh. The humiliation was a deliberate, final stab from Parker. Fighting back tears, I numbly packed my personal belongings into a cardboard box. I tossed the gifts Parker had given me, along with a framed photo of us, into the trash. Box in my arms, I walked towards the elevator and ran right into Stella, who was handing out her little gift boxes. Parker stood beside her, his hand possessively on her arm. She blocked my path. “Don’t go yet, Ivy. The CEO is treating the whole company to a sushi buffet tonight to celebrate my arrival. You should eat before you leave, right?” Parker said nothing, his face a mask of indifference. The comments were more agitated than I was. 【That shameless bitch. Tonight’s dinner was supposed to be for Ivy’s promotion! Parker is just using her to provoke Ivy.】 【Please, Ivy, just give in! If you don’t go back, he’s going to drink himself into a stupor tonight, and Stella will take him home, and then it’ll be too late!】 I shoved past her. “Get out of my way. I’m busy.” She grabbed my arm. “Is it because you’re ashamed of being dumped? Or is it because you got fired for being incompetent and can’t bear to show your face around here anymore?” I stared at her smug, arrogant face and I snapped. I slapped her, hard. “Get lost. You’re not worthy of eating with me.” Stella shrieked and threw herself at Parker. “Parker, darling, she hit me! She’s a lunatic! She’s insane!” Parker shielded her, his eyes blazing with fury at me. I took a step closer to them. “And you,” I said, raising my hand to Parker. “You’re trash, too.” Before the slap could land, he caught my wrist in a vice-like grip and shoved me away. “Ivy! Cut the crazy act!” I stumbled back, hitting the wall. A sharp pain shot up my spine, but I forced myself to stand tall, blinking back tears. I met his glacial gaze. “I slapped your little girlfriend, Mr. Presley. If you have a problem with it, call the police.” 5 I strode out of the Presley Corp building, but a voice stopped me at the entrance. A man in dark sunglasses was leaning against a flamingo-pink convertible, a wicked smile playing on his lips. A group of girls walking by couldn’t help but pull out their phones to snap pictures. 【He’s here! The peacock has been waiting forever.】 【The moment he heard she was single, he just had to start showing off.】 I sighed internally but managed a weak smile as I approached. “Mr. Thorne? What are you doing here?” He gestured towards the passenger seat with his chin. “Came to collect the prize bull I just spent a fortune poaching. Got to get her into the new pasture, right?” I gritted my teeth and opened the car door. “Then let’s head to your office and go over my new role.” A smirk touched his lips as he floored the accelerator. “Don’t worry. I’ll drop you at the airport after our meeting. Wouldn’t want you to miss your trip.” I froze. “How did you know I bought a plane ticket?” He snapped his fingers. “Please. I’m Adrian Thorne.” Adrian led me into a conference room at Thorne Industries. After a brief introduction, he dove straight into work, no pleasantries exchanged. For a man with such a playboy reputation, he was ruthlessly efficient and meticulous. Two hours later, as promised, he drove me to the airport. He insisted on carrying my luggage all the way to the security gate. “We’ll be seeing each other again very soon,” he said as he handed it to me. His words were odd, but I was too drained to analyze them. He was just an odd person. Just then, a message from Parker came through. “Whose car did you just get into?” “I told you, I don’t tolerate betrayal, Ivy. Hiring some actor to pick you up to make me jealous? That’s pathetic.” I let out a hollow laugh. He thought Adrian was an actor I’d hired. The hypocrisy was astounding. Was his public groping of Stella not “betrayal”? I couldn’t be bothered to argue. “Mr. Presley, we have broken up. And I have resigned. My life is no longer any of your business.” A second later, he was calling me. “Ivy, you’ve taken this too far. There’s a limit to these tantrums.” I scoffed. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr. Presley, but wasn’t it you who broke up with me?” His voice frayed with emotion. “I may have said the words, but we had an agreement! You take one step, and I take the other ninety-nine. Ivy, why couldn’t you just bend for me this one time?” “I’m tired, Parker,” I said, each word heavy. “I don’t want to take any more steps.” He was silent for a moment, his tone softening when he spoke again. “If you’re tired, then take a break and come back. There’s a dinner tonight. Get some rest, dress up nicely. I’ll pick you up.” “I’m not going to Stella’s welcome party.” He paused. “It’s not for her. It was always for your promotion. If you come back tonight, we can start over with the promotion. If you’re worried about losing face, I’ll re-issue the announcement in a few weeks.” “Parker, are you deaf? We broke up. I quit. I am not coming tonight.” He hissed through his teeth. “Do you have to be so damn stubborn? Is it that hard to humble yourself for the man you love?” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “Haven’t I humbled myself enough? Parker, when are you going to listen to me? I said I’m tired…” His breathing grew ragged. “I knew it. I don’t matter to you! Is this why you broke up with me? Because of that man who picked you up today? Ivy, how could you do this to us, after ten years?!” I felt a wave of helpless fury, wishing I could reach through the phone and shake him. Instead, I just ended the call and boarded the plane. As the flight attendant’s voice came over the intercom, I stared out the window. Behind me lay a decade of heavy, suffocating love for Parker, tangled with tears, resentment, and a pain I could never voice. Ahead of me was a new sky, vast and open.

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I was on my way to confess my feelings to my dream guy when I got mugged. The mugger tore up the ninety-plus love letters I’d written for him. So, I broke three of the mugger’s ribs. The next day, we both ended up on the local news. My dream guy, Henry, sent me a text: “Innocent little wallflower, huh? Savage.” 1 I’d been chasing Henry for four months, and for three and a half of them, I’d been playing the part of a delicate, innocent wallflower. The first fifteen days were my trial-and-error phase. I engineered a series of “coincidental” encounters with him, trying out a different persona each time. I went from the cool, aloof ice queen to the adorable, bubbly girl-next-door; from a sun-kissed, athletic type to a calculating, dark-academia genius. I was on the verge of developing a personality disorder. But he treated me like I was thin air. Then, by a stroke of luck, my roommate stayed up all night binging an old-school billionaire romance series. She swore to me that cold, ruthless men like Henry all had a secret weakness for clumsy, fragile girls who were as kind and pure as angels. So, on day sixteen, I dressed myself in the plainest, most unassuming clothes I owned and “accidentally” stumbled right into him. He finally deigned to lift his head, his gaze sweeping over me with disinterest. Then he spoke the first words he’d ever said to me in two weeks— “Get off.” The billionaire romance novels didn’t lie. I was so moved I could have cried. And so, I kept up the innocent wallflower act for the next three and a half months. Yesterday, my life as his number one admirer took a dramatic turn. After steeling my nerves, I asked Henry out to a movie for the fiftieth time—and he actually said yes. He agreed to see a movie with me! That was basically a marriage proposal, right? In my head, I’d already picked out names for our second kid. My roommates rallied around me, treating the date like a top-secret military operation. The first spent three hours crafting a flawless, barely-there, “no-makeup” makeup look. The second styled me in an immaculate, all-white outfit, the epitome of wallflower chic. The third channeled her inner drill sergeant, rigorously coaching my every word and gesture. As for me, I pulled an all-nighter, pouring my heart into ninety handwritten love letters for him. Our mission: to conquer Henry’s heart and officially end my two decades of singledom. The next afternoon, with my roommates cheering me on, I floated out the door, my heart soaring. A beautiful, epic romance was just around the corner. On the way, I even stopped by an arcade to get a fistful of tokens. A date isn’t complete without winning a prize from a claw machine to really elevate the romance. And then— Not long after I left the arcade, I ran into a mugger. 2 The burly man held a knife to me, snatched my phone, and backed me into a dark alley, demanding I hand over all my money. A smart girl knows when to fold. I glanced at his grizzled face, then at the gleaming blade in his hand. Without a second’s hesitation, I tremblingly scooped a handful of arcade tokens from my bag and offered them to him. The man flicked me hard on the forehead. “You trying to be funny with me?” Then— He expertly snatched the tokens from my hand and stuffed them into his pocket. “All of it. Don’t make me get it myself,” he growled, his face a mask of menace. I shakily offered him another handful of tokens. The mugger stared at me. He took the tokens, then flicked my forehead again, harder this time. The force of it nearly brought tears to my eyes. “Damn, you’re broke! I only targeted you ’cause I saw you leaving the arcade with your bag stuffed full.” He started rummaging through my bag himself, a hint of regret in his voice. You didn’t look very closely, I thought, rolling my eyes. My bag was already bulging when I went in, thanks to the ninety love letters. The mugger pulled out three more handfuls of tokens. Furious, he flicked my forehead again, this time with the full force of his frustration behind it. Tears finally streamed down my face. “That’s all the money I have,” I sobbed. He refused to give up. He felt a side pocket and pulled out a small, folded card. On it was written— “Your eyes, like stars, shining so bright, one look and I fell into their light. Don’t you worry, it feels so right, maybe this was destiny’s might, I can’t look away from you tonight.” “What the hell is this?” I could see genuine, bizarre confusion in his beady little eyes. “It’s… a love letter I wrote,” I mumbled, my face burning. He pulled out another one— “Like a chemical reaction, a fantasy forgiven by isolation. It must be your gentle gaze, setting my world ablaze, warming my heart’s maze, healing my broken days.” “I read this and I feel like I’m about to start singing,” the mugger scoffed. “Broke-ass kid, wasting your time on useless crap.” He raised his hand and, with a flick of his wrist, sent all ninety of my love letters fluttering into the grimy air. That was too much! That was my entire night’s work. A surge of rage washed over me. While he was busy pocketing the last of the tokens, I bent down, snatched a loose brick from the ground, and brought it down hard on his head. Caught completely off guard, the man crumpled to the ground. “You damn—you’re asking for it,” he grunted, stubbornly trying to push himself back up. I took a running start and kicked him squarely in the chest, sending him sprawling back down. His knife clattered away into the darkness. “Give me back my phone,” I demanded, plopping myself down on his chest to keep him from escaping. I heard a sickening crack from his ribs. Suddenly, he went completely still. He wasn’t even struggling anymore. Oh god, did I kill him? A wave of panic hit me. I scrambled off him and shook his arm. “Hey, mister? Are you okay?” “Just… call the cops,” he wheezed, his voice barely a whisper. “And an ambulance.” I fished my phone out of his token-filled pocket and shakily dialed 911. “Hello? I’m in the alley about two blocks down from the Main Street Arcade. I’ve just been mugged,” I said, my voice thick with fake tears. I was genuinely worried he wouldn’t make it until the police arrived. “So, is this your first time mugging someone?” I asked, squatting beside him after hanging up. I figured a little conversation might distract him from the pain. He let out a pained groan and turned his head away from me. “Why didn’t you just take my whole bag?” I scooted around to face him, unable to hold back my burning question. His breathing was loud and ragged, each breath sounding like it could be his last. 3 When the police arrived, I was sitting next to the mugger, checking to see if he was still breathing. “You’re the one who called it in?” An officer stepped out of the car, gun drawn, and stared at me. The rest of his squad fanned out behind him, their expressions a mixture of confusion and caution. I glanced at the half-dead man on the ground, then at the officer’s weapon. “I might have accidentally subdued him,” I said meekly. And so— The mugger was loaded into an ambulance, and I was taken to the police station. After I gave my statement, the officer handed me back my two pockets full of tokens and the scattered pile of love letters. The sky was completely dark by the time I walked out. “You’re late.” The message popped up on my phone the second I turned it on. A bolt of lightning shot through me. I had completely forgotten about my movie date with Henry. I frantically dialed his number. He picked up after a few rings. “What happened?” His voice, even through the phone, was as smooth and magnetic as ever. “I got mugged on my way over. I’m still at the police station. I was so scared,” I whimpered, the wallflower persona kicking in automatically. The officer who took my statement was packing up his notebook. He shot me a strange, unreadable look. “Your address. I’ll come get you.” Henry, my kind-hearted hero, didn’t hesitate. I gave him the address of the station. He just said, “Okay,” and told me to wait. “I’ll just wait here for a bit. Someone’s coming to pick me up,” I told the officer, flashing what I hoped was an innocent, grateful smile. He nodded in understanding, but the weird expression never left his face. 4 I didn’t notice Henry when he arrived because I was deep in the trenches of a heated League of Legends match, furiously typing insults at my teammates in the chat. “Mia.” It was only after the match ended that he finally spoke my name. I looked up mechanically, quickly locking my phone screen. “Henry, you don’t have perfect vision, do you?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “No,” he said, pausing for a fraction of a second. He nodded slowly. “Were you just looking at something I wasn’t supposed to see?” “Hahahaha, that’s great!” I let out a huge sigh of relief. “My phone screen cracked when I dropped it, so it’s just showing a bunch of asterisks when I type. I didn’t want you to think less of me,” I said, shoving my phone in my pocket. It was a flawless excuse. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Are you hurt?” he asked, changing the subject. I stared at his lips, how they moved when he spoke. God, they were perfect. I could feel the drool pooling in my mouth. I shook my head, my persona as solid as a rock. “I’m okay. He took all my money and he hit me, but I’m really okay.” “He hit you?” Henry’s brow furrowed, his expression darkening. “Yeah, three times,” I nodded eagerly. He held out his long, elegant hand. “Let’s get you up. I’m taking you to the hospital to get checked out.” This was my chance to create a moment. I immediately took his hand and let him pull me to my feet. “Excuse me, do you know which hospital they took the suspect to?” Once I was standing, I was reluctant to let go of his hand. To his credit, probably out of some sense of humanitarian duty, Henry didn’t pull away. But he turned to ask the officer about the mugger. “He’s at St. Jude’s,” I blurted out, my heart pounding. “Oh, my head feels a little dizzy from where he hit me. Can we just go home? I really need to lie down,” I said, tugging on his sleeve and leaning weakly against him. His whole body went rigid, but he didn’t push me away. And thankfully, he dropped the subject. “I’m taking you to a doctor. We need to make sure you don’t have a concussion,” he said after a slight cough. The mugger was probably lying in a bed at that very hospital. Going there would blow my cover completely. I waved my hands frantically. “No, no, it’s fine!” “We should get it checked out,” he insisted, his hand steady on my arm. “Really, it’s okay! It’s so late, I just want to go home and sleep!” I was getting desperate, and my voice, without its usual delicate filter, came out loud and clear. Henry froze. He gave me a complicated look. “Well, you certainly sound energetic. I guess you’re probably fine.” I stared back at him. Now it was my turn to look complicated. 5 That should have been the end of it. But then, they pulled the security footage from the alley. It all started when the local police department was featured on a reality show, something like a local version of Cops. One of the officers recounted the most memorable calls from the past week. The show’s producers, bless their soulless hearts, tracked down the footage of my case, edited it into a segment, and the clip immediately went viral. The security footage clearly showed me grabbing a brick and knocking the 250-pound mugger to the ground. When he tried to get up, I flew at him with a kick that sent him sprawling, then pinned him to the pavement with my butt until he couldn’t move. The video ended with him, lying on the ground, begging me to call the police. I hadn’t seen the clip myself, but Henry was kind enough to share it with me. The title of the video was emblazoned across the top: “Gen Z Girl Annihilates Mugger, Who Begs Her to Call the Cops to Save His Life.” “Didn’t realize you were such a hero,” he texted. I could practically hear his deadpan voice through the screen. “You didn’t see the beginning!” I typed back frantically. “He insulted the love letters I wrote for you! He insulted my love for you!” I was trying to salvage the situation. Henry’s response: “Savage.” I stared at the word, unsure how to reply. I gave up, flopped onto my bed, and opened the video’s comment section. “LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOO” “That dude’s been mugging people for years and he finally met his final boss.” “Three simple moves to make a criminal rethink his life choices!” For a crime story, the comment section was an unusually peaceful, harmonious place. 6 That night, the internet sleuths found my TikTok account. I gained 3,000 followers overnight. My TikTok is usually just a random collection of food, fun, and the occasional nerdy dance video. The comments were normally from a handful of friends and family. Now, it was a pilgrimage site. Underneath my dance videos, the comments were ruthless: “Where can I find a champion like this?” “Am I blind, or is she just wringing the air dry?” “I can feel the raw power and tenacity.” And, of course, an endless, soul-crushing stream of “LMAO.” My roommate tried to console me. “You may have lost love, but you’re on the path to fortune. When you’re forty, you can hire ten guys who look just like Henry.” “How vulgar! I’m not that shallow. I love Henry for his beautiful soul!” I huffed, defending my honor. Though, I had to admit, the thought of twenty Henrys bowing to my every whim was… appealing. Just thinking about it filled me with a new sense of purpose. My fingers flew across the keyboard. “What are you doing?” my roommate asked, pointing at the academic journal database open on my laptop. “You have a paper due soon?” I shook my head. “I’m writing a new love letter for Henry. The last ninety didn’t truly capture my feelings.” My roommate stared at me, dumbfounded. “Hmph. I’m not like you people,” I said with a smirk. “I’m going to have it all: love and money. I’ll have the young and beautiful Henry by my side twenty years ahead of schedule.” At two in the morning, I sent Henry my meticulously crafted, 3,000-word masterpiece of a love letter. Five minutes later, he replied with a plagiarism report showing an 88% match. I was speechless. I typed back: Your attention to detail reminds me of one of my mom’s relatives. The three dots indicating he was typing appeared and disappeared for two full minutes. Finally, a single message came through: ? My mom’s future son-in-law, I sent, feeling giddy. Henry: lol He didn’t deny it! He even said “lol”! He really, really wanted to be my mom’s son-in-law. 7 “Henry!” The next day at lunch, I “coincidentally” ran into him in the cafeteria, as usual. “What a coincidence! We must be destined to meet,” I chirped, setting my tray down across from him and sliding into the seat beside him. He shot me a cool glance and didn’t reply. Thanks to my frequent “coincidences,” Henry’s roommates had learned to make themselves scarce the moment I appeared. “Let’s go to the movies tonight. I promise nothing will go wrong this time. I’ll stick to the main roads,” I said, poking his elbow. He put down his fork, a thoughtful look on his face. “I won’t even go near an arcade! I won’t carry a single cent! No one will have a reason to rob me!” I held up three fingers, swearing an oath. Henry gently pushed my hand down and pulled out his phone. He wasn’t smiling, but I could see a flicker of amusement in his eyes. My internal alarms blared. Was he about to text some other girl right in front of me? A second later, a notification popped up on my phone. A message from Henry. He had forwarded me a video. Suspicious, I pressed play. And then— My own voice, loud and unfiltered, boomed from the speakers. “Alright everyone, watch this! I’ll make you some juice!” On the screen, my face was contorted in a ferocious grimace as I crushed an entire apple in my bare hand in under five seconds. Silence. A profound, deafening silence filled the space between us. I forgot how to move. … It was a video my aunt took last Thanksgiving at a family dinner. My cousin had just shown off by opening a beer bottle with his teeth, and not to be outdone, I’d performed my signature party trick: hand-juicing an apple. At the time, everyone thought it was hilarious, and they’d egged me on to post it to TikTok. Well, it was still hilarious. Just not for me. I wanted to cry. “Henry, what if I told you that was my alter ego? Would you believe me?” I stammered, inventing a sci-fi explanation on the spot. “She’s a super-strong warrior. The real me is… very delicate.” A small laugh escaped his lips. “Pfft.” “It’s true! I’ve been meaning to tell you,” I insisted, pouting. His voice was laced with amusement now, as if I’d just told the funniest joke in the world. “So why decide to tell me today?” I kept the lie going. “I wanted to give you a heads-up. It’s better you know now than finding out during the pre-nuptial check-up.” Henry went silent. I might have been imagining it, but the tips of his ears turned bright red.

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It was the night of my company’s celebration dinner. Suddenly, a notification popped up in the family group chat. An unfamiliar cartoon avatar tagged my husband. “Dad, can I get some cash? I want to buy a new gaming console.” I froze. I checked again. Yes, this was my husband’s immediate family chat group. Mark and I had been married for years. We had one daughter, Eleanor. Since when did we have another child? The message was quickly deleted, but I couldn’t just pretend it never happened. Before I could do anything, my husband called me. “Hey, can you believe this? One of my distant relatives’ kids tagged the wrong dad!” His voice was light, casual. I played along, agreeing that kids could be careless. But as soon as the dinner was over, I headed for the parking garage, already on the phone with a private investigator, asking him to look into the owner of that account. 1 The city lights blurred past the car window, but my thoughts were stuck on that single, deleted message. I’ve always been a suspicious person. My motto is, “Better to be safe than sorry, and never let anything slide.” On my social media feed, Mark had just posted an update: “Quality time with my girl, helping her with homework.” It was accompanied by a photo. In the picture, the living room was brightly lit. Eleanor was staring into the camera, her expression blank. On a whim, I zoomed in on the photo. And there, reflected in the dark pools of my daughter’s eyes, was the image of a woman and a young boy. I had never seen them before in my life. Two hours later, I pulled up to my in-laws’ house. It was the weekend, and Mark always took Eleanor to visit them. When I arrived, a strange woman opened the door. The smile on her face froze solid. Her reaction told me everything. I was right. She stammered, her words tumbling over each other. “I… I’m Melissa. I’m just here to visit Mr. and Mrs. Collins.” I didn’t answer. I pushed past her and walked inside. Mark’s voice floated from the living room. “Melissa, who is it?” Melissa, of course, didn’t dare to speak. After a moment of silence, Mark came to see for himself. He saw me standing there, travel-worn and grim, and the air in the hallway instantly became thick and suffocating. I pushed past him and entered the living room. My in-laws had been gathered around a little boy. When they saw me, they both shot to their feet. My mother-in-law’s knee hit the coffee table with a loud thud, but she forced a stiff, unnatural smile onto her face. “Oh, you’re here! Mark said you were busy with work tonight.” “I finished,” I said flatly. My gaze fell on my daughter. Eleanor was sitting alone in a corner of the sofa. The moment she saw me, her eyes welled up and she ran into my arms. “Mommy, you’re finally here.” I held her close, my heart aching. Eleanor was usually such a stoic child; she rarely showed her emotions like this. What had they put her through while I was gone? Melissa had positioned herself next to Mark, looking at me with a pitiful, wronged expression. Mark patted her shoulder reassuringly, then turned to me. “Have you eaten? I can heat something up for you.” “No, thanks.” I was in no mood to eat. My mother-in-law shot a look at her husband, tugging on his sleeve. My father-in-law cleared his throat and put on his sternest face to lecture me. “Look at you, coming in here with a long face, as if we owe you something.” I suddenly laughed. My eyes landed on Melissa. She was looking at me, her hands twisting the hem of her dress. She wore light makeup, a simple, conservative dress, and a knitted cardigan—a classic “good wife” look that was the polar opposite of my style. Mark subtly moved to block my view, reaching for my purse. “Why don’t you go wash up? I’ll get you a glass of warm milk.” I didn’t move. I just looked down at my daughter, who was still clinging to my waist, refusing to let go. Her eyes were red and puffy. She whispered, “Mommy, I want to go home.” “What’s wrong? Did someone bully you?” I stroked her hair, my heart twisting with pain. “I… I don’t like Leo,” she mumbled into my side. At the mention of his name, the little boy who had been engrossed in his video game looked up. That one glance sent a chill down my spine. The resemblance was uncanny. His eyes, his brow—he looked just like Mark. “This child…” My voice was calm, as if I still knew nothing. “He looks like a strong little guy.” The boy looked to be about seven or eight. His narrow eyes stared straight at me, and then he shouted at the top of his lungs, “Daddy, who is this lady? What is she doing in our house?” 2 The color drained from Mark’s face. Melissa frantically clapped a hand over the boy’s mouth, her fingertips trembling. “Kids say the darndest things, don’t they… He’s always getting people mixed up.” “Is that so? He seemed pretty sure about that ‘Daddy’ part,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. I led my daughter to the sofa and sat down. My mother-in-law immediately jumped in to smooth things over. “Oh, he’s just a child, he doesn’t know any better. The other day, Mr. Henderson from downstairs came to visit, and he called him Daddy, too.” She pressed a freshly peeled orange into my hand. “Here, have some fruit. You must be tired from your trip.” I took it and thanked her politely. Seeing that I wasn’t pressing the issue, Mark visibly relaxed. He came up behind me, ready to give me his usual shoulder rub. I shifted, and his hands met empty air. He froze for a second before forcing a laugh. “This is Melissa, a distant relative. She’s had some trouble back home, so she’s staying with us for a few days…” “A relative?” I offered a segment of the orange to Eleanor. I laughed again, a cold, humorless sound. Mark was the golden boy who had clawed his way out of a poor village. After getting into university, he had cut off all contact with his impoverished relatives. What distant relatives could he possibly have? I voiced the thought aloud. “I don’t remember you having a distant relative named Melissa. Didn’t you cut ties with all your family ages ago?” He faltered, his eyes darting away. “She’s… very distant. From my grandmother’s side.” I nodded thoughtfully. Very distant indeed. My in-laws exchanged a look, their eyes glinting with calculation. Suddenly, Melissa pulled Leo in front of me, her voice trembling on the verge of tears. “Sister-in-law, I know I shouldn’t be bothering you, but I had no other choice. Leo is sick, he needs money, and I could only turn to Mark…” “Turn to him? To borrow money?” I glanced at her. “No, not… I mean, we’ll pay it back.” She was stumbling over her words. Mark couldn’t stand seeing her so submissive and pleading. His jaw tightened. “That’s enough. Who pissed you off today?” I just smiled and stroked Eleanor’s hair. When I had hemorrhaged giving birth to her, Mark had been terrified, his face white as a sheet. He had sworn that for the rest of his life, he would only ever love the two of us. Promises, I thought. Only true in the moment they’re spoken. Mark grabbed Melissa’s arm. “Why don’t you take Leo to the guest room?” “Oh, don’t go,” I said, stopping them. My eyes were fixed on Leo’s wrist. He was wearing a small gold bracelet. It looked exactly like the one I had given Eleanor for her birthday last year. The one that had mysteriously disappeared a few months ago. Now I knew where it had gone. Melissa instinctively pulled down Leo’s sleeve to cover it, a move that screamed guilt. “That bracelet looks just like Eleanor’s. What a coincidence,” I said, my voice sharp with irony. Eleanor burrowed deeper into my side. But Leo suddenly wrenched his arm free from his mother’s grasp and pointed at me. “You’re the bad lady who stole my daddy! This bracelet is mine! Everything in this house is mine! I’m not giving you anything!” “Leo!” Melissa shrieked, trying to cover his mouth again. Beads of sweat had formed on Mark’s forehead. My father-in-law slammed his hand on the table with a loud crack. “Sophia! Stop with the passive-aggressive act! It’s just a bracelet! Why are you being so confrontational? My son has provided for you, given you a life of luxury for years. What more could you possibly want? Don’t we, as his parents, have the right to decide what to do with a single gold bracelet?” 3 I didn’t fight with them that night. I didn’t want to scare my daughter. Mark drove me home. The car was silent. He knew I wasn’t easy to fool. The second the car stopped, he started his explanation, his voice laced with a deliberate, placating tone. “Honey, I didn’t handle things well today. My parents are getting old, don’t take what they said to heart. They’re just soft-hearted, they can’t bear to see a child suffer.” “Mm-hmm,” I replied calmly. My placid reaction seemed to surprise him. He clearly hadn’t expected me to be so composed. But ultimately, he was relieved. In a corner of the car I couldn’t see, he secretly texted Melissa: [Don’t worry, she won’t find out. Leo is my son, I’ll take care of him.] I saw his little maneuver later that night when I reviewed the car’s security footage. So clever. Before she went to sleep, Eleanor told me something. “Mommy, the last few times Daddy took me to Grandma and Grandpa’s, he left with them and Leo and was gone for a long time.” “Is that so?” My heart clenched. “Yes. And Leo… he just transferred to my class. He’s always bullying me.” As she talked, I learned that my daughter was being tormented at school. She said Leo told the other kids that she had stolen his dad, that she was shameless. She had tried to explain, but no one believed her. She had told Mark about it. But Mark had simply told her that Leo was a good boy and wouldn’t bully her. The bullying had made my daughter withdrawn and quiet. I traveled so much for business, I had been home very little these past few months. The time difference when I was abroad made it hard to even talk to her. I hugged my daughter tightly, overwhelmed with guilt. “I’m so sorry, baby. It won’t happen again.” I had thought that by working so hard to give her a head start in life, I was doing what was best for her. But I had completely neglected her emotional well-being. Just then, a message came in from the private investigator. “I found her. Melissa is the woman Mark married in a village ceremony ten years ago…” The more I read, the more my blood ran cold. So I was the other woman? The investigator added one last thing: “I also found that your husband has been making frequent visits to banks and real estate agencies recently. You might want to be careful.” “Okay, thank you for your hard work.” I held my daughter even tighter. In the darkness, my eyes narrowed. I can understand that people change. What I cannot accept is someone daring to plot against me and my daughter. After Eleanor was asleep, I got up and texted my lawyer. “I want to divorce Mark. And I want him to leave with nothing.” Two days later, Eleanor’s school was holding an arts festival. I got her excused for the day and took her to my parents’ house. Mark was visibly relieved. “A little break will do Eleanor good,” he said with a smile. “Oh, by the way, I have something to do later, so I’ll be back late. Don’t wait up for me.” “Okay,” I said, giving him a long, meaningful look. The moment he left, I followed him. As I suspected, he went straight to the school. A wave of hatred washed over me. He had always used the excuse of being too busy to attend any of Eleanor’s school events. But now, for Leo, he had all the time in the world. The auditorium was filled with parents. I put on a mask and found a seat. Before long, I saw Melissa and Leo sitting diagonally from me. She was staring at the stage, where Mark was speaking as a parent representative, her eyes shining with adoration. The principal smiled at Mark. “Mr. Collins, would you mind sharing some of your parenting wisdom with us? Leo has made incredible progress since he transferred here this semester. Could you tell us your secret?” I smirked. Leo’s dad, indeed. Mark smiled and raised the microphone. After a few pleasantries, he looked down at Leo in the audience, his eyes filled with pride. “It’s really not my doing. He’s a smart kid, just a little mischievous. I’m usually busy, but I try to spend as much time with him as I can…” The other parents nodded in approval. But then, a student suddenly shouted, “Whose dad are you, anyway?” 4 The auditorium fell silent. The smile on Mark’s face froze. The little boy, ignoring his parents’ attempts to shush him, stood up. “A few days ago, Eleanor showed me a picture of you and said you were her dad!” Gasps rippled through the crowd. The boy’s parents quickly covered his mouth, laughing nervously and saying he was just a child. The principal tried to smooth things over. “Are Eleanor and Leo siblings?” Mark was about to say yes, when Leo shot to his feet and yelled, “No! I’m not related to that selfish brat! Daddy is mine! She stole my daddy!” The room exploded. “What’s going on? Is Eleanor’s mom the other woman?” “That’s terrible! He’s two-timing them…” I couldn’t imagine how my daughter would feel if she heard this. Thank God she wasn’t here. Mark suddenly beckoned for Melissa and Leo to join him on stage. The three of them stood together, a perfect picture of a happy family. Mark put on a pained expression. “Teachers, parents… I’m ashamed to have to admit this. Sophia, Eleanor’s mother, and I divorced a long time ago. We’ve been living together for our daughter’s sake.” Sitting in the audience, my knuckles turned white. Mark put a protective arm around Melissa. “And Melissa… was my first love.” Their eyes met, sparks flying between them. If I wasn’t one of the parties involved, I might have actually found it romantic. Mark’s voice caught with emotion. “When I went away to college, she stayed behind to take care of my parents. I was always grateful to her. Later, I got the opportunity to study abroad, and we lost touch. I thought she had married someone else. But six months ago, I found out she had waited for me all these years… and that she had given birth to my son.” Melissa just stood there, her head bowed, silent tears streaming down her face. The murmurs in the crowd began to change. “Oh, so that’s the story. They’ve really been through a lot.” “It’s not really Mark’s fault, is it? If he was already divorced from Eleanor’s mom, there’s nothing wrong with getting back together with his first love.” Melissa chose that moment to look up, her eyes red and her voice choked with emotion. “Mark, don’t say any more. If it wasn’t for Leo getting sick, I would never have come to bother you. I’m a woman, I understand. Even though you and Sophia are divorced, she wouldn’t want me around. She must hate me…” She spoke with such noble restraint. Leo, with the uncanny intuition of a child, started shouting at Mark. “Daddy, don’t be with that bad lady anymore! The other day, she was secretly calling Mommy a gold-digging poor relative!” “Leo, stop it,” Melissa said, grabbing his arm. But her half-hearted attempt only made me look worse. Mark was overcome with protective sympathy. He promised them he would never let them be wronged again. I watched the tragic couple on stage, my stomach churning. When Mark was trying to marry me, he had never mentioned a word about Melissa. Now that he was successful, he suddenly remembered he had a long-lost love? A parent whispered, “That Eleanor’s mom always seemed so aggressive. I can’t believe she’d try to control her ex-husband’s life, too. She has no class.” “Yeah, it’s not like he cheated on her. They’re just rekindling an old flame. What business is it of hers?” Just then, I received a text from my lawyer. [It’s all taken care of. Mark’s illegal transfer of assets has been frozen, and the divorce petition has been filed…] I smiled and turned off my phone. Mark was in the middle of a huge project, planning to invest hundreds of millions. With his assets frozen, that project was dead in the water. Let the show begin. Amidst the noise, I took out the miniature megaphone I had prepared. “Since when am I divorced?”

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The moment my A-list actress ex and I broke up, my agent booked me on a fully livestreamed dating show. On set, the host leaned in. “Liam, have you ever been in a serious relationship?” I kept my voice low. “Yeah. She was too clingy. We broke up.” Next, she turned to the superstar Celina Mellon. But Celina’s eyes were locked on me, unblinking. “I have. My ex is on a dating show now.” The live chat exploded. “The goddess Celina was in a relationship?!” Before the crew or the audience could even process it, she offered the camera a devastatingly sweet smile. “This one, actually. The one we’re on right now.” Within minutes, hashtags like #CelinaMellonSecretEx and #IsTheHeartSignalGuyHerEx were dominating the trending topics for the rest of the day. 1 Heart Signal was a celebrity dating show that was a phenomenon before a single episode even aired. The biggest draw was the “Frostfire” ship—the pairing of superstar Celina Mellon and rising star Evan Frost. They’d just wrapped a historical drama where their characters were locked in a tragic, love-hate romance that had viewers obsessed. When Evan made his entrance, the live chat went into a frenzy. OMG EVAN IS HERE! HE’S SO HOT! Evan and Celina on the same show? This is basically their public announcement, right? I’M SHIPPING THIS SO HARD. FROSTFIRE IS EVERYTHING! My reception was… different. The moment I walked on screen, the comments turned sour. Why the hell is Liam Xie on this show? Ugh, gross. He’s such a clout-chaser. Obviously just here to leech off Frostfire’s fame. Guess any publicity is good publicity if you have zero shame. The show was broadcast live, with a polished, edited version released weekly on streaming platforms. I was the first to arrive at the luxurious villa, and I immediately claimed a seat in the farthest corner, hoping to disappear into the upholstery. The second person to walk through the door was Celina Mellon. My ex-girlfriend. 2 I subtly shifted in my seat, trying to put a little more distance between us. She just raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. But before she could say a word, a bright, cheerful laugh echoed from the entrance. “Hey, everyone! You’re all here already!” Evan strode in, all youthful energy in a black tank top and jeans. “Liam, my man, long time no see! And Celina! So good to see you again!” He slid onto the sofa right next to Celina, instantly launching into an animated conversation as if they were old friends. A massive screen on the wall displayed the live comments in real-time. I glanced at it. OMG OMG FROSTFIRE IS REAL! HE SAT RIGHT NEXT TO HER! The way Celina looks at Evan is pure fire! You can see the sparks! Just get married already! I’ve already set aside money for a wedding gift! Ten minutes later, all eight contestants—four men and four women, a mix of celebrities and professionals from other fields—had arrived. The producers kicked things off with a simple icebreaker: “Have you ever been in a relationship before?” Evan shot a shy look at Celina. “No, I haven’t. But I definitely have an ideal type I admire.” The live chat went wild again. When it was my turn, I kept it brief. “I have. We broke up. We just weren’t compatible.” The haters in the chat seized their chance. LOL, ‘not compatible’ means his personality sucked and she got sick of him and dumped him. Then, it was Celina’s turn. The room held its breath. A slow, deliberate smile touched her beautiful lips. “I have,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “My ex is on a dating show.” 3 Her words were a bombshell. The live chat erupted, and I could see the show’s director practically vibrating with excitement off-camera. The director’s voice came over the speaker, unable to resist. “Could you tell us which dating show?” Celina’s gaze flickered towards me for a split second, so fast you could have missed it. I pretended not to notice. Right. What was her game? Was she trying to use me to generate buzz for her new PR-manufactured relationship with Evan? Nice try. I wasn’t playing along. The director, practically salivating for the scoop, pressed again. “You can’t tell us?” Celina let out a light laugh, as if it were all just a joke. “It’s the one we’re on right now.” The live chat detonated. IS SHE FOR REAL?!?! It has to be Evan! Her ex is Evan! That’s why their chemistry in the drama was so insane! OMG she came on this show to win him back! THIS IS THE MOST EPIC LOVE STORY EVER. I AM SO HERE FOR THIS! 4 The show had its viral moment. The director was thrilled. I, however, was not. During a bathroom break, I shot Celina a text. Have you lost your damn mind? She replied almost instantly. Yep. And you’re the one who flooded it. Me: ??? She didn’t write back. The show was still filming, so I couldn’t stay away for long. I washed my hands and headed back out. We were moving on to choosing rooms. The last person I wanted to share a room with was Evan, but of course, he slung his arm around my shoulder like we were best friends. “Hey, Liam, let’s be roommates! We haven’t had a real chance to catch up. We could talk all night!” I pulled away, my voice cool. “We’re supposed to draw lots. Let’s just stick to the rules.” Cut the fake buddy act. The last time we were on a show together, he used me as a stepping stool, building his “straight-shooter” persona by having the editors maliciously splice my footage. The whole country ended up hating me. Did he really think he could pull the same trick twice? The chat was already eating it up. What’s Liam’s problem? Evan is being so nice and Liam is just a total jerk. Evan, just ignore him. He’s not worth your time. Ignoring the comments, I walked up and drew a card first. Well, what do you know. My luck had turned. I got the single room. Another male contestant suggested, “Hey, let’s help the ladies with their luggage.” I saw Celina start to walk toward me, and I reacted on pure instinct. I grabbed my suitcase and practically sprinted up the stairs like my life depended on it. 5 That evening, the producers introduced the “Heartbeat Message” segment, where we could send one anonymous text to another contestant. After some thought, I sent one to Laura, a young actress who was about as famous as I was. It was a beautiful day today. Hope you can stay happy. Ping. My phone lit up. Someone had sent me a message. The water you think is in my head? They’re the tears I cried over you. I knew instantly it was from Celina. This woman was insane. The live chat was busy speculating. Who sent Liam a message? Definitely not Celina. Evan got one that said he looked handsome today. That was 100% from Celina. Wait, is that message calling Liam crazy? LMAO that’s hilarious! 6 The next morning, I woke up whenever I felt like it and wandered downstairs. Evan was already in the kitchen, presenting Celina with a bowl of breakfast. “Celina, I know you have a sensitive stomach, so I made you some special oatmeal.” Celina looked up, her gaze flicking past him to where I stood on the stairs. “My stomach is fine,” she said flatly. Evan’s smile faltered for a second before he recovered. “Well, I remember that one time on the set when you had that awful stomachache. It really scared me. I’m just glad you’re all better now.” Celina didn’t reply. Hoping to avoid them both, I started to turn back toward my room. “Not eating breakfast?” Celina’s voice stopped me. “I’ll eat later, thanks,” I said politely. Evan bounced over to my side, all smiles. “Skipping breakfast is a bad habit, you know! I made a whole pot of oatmeal for Celina, and there’s no way she can finish it all. You should have a bowl too!” He said it with the casual authority of a boyfriend. His fans in the live chat were swooning, even this early in the morning. Having a boyfriend like Evan would be heaven. Celina, you better appreciate him! Aww, she said her stomach was fine because she didn’t want him to worry! They care so much about each other! Liam, get out of the frame! You’re ruining the shot! 7 Trapped, I decided my only escape was to cook for myself. I headed into the kitchen and started making pasta. My grandmother taught me how to cook, and her recipes were legendary. Back when Celina and I were still together, she used to wrap her arms around me and beg, “Babe, can we have a date at the farmer’s market today? Please?” I’d laugh and poke her side. “Is this a date, or are you just hungry again?” She’d flip me over onto the couch, pinning me down, her dark, intense eyes staring into mine. “If you don’t let me crave food, I’ll just have to crave you instead.” I could never say no to her. We’d put on disguises, dress down, and sneak off to the market hand-in-hand. The villa’s pantry was limited, but I found everything I needed for a simple, spicy tomato and basil pasta. Soon, the rich aroma of garlic and herbs filled the air. Laura, the other actress, came downstairs, sniffing dramatically. “Who is tempting my soul with that incredible smell?” “Laura, you haven’t eaten yet, have you?” I offered politely. “I made a small pot, enough for two.” Before Laura could even take a step, Celina was there first. Her eyes, the ones her fans claimed could generate electricity, were wide and pleading like a kitten’s, fixed on the simmering pot. “Can I have some?” I deliberately took a step back. “Sorry, I already offered it to Laura.” The live chat scoffed. It’s just a bowl of pasta. What’s the big deal? Celina, let Evan cook for you! Evan is an amazing cook! He’s a total catch! Evan must have seen the comments scrolling on the big screen. He shot me a playful wink. “I’ll make some pasta too! How about a little cook-off, Liam? See whose is better?” 8 The kitchen had two stovetops, so Evan started his performance. Every movement was graceful, designed for the camera. “Celina, could you help me with my apron strings?” he asked, holding up an apron, his eyes full of hopeful pleading. As if on cue, Celina also picked up an apron—a frilly pink one—as though she had already anticipated his request. Laura and I stood off to the side like spectators at a tennis match. She leaned in and whispered, “I’ve already placed my bet. Five bags of spicy chips says I know who Celina’s ex is.” I was surprised. “Where are you placing bets?” “You don’t know? The internet is going crazy with polls guessing Celina’s ex. Evan’s currently got 99% of the vote.” A flicker of morbid curiosity hit me. “How many votes do I have?” I whispered back. Laura gave me a look of deep pity. “0.008%.” “…” Just then, Evan let out a sharp cry. “Celina?” But Celina, holding the pink apron, was walking straight toward me. She moved so fast I didn’t have time to react. Before I knew it, she had slipped the apron over my head. Her cool fingertips brushed against the nape of my neck, and an involuntary shiver ran down my spine. She seemed not to notice, her expression perfectly serious as she tied the strings snugly behind my back. “Good luck with the competition, Liam,” she said, stepping back with a faint, knowing smile. “I’ll be waiting for your pasta.” 9 I had no intention of competing with Evan. I was about to take the stupid apron off when I heard him shout in pain. “Ah! Hot!” He’d lifted a pot lid, and the steam had apparently burned him. He looked at Celina like a wounded puppy. “Celina… could you get the burn cream for me? It’s in my suitcase in my room.” His fans in the live chat were frantic. Oh my god, Evan burned himself! It must hurt so much! Celina, go get the cream for him! Hurry! Is Celina frozen in shock? Why isn’t she moving? I couldn’t help but look at Celina. She was smiling—a completely innocent, harmless smile. “I’m a woman,” she said slowly, her voice clear as a bell. “It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to go into a man’s room.” She tilted her head. “Evan, is your leg okay?” “You should probably go get that cream yourself. If you wait any longer, your hand might just heal on its own.” I barely managed to stifle a laugh. She was actually letting her sharp-tongued, true self show on camera. I glanced at Evan’s hand. It was fine, just a little red from where he’d been rubbing it himself. But he was playing up the pain, hissing through his teeth. “Celina, how can you joke at a time like this? Fine, fine. I’ll go get it myself.” He turned and stormed upstairs. The live chat went into overdrive. Okay, no more guessing. Celina’s ex is 100% Evan. I’m calling him my brother-in-law from now on! Celina, please win him back! My Frostfire ship cannot sink! 10 After breakfast, it was time for the paired-up date activity. The rules were simple: the men would draw names blindly. As luck would have it, I drew Celina. And Evan drew Laura. The live chat was already spewing vitriol. Is the production team trying to torture us? Making me watch Celina on a date with Liam is worse than making me eat a hundred flies. Liam, you better have some damn sense and switch with Evan right now or I’ll curse your entire family. The comments got uglier and uglier. And it triggered my defiant streak. I was actually going to offer to switch with Evan, but not anymore. I turned to Celina with a polite smile. “Well, Ms. Mellon, it looks like you’re stuck with me today.” Celina returned my smile with one of her trademark serene ones. “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Xie.” The date the producers had arranged for us? A haunted house attraction. I just had to thank them for that. Celina and I had been to one before. In public, she was all cool composure, but she was secretly terrified of ghosts. The last time, a staff member in a ghost costume scared her so badly she shrieked and clung to me like a limpet, refusing to let go. If that got filmed, my entire family getting cursed online would be the least of my worries. “You better be brave in there,” I warned her in a low voice while we waited to go in, away from the cameras. “And don’t you dare jump on me.” Celina looked at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Phobias are a psychological condition. I can’t control it.” “If you can’t control it,” I threatened, “I’ll start leaking all your embarrassing secrets.” That seemed to pique her interest. “What secrets? Do tell.” I leaned closer, my voice barely a whisper. “That the public’s ‘Ice Queen’ is actually a secret softie who still sleeps with a stuffed animal and has the emotional maturity of a nine-year-old.” Celina’s eyebrow arched, and a slow smile spread across her face. “You know, when you put it like that, it sounds kind of adorable.” “…” She was unbelievable. 11 The haunted house was dark and reeked of fake dread. A bloody, severed head dangled from the ceiling, swaying gently. I could feel Celina practically pressing herself against my back. “It’s all fake, Celina!” I said, a little too loudly. “Don’t be scared!” “It feels pretty real to me,” she hissed. Just as she finished her sentence, a monster-faced actor leaped out from a dark corner. Celina screamed, a genuine, piercing shriek, and her hand shot out, grabbing my wrist in a death grip. “Liam! Where are you?” I almost laughed out of sheer exasperation. Where am I? In your clutches! “Celina,” I said, trying to stay calm. “If you’re really that scared, just hold onto my shirt. I’ll get you out of here.” She didn’t hesitate, her fingers immediately lacing with mine. The night-vision camera was rolling. The footage would be grainy, but it would be clear enough. At that point, I just gave up. I started running, pulling her along with me, shouting nonsense. “Just run, Celina! If you can run faster than the ghosts, they can’t get you!” I think I made her laugh. She squeezed my hand gently. I squeezed back, hard. She laughed again, her voice a low murmur only I could hear. “Go ahead. Take it all out on me.” When we finally stumbled out of the exit, the expressions on the crew members’ faces were priceless. A mixture of shock and pure, unadulterated glee. My makeup artist discreetly showed me her phone with the live chat feed. AM I DEAF? WHAT DID I JUST HEAR?! Celina called Liam ‘Liam!’ like that! SHE HELD HIS HAND! SHE WAS HOLDING ON SO TIGHT! Okay everyone, calm down. We all know Celina is terrified of ghosts. It was just an instinctual reaction to fear. 12 Back at the villa, Evan was sitting on the sofa with red-rimmed eyes. The big screen with the live chat was right next to him. I took a peek. Poor Evan! My heart breaks for him! He twisted his ankle and couldn’t go on his date, and he had to watch Celina with another guy. I bet Liam is secretly gloating right now. Celina’s hand is tainted now. Ugh… That last one was so ridiculous I almost choked. I couldn’t help myself. I looked right at the camera monitoring the living room and said to the audience, “Her hand is tainted? Should she cut it off, then?” The viewers in the livestream were stunned into silence for a second. What is he doing? Is he talking to us? Is he mocking us?! Just then, Celina came over, having changed her shoes. “What are you laughing at?” she asked. “I’m laughing,” I said, “at the idea of you becoming a female Captain Hook.” Celina: “?” The chat suddenly erupted with “HAHAHAHA.” Celina is so confused! How does she look so beautiful even when she’s completely baffled? You know… I’m suddenly starting to feel a little bit of chemistry between Liam and Celina? Person above me, do NOT ship this! Forbidden! 13 The production team knew how to stir the pot. That night, they arranged a game of “Truth or Dare.” In a twist of fate that was definitely not staged, Celina and I both drew the exact same dare: “Call your ex.” Right. No manipulation there at all. I answered honestly. “Blocked her number, deleted her from my contacts. Can’t do it.” A few of the other contestants gave a polite, awkward laugh. But Celina was looking at me, her gaze intense. “Unlike Liam,” she said slowly, her voice carrying across the room, “I’m the one who got blocked. I can’t call him or text him.” The director, just off-camera, looked like a starved animal that had just stumbled upon a feast. The chat buzzed with speculation. Wait, what? Am I sensing some real drama here? It’s just for the show, guys. It’s scripted! Celina’s ex is obviously Evan. Don’t fall for it! Then Celina added, her eyes still on me, “I wish he would unblock me.” The director couldn’t contain himself. His voice piped in from off-screen. “If he did, what would you want to say to him?” Celina didn’t miss a beat. “I’d want to ask him where I can get the limited-edition handbag he bought me repaired. One of the studs fell off.” The director was speechless. The chat went wild with laughter. That’s my queen! Celina, you could just ask Evan right there where to get it fixed! Why fix it? Just get back together and have Evan buy you a new one! And then, Celina turned her haunting gaze back to me. “Liam,” she asked, her voice deceptively sweet. “Do you know where it can be repaired?” Me: !!!

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My husband has a devoted and ruthlessly competent director by his side. From their bright-eyed twenties to the cusp of their forties. She’s been the one riding shotgun with Carter as he conquered the corporate world, and she remains, to this day, unmarried. Me? I checked out years ago, focusing on our daughter’s education, turning a blind eye to it all. My friends are furious on my behalf. “Ava Chen acts like she’s the co-owner of the company, and you’re just letting it happen?” I just smile. “What’s there to be afraid of?” It’s just a low-cost management technique. There’s a term for it I stumbled upon online, brutally precise and perfect. It’s called the Devotion Trap. 1 While Carter was leading a team-building retreat on a yacht at sea, I had just finished a quiet dinner at home with our daughter. My best friend Chloe’s texts started lighting up my phone, a rapid-fire barrage. A dozen photos flooded in. Her call came immediately after, the dull thud of waves against the hull audible through the receiver. Her voice was laced with fire. “Audrey, why didn’t you come on this retreat?” “This Ava woman… she’s practically surgically attached to Carter!” Chloe’s husband is a partner at Carter’s firm; this retreat was a joint venture between their two companies. As for the photos… I’d already seen them on Ava’s Instagram feed. One, in particular, was designed to sting. On the deck, under an endless sky against an equally endless sea. Ava was poured into a vibrant yellow bikini, the kind of minimalist design that perfectly showcased the curves she’s so proud of. She was clinging to Carter’s arm, while his own hand rested possessively on the small of her back, their skin slick and touching. She held a champagne flute aloft, her smile dazzling and triumphant. In nearly every picture, she and Carter were positioned dead center, the gravitational pull of the whole group. Her posture screamed hostess, the lady of the manor. She hadn’t even bothered to create a private story or limit the audience. This way, the flood of fawning comments and congratulations could be seen by everyone. And, most importantly, by me. Beneath this photo, so brazen it was practically a declaration of war, she had selectively replied to a few comments like, 【Power couple!】 and 【You two are perfect together!】 with a transparently false modesty: “Omg, stop you guys! lol” “Audrey will see this and get the wrong idea! ;)” They were out there, tasting the salt on the sea breeze and sipping champagne. And here I was. Our housekeeper was on vacation. Which meant the small, thankless tasks fell to me. I was peeling an orange for my daughter, Talia, for her after-dinner snack. The zest sprayed, a sharp, acidic sting seeping into the cuticle of my thumb. At that exact moment, a notification from Ava popped up on my screen. 2 She had sent me two pictures. The first was the intimate one from the yacht. The second was a screenshot of her comment section. As if she wasn’t absolutely certain I had already seen it, she feigned an explanation: 【Audrey, the wind was so crazy! Carter was just making sure I didn’t fall overboard. Don’t read too much into it! xoxo】 Just after I saw her message, one came through from Carter, offering the exact same excuse. I smiled and typed back: 【No problem. Just be safe out there.】 I popped a slice of orange into my mouth, my voice flat as I finally answered Chloe. “Until Talia is in college, I’m not getting involved in company business.” Chloe’s voice went shrill with indignation. “Not involved? She’s parading around like she’s the damn co-founder.” “I remember when she was your assistant. Your little assistant, Audrey.” “Now she’s one step away from climbing into your husband’s bed, and you’re just sitting there?” She just moved back to the States. She doesn’t know everything yet. For instance, that Ava and Carter’s… relationship… has been going on for more than a decade. A small laugh escaped my lips. Chloe sounded like she wanted to shake me. “You’re laughing? She has zero respect for you! Audrey Sloane!” She wasn’t wrong. The evolution of Ava’s attitude toward me was a perfect, visible parabola. It began with the reverent fear she had when she first joined the company as my assistant. Then, after I left on maternity leave and she took over my duties, it shifted to a cautious probing. Later, after she and Carter landed a few major deals together, it became a sense of being my equal. And finally, during the last months of my pregnancy, my father passed away, and Carter was given full operational control of the company. From that point on, her disregard for me was blatant, undisguised. The triumphant smirk of a victor. I wiped my hands, set the phone down on the kitchen island, and continued slicing an apple for Talia. “Chloe, tell me something,” I said, my voice calm. “For an employee who is fiercely loyal and exceptionally talented, what is the most effective, lowest-cost reward you can possibly give?” “A promotion? A raise? Stock options?” “None of the above,” I said softly. “It’s the illusion of intimacy. You make her feel special, chosen. In return, she will dedicate her entire being to you, and she’ll walk away thinking she got the better end of the deal.” The line went silent. I slowly wiped my hands, walked the plate of sliced apples to the study where Talia was doing her homework, and shut the door before continuing. “All of this,” I said, my voice dropping to a near whisper. “Happened with my permission.” “Because from a purely corporate management perspective, it’s the most efficient way to secure absolute loyalty.” “The only thing is… Carter has always been under the impression…” “That he’s the one pulling the strings.” 3 I never thought I would one day marry Carter Reed. It wasn’t complicated. I simply didn’t dare to dream it. In our teens, we attended the same elite prep school. But the financial gap between our families wasn’t just a gap; it was a chasm. I can still remember the Reed family in their heyday. Their estate in Greenwich, Connecticut, was so vast you had to drive for eight minutes down a private road just to reach the front door. Their gardens were ten times the size of my entire property, complete with a sanctuary for iridescent blue peacocks. Politicians and titans of industry were constantly flowing in and out of their parties. My parents had to pull strings through three degrees of separation just to get an invitation to their annual gala. Carter was luminous, the sun around which our social circle orbited. I was just part of the background, another face in the crowd. But what rises must fall. The autumn of our junior year, a shift in federal policy triggered a massive investigation into his father’s industry. Overnight, the Reed family’s assets were frozen. His father was indicted. The friends and allies who had once flocked to their door scattered like birds. Not long after, Carter’s mother, withered by depression, passed away. Just when he had become poison, when everyone was avoiding him like the plague, I did something. I sold the eighteenth-birthday gift my aunt had given me—a rare Birkin bag. It was enough to cover his first year of college tuition. Thirty thousand dollars. He was stunned. I just smiled and told him, “I applied to the same university as you. We’ll still be classmates.” The unspoken meaning was clear: I can help you. But teenage boys, especially fallen princes, have egos more fragile than glass. His eyes were red, his jaw tight. “I’ll pay you back,” he choked out. And he did. He worked his way through college, taking odd jobs, studying relentlessly, and somehow, still finding time to fall in love with me. The year we graduated, he handed me a check for the full thirty thousand, plus interest. But after paying me back, Carter Reed had nothing left. He knew he wanted to marry me. My parents, naturally, refused. Carter, however, was clever. The family fortune was gone, but the taste and sophistication of his upbringing remained. He knew fine wine, played a scratch game of golf, and carried himself with an effortless grace that charmed everyone. In the boardroom, he was sharp and decisive. He schmoozed and networked on my father’s behalf, landing several major clients for our family’s company at cocktail parties and on the golf course. Eventually, my father relented and allowed us to marry, but he never, ever relinquished control. Even as his health began to fail, and I was running most of the company, he kept Carter on a tight leash. He treated Carter like the most capable farmhand he’d ever hired, but a farmhand nonetheless. The turning point came when I got pregnant. 4 My father’s health was in steep decline, and my uncles were circling the Sloane family business like vultures. I was suffering from severe morning sickness, utterly drained of energy. Reluctantly, I began handing over control of core projects to Carter. His business acumen seemed innate. The projects he led delivered unprecedented profits, breaking every company record. But the more brilliant he became, the more my father worried. He needed a guarantee. An assurance that Carter could never truly usurp the Sloane foundation. And so, after our daughter Talia was born, Carter himself made the offer: our daughter would take my surname. She would be a Sloane. It was the exact condition my father had been waiting to demand in exchange for everything else. I still remember that day in the hospital. Carter was holding our newborn daughter, looking at me in my hospital bed. His eyes held a universe of humiliation, of raw ambition. The clear-eyed boy I’d known in school was gone. His face was pale as he spoke. “Audrey,” he said, his voice strained. “I’ve done this for you, for the Sloane family. Your father should be satisfied now.” I understood. A man stripped of the right to pass on his own name will always seek compensation in other areas. More money, for instance. And more women. I gave him the power. I allowed him to build his own inner circle, to cultivate his own loyalists. And Ava Chen was the first one he personally promoted from an assistant’s desk. This continued until my father passed away, when Talia was seven. The moment my father drew his last breath, a delicate balance was shattered forever. The era of Carter Reed had begun. Or rather, what he believed was his era. All these years, I’ve remained behind the scenes. The official story was that I was raising our daughter, but in reality, I was watching. Observing. I watched Carter implement sweeping, ambitious reforms. I watched him elevate Ava, step by step, to the position of director. Ava, to her credit, was more than capable. She was a weapon forged and sharpened by Carter himself. Wherever he pointed, she struck, and she never missed. She secured key international contracts, she was a killer at the negotiation table, and a charmer at the dinner parties that followed. She was his right hand, his most trusted ally, his battlefield partner, and his most intimate confidante. Everyone in the company knew. Everyone except, supposedly, me. Audrey Sloane, the lady of the house. A porcelain doll kept on a shelf at home, untouched and ignored. Chloe’s phone call didn’t tell me anything I didn’t know. It just ripped away the polite, paper-thin veil of ignorance everyone pretended was there. For years, every unusual financial transaction, every anomalous personnel change within the company, has been delivered in an encrypted file to my private email account, once a week, like clockwork. I hung up the phone and glanced into the study at Talia’s focused silhouette. Her high school years were almost over. And that meant one thing. The era of Audrey Sloane was about to begin again. 5 Shortly after Talia’s graduation, the company held its 30th-anniversary gala. After so many years away from the corporate world, I was out of practice with these events. But for this one, I decided to make an appearance. The moment I stepped into the grand ballroom on Carter’s arm, I knew. Tonight was Ava’s coronation. I was wearing a bespoke champagne gold gown—elegant, but reserved. Ava, on the other hand, was in a midnight blue dress, the exact shade of Carter’s tie. They looked like a perfectly coordinated couple. “Carter, Mr. Henderson and the board are waiting for you,” she said, smoothly handing him a glass of whiskey, her presence so familiar she barely acknowledged mine. He gave my hand a light, placating squeeze, took the glass, and said hastily, “Why don’t you find a seat? I’ll be right back.” Then he was gone, swept away by Ava into the glittering heart of the party. I was left standing alone. Soon enough, the whispers started, rising around me like a tide, not even bothering to be discreet. “Is that his wife? She seems… so much less impressive than Director Chen.” “Shh! Keep your voice down. But seriously, look at Ava and Carter together. That’s a power couple.” “I heard she’s been a stay-at-home mom for ages. She knows about Carter and Ava but doesn’t dare make a scene.” “Of course not. Ava helped build at least half of this empire over the last fifteen years. If I were a man, I’d choose Ava too.” I kept a serene smile fixed on my face, pretending I heard nothing. A few minutes later, a young woman with an “Intern” badge approached, her eyes shining with hero-worship as she made a beeline for Ava. Her path was momentarily blocked by another guest, and she had to step around, right in front of me. She scowled impatiently, her gaze landing on me with a dismissive frown. “Excuse me, ma’am.” Her tone was a blend of condescension and officiousness. “This area is reserved for the head table. To ensure Director Chen and our VIPs aren’t disturbed, it’s best if you don’t linger here.” As she finished, she flicked her chin pointedly in Ava’s direction, a clear, pathetic attempt to score points. Ava saw the whole exchange. The smile on her lips deepened, but she made no move to intervene. The people nearby were watching, waiting for the punchline to the joke that was my presence. Before I could speak, Carter’s executive assistant hurried over. His voice was low but firm. “Wendy, this is Mrs. Reed. Audrey Sloane.” 6 The intern’s face turned the color of ash. She bowed her head, stammering apologies. Carter glanced over, a look that was meant to reassure me that he was aware, that he was handling it. But if he hadn’t spent the last decade deliberately erasing me from his public narrative, avoiding any mention of his marriage in interviews, and constantly magnifying Ava’s presence within the company, would I have been mistaken for a stranger at all? He walked directly to the head table, pulled out the chair to his right, and gestured for me to sit. It was only then that I saw the bizarre seating arrangement. Carter was at the head, with Ava and me flanking him on either side, a perfect, stable, and excruciatingly awkward triangle. He sat, unbuttoning his jacket with a practiced ease, and added awkwardly, “Don’t think anything of it. Ava always sits next to me to run interference with clients who drink too much.” Then came the toasts. As a company veteran, Ava was the first to speak. She raised her glass to the room, but her eyes were locked on Carter. “For more than a decade, I have poured my youth and my heart into this company. But the one person I have to thank, more than anyone, is Carter.” Her voice caught, thick with a deep, theatrical emotion. “Thank you for shielding me from the storms, and for giving me a sky to fly in. For all these years, this company has been my home, and Carter… you have been my family!” She hit those last words with pointed emphasis. Every eye in the room swiveled toward me, like a bank of spotlights. 7 I finally lifted my gaze, met Ava’s, and smiled sweetly as I spoke. “That was beautifully said, Ava. Carter and I have always thought of you as family, too.” I paused, my smile widening. “Just like Mochi.” Ava’s cheeks were flushed with triumph. “Mochi?” she asked, confused. “Who’s that? Which department is he in?” Carter’s assistant leaned in and whispered, just loud enough for the table to hear, “Mochi is the Ragdoll cat Mrs. Sloane and Mr. Reed have at home.” The color drained from Ava’s face in an instant. I arched an eyebrow, raised my glass, and gently clinked it against hers. “When we first found him, he was just a scrawny little thing, always rubbing against our legs, begging for food.” My voice was light, conversational. “Now his coat is all glossy, he’s put on some weight… and every now and then he gets bold and starts scratching the sofa, acting like he owns the place.” The air at the table froze. The guests who had been whispering just moments before now had a fascinating array of expressions, caught between the urge to laugh and the fear of doing so. Carter’s head snapped toward me, and his voice, for the first time, was cold as he whispered, “Audrey, do you really have to humiliate her in front of everyone?” I leaned in close, as if we were a loving couple sharing a secret, and murmured for his ears only. “You know, our daughter just graduated high school.” My voice was a silken thread of steel. “Or has the last decade of playing king made you forget whose name is actually on the deed to this company? Is it Reed? Or is it Sloane?” I had never spoken to him like this. Not once. He was stunned by my bluntness. To give our daughter a harmonious home, to preserve her idealized image of her father, and to make Carter believe my retreat into domestic life was genuine so he would work his heart out for the company… for all those reasons, I had never once punctured the fantasy he had so carefully constructed for himself over the past decade. Now, I had given it a single, gentle poke. Carter froze, his face turning a dark, mottled red. “What… What are you trying to say?” “Nothing at all, darling, don’t be so tense!” I raised my voice, a bright, cheerful sound for all to hear. “I just wanted to take this opportunity to announce that, starting next week, I will be formally returning to the company.” I smiled at the stunned faces around the table. “I trust I’ll have all of your support.” 8 The moment the words left my mouth, the entire ballroom fell silent. Ava was completely rigid, as if someone had just thrown a bucket of ice water in her face. A week later, I arrived at the company headquarters. My new title was Vice President. It sounded powerful, but it was largely a figurehead role, overseeing corporate culture, employee wellness, and some auditing functions. My father’s old guard treated me with the utmost respect. Carter’s people maintained a polite, professional distance. Everything was perfectly cordial. But I wasn’t interested in a slow, simmering peace. So, I created a pretext. Our daughter would soon be leaving for college abroad, and I wanted her to have a few final months of complete, uninterrupted family time. It was a reason Carter couldn’t refuse. We started commuting together. I rode in his car in the morning and waited for him to finish in the evening so we could drive home together. If he worked late, I had my assistant order dinner, and I would sit quietly on the sofa in his office, reading through documents while he finished. Ava no longer had a single opening to slip through. Years ago, when Ava was first making a name for herself, she had a brief moment of media stardom. I would often see clips from her interviews on social media, especially when she was asked about marriage. “I’d rather be the queen of my own life than be someone’s wife.” “Using your womb as a bargaining chip is the most pathetic thing a woman can do.” “My sense of security comes from the number of zeros in my bank account, not a man’s promise.” … Those soundbites were edited into slick, viral videos. Her “golden quotes” amassed hundreds of thousands of likes and fawning comments from her followers. 【She’s my spirit animal! This is how a real woman should live! Ava is my icon! ❤️100k+】 【A true alpha female. Her mindset is everything! ❤️82k+】 【Ava is stunning! No wonder Carter is always praising her in interviews. Who wouldn’t be obsessed? ❤️100k+】 【Don’t say that, he has a wife, lol. But I heard she’s a total recluse now. ❤️20k+】 【Sounds like the marriage is just for show. The queen is about to be dethroned! ❤️60k+】 For a while, Ava was the name on everyone’s lips. Her interview quotes were treated as gospel by countless women striving for genuine independence. She was given a title by her online followers: “The Textbook Alpha Female.” But lately, in the break rooms and hallways, I would often catch a glimpse of this so-called Alpha Female’s face, twisted ever so slightly by jealousy and resentment. It seemed the queen was losing her composure. A few days later, a portfolio of the company’s most difficult, dead-end projects landed on my desk. Carter’s intention was obvious. If I was busy, Ava would have a chance to be alone with him. By giving me impossible tasks, he hoped to watch me fail and retreat back home in frustration. But this was just the beginning for me. 9 One of the projects required a face-to-face meeting in another city. I had to lead a team to Chicago for a few days. When I went to Carter’s office to get the travel authorization signed, Ava was there. He looked up, his usually warm expression tinged with a manufactured concern. “This project… are you sure you can handle it alone?” Before I could answer, Ava let out a soft, condescending laugh. She was leaning against his desk, her tone dripping with fake sympathy. “Audrey, why are you working yourself so hard? It’s not like Carter can’t support you.” She had seen me in my prime, back when I was a shark in the corporate world. But she had been on top for so long she’d started to believe her own hype—that after all these years at home, I was now just a woman who needed her husband’s money to survive. I didn’t even look at her. I just smiled faintly. “Oh, Carter can certainly support a lot of people. I just prefer to support myself.” I paused, my words deliberate and clear. “As you’ve said yourself, Director Chen, a meal you’ve earned yourself always tastes better than one you have to beg for, doesn’t it?” Ava was speechless. Seeing her fail to score a point, Carter sighed and signed the form. That evening, after dinner, Talia linked her arm through mine and whispered, “Mom, how long will you be gone?” “Three days.” She let out a breath of relief. “Oh, good. I was worried you’d be gone for three months… You wouldn’t have been back for my college move-in day.” I smiled and gently tapped her nose. “I wouldn’t miss that for the world. In fact, for your first day of college, I’m getting you a very special gift.” “What is it?” I ruffled her hair. “You’ll see.” 10 To facilitate communication with the client, I booked a room at the Four Seasons, where their executive team was also staying. I chose to tackle this project first because I had a history with the person in charge. The negotiations went even more smoothly than I had anticipated. I was still on the flight back when the congratulatory texts from the office sycophants started rolling in. Back at the office, I submitted my expense report to the finance department, including the receipt for my hotel stay, which came to twelve thousand dollars. Shortly after, Leo, a new hire in finance, knocked on my office door for the second time that day. He looked deeply uncomfortable. “Ms. Sloane,” he stammered. “There’s… there’s a new policy. It was just implemented. To control costs, all executive travel lodging is now capped at three thousand dollars per night.” I looked at the receipt in his hand, which he was holding like it was radioactive. I understood immediately. This was a probe. A little test from Ava. I didn’t say anything. I just gave a slight nod. Seeing that I wasn’t angry, Leo became even more nervous. He lowered his voice. “Director Chen said that company policy applies to everyone, no exceptions. She hopes you’ll understand.” “Don’t worry, Leo. I understand perfectly.” I finally spoke, my voice calm and even. I pulled a stack of cash from my purse and pushed it, along with the receipt, across the desk toward him. “File the report according to policy. I’ll cover the difference myself.” I looked him in the eye. “I’m sorry you were put in this position.” Leo stared, dumbfounded. He clearly hadn’t expected his terrifying mission to be resolved so easily. I picked up my coffee, blew gently on the surface, and kept my gaze soft. “When you’re young in the corporate world, you often have to do things you don’t want to. I get it.” “You can go report back now.” When he looked up again, his eyes were filled with gratitude. “Th-thank you, Ms. Sloane.” He practically fled my office, his gratitude seeming entirely genuine. Ava wanted to use a new rule to trip me up. But in the finance department, under the director, there’s a manager, and under the manager, there are supervisors. And yet, this petty task was pushed down the line until it landed on an intern. I had assumed that after more than a decade, Ava would have cultivated a loyal team. Apparently, I was wrong. The key departments were not as solid as she thought. Four thousand dollars of my own money to buy this piece of intel and a disarmingly weak first move? It was a bargain. 11 I thought Ava might try something more creative for her next move. But it seemed she was so pleased with her little expense report tactic that she decided to make it her new hobby. Then I realized why. It wasn’t that she lacked imagination. As the CFO, this was her domain. These were the rules she knew best, the weapons she was most comfortable with. She was dancing in her comfort zone, poking me with these petty annoyances. To date, I had successfully closed three major deals. I had taken three business trips. Between upfront costs and covering the overages on my expense reports, I was out of pocket nearly a hundred thousand dollars. That was enough. It was time to return the favor.

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The day the developer’s buyout money hit my account, my brother, Kevin, burst through the door, his face a mask of terror. “Sarah! Your daughter—Chloe—down the street, a van just grabbed her! They’re demanding ten million dollars, or they’ll kill her.” Before the words had even settled in the air, a heavy thud sounded at the front door. On the porch sat a black package. Inside, nestled in cotton, was half a human finger. Kevin’s face went white. “Get the money, Sarah, we have to get the money now! Before it’s too late!” I wasn’t panicking, not the way he expected. I looked at the gruesome trophy and spoke calmly. “A finger doesn’t prove anything. Not unless the kidnappers send an ear.” I paused, letting the silence stretch. “Chloe has a tiny pink mole on her right earlobe.” Kevin stared at me, his jaw slack, then turned and left without another word. That afternoon, a new package arrived. It contained a right ear, a small pink mole clearly visible. My parents, who had rushed over, collapsed into histrionics, wailing around the gruesome delivery. But I remained unmoved. “Plenty of people have moles,” I said, my voice flat. “Am I supposed to hand over ten million dollars to every crank who knows how to use a knife? I won’t believe a thing until I see the birthmark on Chloe’s thigh. A pale blue mark, shaped like a crescent moon.” The next day, a severed human leg, bloody and pale, was thrown onto our lawn. I watched Kevin, saw the flicker of triumph, of barely concealed excitement in his eyes, and I smiled a smile that no one else could see. Because the girl with the crescent-moon birthmark wasn’t my daughter. It was his. 1 “Sarah, what are you waiting for? Do you want to wait until they send Chloe back to you piece by piece before you pay the ransom?” Kevin’s brow was a knot of anxiety. He paced the living room, a convincing performance of a man consumed with worry for his niece. My husband, Mark, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen, shot up from the couch. “I’m getting the bank statements. I’ll wire the money.” I grabbed his arm and yanked him back down just as he stood up. Then, I hit play on the audio file the kidnappers had sent. A girl’s voice, sharp and hoarse, screamed with desperation. “Mom! Dad! Help me, please, I can’t take it anymore!” The sound shattered the room. Everyone fell silent, their faces etched with heartbreak. Everyone but me. I scoffed. “The deepfake technology these days is incredible. They can send fake limbs, fake ears… but they can’t fake a voice.” I leaned forward, my tone analytical and cold. “Every person’s vocal print is unique. And that is not Chloe.” Hearing my detached analysis, Mark finally exploded. “Sarah, how long are you going to keep lying to yourself? Do you need to see her body before you’ll finally believe it?” Kevin nodded furiously, jumping in to support him. “He’s right, sis. I know you just got the buyout money and you’re afraid to let it go, but this is life and death. You can always make more money. You can’t get another daughter.” He pulled a blood-stained piece of clothing from his backpack. “The kidnappers sent this to my house. It’s that Dior dress you bought for Chloe. I was with you when you got it, remember? The only one from that collection in the entire city.” The dress was a cheap, coarse knockoff. Tucked into the collar was a Post-it note. Last warning. Three days. If you don’t have the money, the next thing you get will be her head. The threat hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Mark, his face burning with rage, shoved me hard. “If you’re really doing this because of the money, you don’t deserve to be a mother!” Just as I was about to stop him, my phone buzzed. A new photo. A close-up of a shattered mouth, teeth laid out in a neat, grotesque row. Kevin’s wife, Brenda, leaned over my shoulder, her voice dripping with exaggerated pity. “Oh, my God. Chloe is such a beautiful girl… but look how dirty her teeth are. She really needs to take better care of herself.” It was a throwaway comment, a piece of casual cruelty, but it changed everything. Mark heard her and snatched the phone from my hand. In the photo, half the teeth were riddled with cavities. They were yellowed, caked with plaque. He froze. Chloe was meticulous about her teeth, with dental check-ups every six months. Her teeth looked nothing like this. A flash of shock, then confusion, crossed his face. He looked at me, a question in his eyes. And that’s when I let myself break. Sobs tore from my chest, my body collapsing as if under a great weight. “It really is her,” I wailed. “It really is my baby girl. The money just came in, and now this… This is going to kill me!” Seeing me finally convinced, a glint of triumph flashed in the eyes of my brother, my sister-in-law, and my parents, who were still weeping theatrically on the floor. As they watched me, their faces full of greedy anticipation, I suddenly shook my head, my voice turning hard as stone. “No. No, I can’t. She’s just a girl, a money pit. Let her die. I’m not paying.” Kevin was stunned speechless. “Sarah… I thought she was the light of your life?” But I wasn’t listening. I started shoving them all toward the door. “Stop trying to convince me! I’m not paying unless you’re paying for it!” Once they were gone, Mark locked the door and turned to me, his voice a low whisper. “What the hell is going on?” I looked at him, and the tears that flowed now were real. Because in my last life, Kevin used this exact same scheme to steal my buyout money. And Mark and I, we believed him. We scraped together every penny, borrowed from anyone who would listen. Mark even sold one of his kidneys on the black market. But in the end, our daughter was still brutally murdered. Unable to face the truth, Mark jumped from a bridge. After I had numbly arranged the funerals, I saw him. On a street corner, laughing with the kidnapper as they split the ransom money. “That little brat kept insisting she wasn’t Chloe Wang,” the kidnapper said, lighting a cigarette. “A chopped finger convinced her otherwise.” Kevin took a long drag from his own cigarette, a cruel smirk on his face. “She’s just like her mother. If Sarah had just given me the money in the first place, none of this would have happened. Now she’s out a daughter, too.” The kidnapper’s words—insisting she wasn’t Chloe Wang—echoed in my head. I ran back to the morgue, to the headless corpse the police had found. The body was a close match to my daughter’s, about eight-tenths of the way there, but when I saw the pale, crescent-shaped birthmark on her thigh, my blood ran cold. It wasn’t Chloe. It was my niece, Ashley. In that instant, I knew the kidnappers had grabbed the wrong girl. At that very moment, my phone rang. It was Chloe, her voice faint. She’d been hiking in the mountains, lost her signal, and gotten lost for a few days. My daughter was safe. But my husband was dead. Consumed by a grief and rage so profound it burned away everything else, I drove to confront Kevin. I never made it. A truck ran a red light. When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day of the kidnapping. After I finished explaining, Mark pulled me into his arms, holding me so tightly I could feel the frantic beating of his heart against my own. “I believe you,” he whispered into my hair. “And this time, we’re going to make them pay.” 2 The next morning, Kevin arrived with my parents and a dozen other relatives in tow. He was holding his phone, live-streaming. “My sister might not be willing to pay the ransom for her own daughter,” he announced to his audience, his voice thick with false emotion, “but I can’t just stand by and watch my niece die. So I’m giving my sister my entire life’s savings. It’s all I have, but it’s a start.” He slapped a thin stack of cash on the table. Ten thousand dollars. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. His gesture, however, sent the live stream’s comment section into a frenzy. 【OMG, what an amazing uncle! He’s an angel compared to that heartless mother.】 【Look at her, dressed in designer clothes. It’s not like she doesn’t have the money.】 My parents joined the performance, raising their canes and bringing them down on my head and shoulders. “You ungrateful child! Your own brother is helping you like this, and you still won’t pay! If you don’t save your daughter, I’ll disown you!” They acted like they were on my side, but I knew the truth. In my last life, I learned they knew about Kevin’s plan all along. They actively helped him deceive me. I pushed down the hatred simmering in my gut and collapsed onto the floor, playing the part of a hysterical shrew. “No! I don’t have the money!” I screamed. “That buyout is for my new villa! Not a chance, not unless Kevin pays for half of it!” My father lunged at me and slapped me hard across the face, his eyes bulging. “You monster! How dare you try to take your brother’s money? Forget it!” Mark shoved him back, pulling me behind him. “My wife is right,” he snarled, adopting my greedy persona. “You want us to save her? Help us pay for it. Otherwise, we won’t.” He shrugged. “Besides, Chloe is just a girl. We can always have another one. A boy would be better. Cheaper than paying a ten-million-dollar ransom, that’s for sure.” The live stream exploded. 【Holy crap. These two are a perfect match. Shamelessness on a whole new level.】 【They’re so reluctant to pay… and talking about having a son instead. Wait a minute… what if they hired the kidnappers themselves?】 Kevin’s plan was to use public pressure to break me, but my skin was thicker than he could ever imagine. Seeing that I wouldn’t budge, a flicker of hesitation crossed his face. He pulled Brenda aside. They whispered furiously for a long time, weighing their options. Finally, they decided that five million was better than nothing. He made a call. To a loan shark. “I’ll do it,” he declared to the camera, his face a mask of saintly sacrifice. “To save my niece, I’ll do anything.” His audience swooned. The loan sharks were fast. In less than an hour, five million dollars appeared in my bank account. Kevin’s eyes gleamed. “Okay, sis. Now can we go save her?” He didn’t expect my reaction. I smiled sweetly, took my bank card, and locked it away in the safe. “Thank you so much, Kevin,” I chirped. “I’m so glad you finally paid back all the money you’ve borrowed from me over the years.” The realization dawned on his face, twisting his features into an ugly snarl. He clenched his fists. “What did you just say?” I looked him straight in the eye, my smile widening into a mocking grin. Over the past decade, he had bled me dry, nickel-and-diming me for millions with an endless stream of excuses, always claiming to be broke when it was time to pay it back. I spread my hands, a picture of innocence. “I’m just saying, the money is in my account now, which means it’s mine. And if you think I’m going to spend it on that little money pit, you’re crazy.” My shamelessness seemed to break something in him. He threw his phone aside and lunged, his fists raining down on my head. “You bitch! You tricked me!” Mark grabbed him by the collar, ripped him off me, and smashed a glass ashtray over his head. “Get out!” he roared. “My wife said no, and she meant it. Who the hell do you think you are, putting your hands on her?” Kevin, bleeding and enraged, was about to charge again when his phone, lying on the floor, buzzed. A video call request. From the kidnapper.

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The night I won Best Actress, haters leaked a video of me, six years ago, heavily pregnant. The room erupted. Reporters swarmed, their questions a barrage of noise. “Cora! Who is the child’s father?” I glanced over at Alistair Brain, his face a mask of pure shock. For the first time, the man of unshakable composure had lost it. I smiled at the reporters. “I don’t have a child.” The day Alistair left me for his childhood sweetheart, he sealed our fate. There would never be anything between us again. 1 “If you run into Charlotte Vance, pretend you don’t see her. Do not, under any circumstances, start another fight.” My agent’s words were a frantic hiss as I stepped out of the car and onto the red carpet. And why? Because Charlotte’s backer was Alistair Brain. The Brain family owned half of Hollywood. There was an old, crude saying in the industry: Want to be a star? Sleep with a Brain. And while it was crass, it was true. Every woman who’d ever been linked to Alistair had seen her career skyrocket. I was the one exception. I was the only woman to have publicly dated Alistair Brain and ended up nearly blacklisted. My crime? I had offended his precious childhood sweetheart. For the next six years, no matter how hard I worked, no matter how much critics praised my performances, I never won a single award. Year after year of being the runner-up had worn away all my sharp edges. I learned to keep my distance. I avoided any event where Charlotte might be present. If she expressed interest in a script, I would graciously decline, citing scheduling conflicts. Perhaps my silent surrender had finally paid off. Or perhaps, with her and Alistair’s wedding on the horizon, she no longer saw me as a threat. Whatever the reason, this year, they had deigned to let an award slip through their fingers and into my hands. When my agent got the news, she nearly burst into tears. “Cora,” she’d said, her voice thick with emotion, “the hard times are finally over.” Alistair was finally willing to let me go. Even though our breakup hadn’t been my fault, I stood no chance against him. I had surrendered long ago. 2 My agent had just finished warning me about Charlotte when, as if on cue, Charlotte herself sashayed over and invited me to walk the red carpet with her. The Brain heir’s new flame and his old one, standing side-by-side. The photo op alone was a gossip columnist’s dream. I knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted to humiliate me, and not just by flaunting her status as Alistair’s current girlfriend. We were both wearing gowns from the same designer. Hers, of course, was from the latest collection. Mine was last season’s. I could already picture the headlines, the sneering comments from her fans and my haters, mocking me for being a has-been. But it didn’t matter. I had no intention of competing with her over a dress, and I certainly had no illusions about Alistair coming back to me. If she wanted to be the star, I would be the quiet backdrop. But my compliance didn’t seem to satisfy her. She leaned in, her voice a low hiss. “Cora, did you know Alistair is coming tonight?” I didn’t. Alistair and I hadn’t spoken a word since the day we broke up. We had severed all ties completely. Still, the sound of his name made my heart skip a beat. Charlotte noticed, and a smug, mocking smile spread across her face. “Don’t get any ideas. He’s here for me, not you.” “I know.” While the Brains had their hands in everything, Alistair himself never attended industry events. Not even for me, not even when we were at our happiest. “We’re getting married soon,” she added, a final twist of the knife. I nodded and turned to her, forcing a sincere smile. “I wish you both happiness.” My meekness must have bored her, or maybe she was just anxious to find Alistair. The moment we were off the carpet, she vanished. I posed for the cameras and answered a few questions. The reporters were surprisingly tactful; no one mentioned Alistair. Our relationship had been a whirlwind romance, but the ending had been a spectacular, public crash. Alistair, the man himself, had found out he’d been dumped the same way the rest of the world did: by seeing it trending online. I was in an interview, and the reporters were fishing for details about our relationship. But all I gave them were five, quiet words. “We’ve broken up.” No warning. No explanation. 3 Alistair called me once after that. There was no explanation, no apology, not even a question of why. Just a cold confirmation. “Are you sure about this?” I murmured a soft, “Yes.” He was silent for a beat, and then he hung up. I had expected him to be furious. He’d spent his life being catered to, never once defied. And here I was, dumping him, and he wasn’t even the first to know. The hashtag #AlistairBrainGotDumped stayed at the top of the trending list for three days straight. He never had it taken down. My agency, terrified of offending the Brains, tried to have it removed, but it would reappear less than a minute later. It wasn’t about his humiliation. It was a warning to me. And sure enough, from that day on, my career became an uphill battle. Six years passed. Six years for his anger to cool. Six years, until he and Charlotte were about to be married. The memories flickered through my mind, leaving me dazed. The host called my name twice before I snapped back to the present. The applause was thunderous. Everyone was happy for me. Through the crowd, I glanced at the front row. Charlotte was there, an empty seat beside her. There was no nameplate, but everyone knew. That was Alistair’s seat. He hadn’t arrived yet. Good. That would save us both a lot of awkwardness. But as I stepped onto the stage and looked up to begin my acceptance speech, my breath caught in my throat. There he was. Sitting perfectly composed in his seat. It had been years. He carried himself with an even colder, more formidable air now. When our eyes met, his were completely devoid of emotion. He looked at me as if I were a stranger. I steadied myself and began my speech. 4 I was halfway through when a commotion started in the audience. It was more than just whispers. People were trying to be quiet, but the story was too shocking, their voices rising in pitch despite their best efforts. My haters had just leaked a video. A video of me, six years ago, heavily pregnant. It was from right after Alistair and I had broken up. I’d tried to lose myself in work, but just before filming was set to begin, I discovered I was pregnant. I dropped out of the film and disappeared from the public eye for an entire year. The footage was from a security camera in my old apartment building. I don’t remember where I was going that day, but I wasn’t wearing a mask. My face was perfectly clear. As I walked off stage, clutching my award, my agent and assistant rushed forward, trying to form a protective barrier around me. But it was too late. The reporters were on us like a pack of wolves. Cameras and microphones were shoved in my face, a cacophony of voices all asking the same question. “Ms. Evans, who is the child’s father?” I was trapped, unable to move. Across the room, Alistair sat untouched. No one dared to approach him. If we were still together, perhaps they would have shown me a little more courtesy. I saw the shock on Alistair’s face, the way his fingers, which had been resting casually on the armrest, were now clenched into a white-knuckled fist. He knew who the father was. And so, for the first time in public, the man of unshakable composure had lost it. I didn’t answer their question directly. Instead, I just smiled and denied it all. “I don’t have a child.” 5 I’ve never seen a Best Actress flee an awards show like a refugee. My gown was trampled and torn. I lost an earring in the chaos. A horde of reporters chased after me, turning my moment of triumph into a desperate escape. My agent and assistant were pale with shock. It wasn’t until we were safely in the car that they finally spoke. “What the hell was that? You have a kid? Alistair’s? Where is the child now?” There were too many questions. I managed a weak, bitter smile, not knowing where to begin. My current team wasn’t with me back then. Everything they knew about me and Alistair, they’d learned from gossip sites and rumors. When I vanished for that year, everyone assumed I’d been blacklisted. When I finally returned to the industry, the narrative shifted. They said I’d been so heartbroken that I’d needed a year to travel and heal. No one in the industry knew what really happened during that lost year. Not even my agent. Until tonight, when they, along with the rest of the world, saw that video and came to the only logical conclusion: I had gone away to have a baby.

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