Category: English

My older brother, Shawn, had tried to ruin me time and again in his bid to take over the family business, and for his treachery, he’d been cast out. Yet here was my own wife, Elara, secretly handing him a billion-dollar project proposal that belonged to me. Shawn flaunted it on his social media, his smile dripping with arrogance. The caption read: “Even when I have nothing, some people will still willingly hand me the world on a silver platter.” Elara’s comment appeared almost immediately, bold and shameless: “If you asked for the moon and the stars, I’d find a way to get them for you.” My jaw tightened. I called her. “You have thirty minutes to get that project back.” Her voice was a sigh of exasperation. “Caleb, must you be so petty? It’s only a billion dollars.” I hung up, ignoring her protests. Thirty minutes later, my secretary informed me that not only had Elara failed to retrieve the proposal, but she had also siphoned ten billion dollars in assets from the company. Fine. If she wanted to play this game, I was done holding back. I hit the enter key on my keyboard. In an instant, every single company under the Walton family name was frozen solid. 1 When the Walton family fortune started evaporating at a rate of billions per minute, Elara Walton finally remembered I existed. She burst into my office, reeking of alcohol, stumbling slightly in her heels. “Caleb Hearst, what is the meaning of this?” she demanded. “There’s a limit to your childish tantrums! Do you have any idea how much damage you’ve done to my family’s assets?” I didn’t even grant her a glance, instead taking a slow, deliberate sip of my tea. “I told you. You had thirty minutes.” My calm composure only seemed to fuel her rage. She lunged forward and grabbed my tie. “Shawn is your brother! If you can’t show him the respect he deserves as your elder, then I’ll have to do it for you to protect this family’s reputation!” She leaned in, her voice a furious whisper. “Ever since you came back from your studies abroad, you’ve backed him into a corner, isolated him completely! Are you really going to stand by and watch your own flesh and blood starve on the streets?” She spoke with such righteous indignation, as if I were the villain in this story. My eyes turned to ice. With a flick of my wrist, I pushed her away. I picked up a file my secretary had prepared and tossed it onto the desk in front of her. “Forging the client’s name on a billion-dollar proposal? Transferring ten billion in company assets on a whim? Is this how you manage a corporation?” I asked, my voice dangerously low. “Hearst Corporation has no need for an employee like you. And we certainly have no interest in partnering with a family that operates this way.” I leaned forward. “I don’t care what history you have with Shawn Hearst. As long as you are a part of this company, as long as you bear the Hearst name by marriage, you will remember your place.” She glanced at the scattered documents with a dismissive shrug. “Caleb, don’t think you’re so special just because you have a fancy foreign degree. You’ll never understand the nuances of how things work here, the importance of relationships.” She sneered. “Have you forgotten what family loyalty even means? Or did they not teach you that in your fancy overseas schools?” When I looked up, my expression was hard as stone. “Loyalty is a two-way street. A younger brother shows respect when the older brother shows he’s worthy of it. Shawn tried to have me kidnapped. He tried to poison me. Is that what you call brotherly love?” My voice was rising, laced with cold fury. “He was kicked out of this family by the unanimous decision of our elders. He brought it on himself. And if you regret marrying me so much, this engagement can be terminated at any time!” Sensing the steel in my voice, Elara’s tone softened. “Caleb, I don’t want to end our engagement. I truly don’t. I just… I saw how desperate he was, and I felt sorry for him.” She took a step closer. “Besides, what’s a few billion to you? It’s nothing. But he has nothing left. We can’t let him live in poverty for the rest of his life, can we?” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Poverty? When he was disowned, the family gave him three subsidiary companies and two waterfront mansions. That’s more than enough to keep him comfortable in the city’s elite circles. There are thousands of people in this city with less than him. Why don’t you go feel sorry for them? Why don’t you hand each of them a billion dollars out of the goodness of your heart?” Cornered, she changed the subject. “He’s still been my friend for years. Just because I’m married to you, does that mean I’m not allowed to have my own friends?” I calmly unlocked my phone. “What kind of ‘friend’ requires your company late at night?” I turned the screen toward her. It displayed a photo of her and Shawn on a yacht, glasses clinking, their bodies pressed close in the moonlight. Before she could answer, I swiped. “What kind of ‘friends’ book one hotel room on vacation?” Photo after photo, a timeline of their illicit moments played out before her. The color drained from her face. “Is that your definition of friendship, Elara? Or are you this intimate with all your male friends?” Her face flushed a deep crimson. She finally found her voice, spitting the words with venom. “You’re disgusting! You had me followed!” She straightened up, a strange calm settling over her, a sly smile touching her lips. “You think you’ve won, Caleb? The game isn’t over yet.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “You can’t end this engagement without my consent. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go comfort Shawn. You can figure out what to do next.” She turned and sashayed toward the door. Just as her hand touched the knob, I spoke. “Elara,” I said, my voice quiet but clear. “Walk out that door, and there will be no coming back for the Walton family. Don’t forget why you came here in the first place.” She froze, her back to me. Then she turned, her eyes flashing. “I am not a woman to be trifled with, Caleb Hearst. You’ll regret this.” She wrenched the door open and disappeared, leaving only the echo of her defiance. 2 After a long night of reviewing documents, I calmly picked up the phone and called my secretary. “Prepare the divorce papers.” My marriage to Elara had been arranged by my grandfather. He and the old Mr. Walton were friends for decades, and he’d promised that Elara would marry the heir to the Hearst fortune. The problem was, there were two Hearst sons, and my grandfather had never officially named his successor. Shawn, as the eldest, was assumed by many to be the heir apparent. The Waltons certainly thought so. But they didn’t understand the Hearst way: power is earned, not inherited. While I never intended to fight my brother for control, I understood my duty. While he was living a life of excess and debauchery in the city, I was burning the midnight oil, studying abroad. While he was throwing his weight around as the firstborn son, I was learning the intricacies of corporate management. It wasn’t until I returned and began my internship at the company that he finally saw me as a threat. But instead of changing his ways, he doubled down. He hired thugs to kidnap me. If it hadn’t been for my grandfather’s private security detail, who had been protecting me in secret, I would have been ransomed or worse. When that failed, he tried to poison my drink. I only survived because I was rushed to the hospital in time. After that, the family elders had seen enough. They forced the separation, giving him a generous settlement to be rid of him. I knew Elara and Shawn were close. I had wanted to call off the engagement, but she had come to me herself. “Caleb, your brother and I are just friends. I want to marry you,” she’d said. “You’ve just returned to the country. My family will be your greatest asset.” My grandfather was eager to see me settled, so I agreed. In the world of corporate mergers and family dynasties, affection is secondary to alliance. But there must be respect. For Elara to continue her affair with Shawn after our wedding was a blatant insult. I had no reason to save her face any longer. Before my secretary could arrive with the papers, a group of people appeared at my office door. Leading them were Elara’s parents. The moment they saw me, they rushed forward and fell to their knees. “Caleb, it’s all our fault! We’ve raised a disrespectful, treacherous daughter!” her father cried. “We’ve spoiled her rotten. She’s always seen Shawn as a brother, that’s the only reason she keeps seeing him. We promise, it will never happen again. Please, spare the Walton family!” Behind them, the entire Walton contingent knelt in unison, their heads bowed, waiting for my judgment. The silence was broken by a shrill voice. “Let go of me! I’m telling you, Caleb Hearst is no saint!” Elara was being dragged forward by her cousins. When she saw her family kneeling, her glare intensified. “Caleb! You think bringing my family here will force me to submit to you? You’re a despicable, manipulative—” Before she could finish, her father shot up and slapped her hard across the face. She stared at him, then at her mother, her eyes wide with disbelief. But her mother offered no comfort, her face a mask of cold fury. “Kneel!” she commanded. Elara started to argue, but her father clamped a hand over her mouth and shot a look at his brothers. They understood immediately, joining him to force her to her knees. “Caleb, please, she’s just upset, don’t listen to her nonsense…” her mother pleaded. I waved a dismissive hand. “This is a Walton family matter. Settle it at home, not in my office.” Her parents were about to say more when a knock on the door interrupted them. “Mr. Hearst,” my secretary said, “the divorce agreement is ready for your review.” Elara struggled against her relatives’ grip, the arrogant fire in her voice finally extinguished. “Caleb,” she whispered, “are you really going to divorce me?” 3 I took the file from my secretary, scanned it briefly, and then tossed it onto the floor in front of her. “Elara, you want your freedom? You want your friends? Fine. You’ve got it.” Her eyes darted over the asset division clause in the agreement, and her voice trembled. “No. I don’t agree. We can’t get a divorce.” A cold smile touched my lips. “If you don’t agree, we’ll go to court. You’re the party at fault. You’ll walk away with nothing.” I leaned back in my chair. “And by the way, embezzlement of company funds on this scale… according to the law, you’ll spend the rest of your life in prison.” Her face went pale, and her body went limp. “Caleb, I was wrong. I’ll pay the money back immediately.” She paused, tears welling in her eyes. “But… that project was only worth a billion. If Shawn doesn’t land a new contract soon, he’ll go bankrupt. Please, can’t we just let this go? It’s such a small thing to divorce over.” Even now, she was still trying to protect him. My face hardened. “Elara, do you think this is about the money? You know better than anyone what he did to me! Shawn is a lazy, entitled parasite. If he can’t get a contract, he deserves to fail!” When I first returned, the subsidiary I was given was struggling. I was the one who went out, day after day, begging for meetings, humbling myself for a chance. I was the one who worked alongside my team from dawn until midnight to build it up. Shawn mocked my efforts then, and when he saw my success, he tried to have me killed. My family gave him more than enough to live a stable, wealthy life. They had been more than generous. And yet Elara still saw him as a victim, using my resources to play the role of his savior. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking…” she sobbed. Seeing her finally admit fault, the Walton family breathed a collective sigh of relief. Her father quickly tried to smooth things over. “Caleb, she was just confused for a moment. Her heart is in the right place.” “That’s right, Caleb. We’ll be sure to discipline her when we get home. Divorce is a serious matter,” another relative added. Just then, a frail, elderly voice came from the doorway. My grandfather was there, supporting Mr. Walton. My own grandfather had always been kind to me, and out of respect for him, I finally relented. “Let this be the end of it,” I said. “I don’t want a repeat performance.” The Waltons were visibly relieved, thanking me profusely as they led a weeping Elara away. The next morning, Elara was waiting for me outside the office with a lunch box. “Darling, I know you usually skip breakfast. I made you some chicken noodle soup to warm you up.” For days, she was the perfect wife. She brought me three meals a day. She stopped going out to parties and instead sat with me quietly in the office while I worked late. The project proposal was returned, the stolen funds repaid. My secretary reported that she hadn’t had any contact with Shawn. Watching her bustle around, my resolve began to soften. “You can let the housekeeper handle these things,” I told her one evening. “You should go out, go shopping, relax a little.” She shook her head. “I’ve thought it over. All that partying is meaningless. I’d rather spend my time with you, learning about the business so I can share your burdens.” Seeing her genuine interest, I reinstated her position at the company without her even having to ask. She proved to be surprisingly capable, working diligently and becoming a valuable asset. Soon, whispers turned to praise throughout our social circle. Caleb and Elara, the perfect power couple. The future of Hearst Corporation looked brighter than ever.

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The perks package I’d earned from my 9-to-5 grind in the afterlife was supposed to be the golden ticket: I chose the life of the sole heir to a New York City financial dynasty. I never expected that in the final millisecond before my soul settled, my arch-nemesis would squeeze in beside me. We became twins. I gave her a swift kick. “Get out of here. This trust fund is mine.” She retaliated, siphoning half my nutrients from the umbilical cord. “Please. First one out is the oldest. That means primary inheritance rights.” Fantastic. After a lifetime of rivalry, this time we’d be starting as fertilized eggs. Our battle for birthright was so vicious we made our mother sick with morning sickness day and night. We were relentless, a tiny two-person war waged in the dark. Until the day we both heard our father’s voice, cold as ice, from the world outside. “That child cannot be born.” 1 “Carter, what did you just say?” That was our mother’s voice—Eleanor’s voice—trembling. My rival, Stella, and I paused our brawl mid-kick. We held perfectly still, listening. “I said,” Carter Brooks repeated, his voice devoid of any warmth, “that child cannot be born.” “Why? The doctor said the babies are perfectly healthy…” “Healthy?” A dry, mirthless chuckle. “Eleanor, have you forgotten your place? Did you really think I let you get pregnant so you could become the matriarch of the Brooks family?” In the cramped darkness of the womb, Stella and I shared a look, a silent broadcast of mutual panic. This wasn’t in the brochure. Sole heir to a Manhattan fortune? We were supposed to be planning our debutante balls, not our own funerals. “What… what are you saying?” Eleanor’s voice faded to a whisper. “Chloe’s son, Noah… his heart is failing. He needs a compatible transplant, urgently.” The pieces began to click into place, each one colder and sharper than the last. “Your blood type is the same as his,” Carter continued, his tone clinical, as if discussing a stock portfolio. “Rh-null. I did my research. A child you carry has an extremely high probability of being a match. Twins, especially. One for the transplant, one as a backup. It’s foolproof.” Eleanor’s horror was a physical wave that washed over us. “So, from the very beginning… my children were just… a living organ bank for Noah.” Her emotional distress triggered a violent contraction. The walls closed in, and Stella and I were crushed together. “No… it can’t be…” Eleanor’s voice broke into a sob. “Carter, they’re your children, too! How could you…” “Children?” His voice dripped with disgust. “Eleanor, don’t flatter yourself. My only child is the one Chloe gave me. The things in your stomach are nothing more than two well-matched sets of spare parts. Your job is to deliver them, safe and sound. Do that, and the Brooks family will compensate you handsomely.” He paused, letting the cruelty sink in. “If you want to blame someone, blame them for choosing your womb to land in.” “Now, get ready. We’re going to the hospital. I’ve already made the arrangements.” Our mother’s terror and heartbreak became a cascade of brutal contractions, squeezing the breath from our tiny, developing lungs. “No! I won’t!” Eleanor shrieked, a sound of pure, primal fear. “I won’t let anyone hurt my babies!” “You don’t have a choice,” Carter snarled. Then, a dizzying lurch. We could feel our mother being dragged, her body fighting against an overwhelming force. What do we do? I projected the thought to Stella. She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she coiled her tiny body and kicked with all her might in one direction. “Argh!” A muffled grunt of pain from the outside world. It was Carter. “Eleanor! You think you can run from me?” his voice roared from behind, filled with a terrifying rage. He wanted our hearts? He could dream on. 2 Eleanor didn’t get far. Within minutes, Carter’s security team had us back in the penthouse, prisoners in our own home. Stella and I could feel the frantic, rabbit-fast thumping of our mother’s heart. We could feel her body trembling with a fear so profound it seeped into our own developing bones. “Carter, you’re a monster! You’ll rot in hell for this!” Eleanor screamed, her voice raw as they pinned her to a vast, king-sized bed. “A monster?” Carter’s voice was laced with a chilling amusement. “Eleanor, you should be honored. To be able to give something so precious to Chloe and Noah… it’s the most important thing you’ll ever do.” “Shut up! Who the hell is Chloe to me?” CRACK. The sound was sharp, sickening. A wave of fiery pain shot through Eleanor’s cheek, and we felt it, too. “Don’t you ever disrespect her,” Carter said, his voice dangerously low. “A woman like you isn’t fit to say her name.” “I’ll spit on her name! She’s nothing but a home-wrecking—” “It seems one slap wasn’t enough to clear your head.” His patience was wearing thin. “Let me remind you of something, Eleanor. Everything you have—your status as Mrs. Brooks, the black Amex, this apartment overlooking Central Park—I gave it to you. And I can take it all away.” He leaned closer. “Do you really think your family, with their failing little business, can protect you? One phone call from me, and they’ll be wiped off the map by morning.” Eleanor’s curses died in her throat, replaced by choked, desperate sobs. This was the gilded cage I’d fought for nine hundred years to be born into? Back in the dimension between lives, Stella and I were legends for all the wrong reasons. I was the top-tier soul guide who’d clawed my way up through sheer grit and paperwork. She was the hell-raising spirit who’d literally fought her way to the top. We’d battled to a stalemate over the single Platinum Rebirth package, only to be sucked into the same vortex at the last second by some cosmic glitch. And now, here we were. “Nice pick, Luna,” Stella’s thought was drenched in sarcasm. “This is the ‘good family’ you were so desperate for?” “Oh, shut up, Stella,” I shot back. “Like you weren’t trying to shove your way in here, too.” “Only because you were blocking the better options!” “Sure, keep telling yourself that.” Our bickering was interrupted by a syrupy sweet voice from the doorway. “Carter, honey, don’t be angry with Eleanor. It’s all my fault…” “It has nothing to do with you,” Carter’s tone softened instantly. “If only my body were stronger, if I could have had another child for you, we wouldn’t have to put her through this…” It was Chloe. She sounded like she was on the verge of tears. “I’m so sorry, Ellie,” she said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy as she approached the bed. “Please don’t blame Carter. He’s just so worried about Noah. The doctors… the doctors said he might not make it through the winter…” She was a performer, and this was her stage. “As long as your children can save my Noah,” she whispered, her voice cracking beautifully, “I’ll… I’ll spend the rest of my life repaying you.” “Did you hear that, Eleanor?” Carter’s voice was sharp again. “Chloe is being gracious. The least you can do is show some gratitude.” He slid a document onto the bed. “Sign this. It’ll be better for everyone.” “What is this?” Eleanor’s voice was hoarse. “Voluntary organ donation consent forms,” Carter replied nonchalantly. “Signing them now just simplifies the process later.” “And if I don’t?” “If you don’t?” He laughed. “Fine. Then I can arrange for an ‘accidental’ premature birth. Or even… an ‘accidental’ death. Either way, Eleanor, the little things in your belly belong to me.” 3 “Don’t sign it!” I screamed in my mind. “If she signs, we’re finished!” Stella roared back. But Eleanor couldn’t hear us. We felt her hand tremble as it reached for the pen, a gesture of complete and utter defeat. “That’s a good girl,” Carter purred. “See how easy this can be?” Chloe chimed in, her voice sickeningly sweet. “I knew you’d understand, Ellie. Thank you. You’re a truly wonderful person.” The tip of the pen was inches from the paper. In that split second, Stella acted. She repositioned herself, gathered all her strength, and delivered a powerful kick directly into Eleanor’s stomach lining. “Oomph—” Eleanor’s body jackknifed, and a surge of stomach acid erupted from her mouth. With astonishing precision, the vomit splattered across the consent forms and, even more satisfyingly, all over Chloe’s pristine, white designer heels. “AH! My shoes!” Chloe’s shriek could have shattered glass. “Eleanor! You did that on purpose!” Carter exploded. Eleanor, looking as shocked as anyone, weakly shook her head. “No… I didn’t…” “You’re still lying!” Carter grabbed her by the wrist. “I see you need to be taught a real lesson!” “Carter, sweetie, it’s okay…” Chloe intervened, already back in character, her eyes welling with tears. “She didn’t mean it. The pregnancy… it’s hard on her. My shoes don’t matter. What matters is that she doesn’t get too upset… what if it hurts the babies?” She enunciated the word “babies” with pointed significance. Carter’s fury didn’t subside. “Hard on her? Is it harder than what you’ve been through with Noah?” He let go of Eleanor and pulled Chloe into a protective embrace. “You’re too good, Chloe. A woman like her doesn’t deserve your kindness.” He turned back to Eleanor, his face a mask of cold fury. He barked an order to his security guards. “Lock her in this room. Don’t let her out of your sight. Hire two nutritionists. I want them watching her every meal. I want the things in her belly fattened up like prize turkeys.” “Yes, Mr. Brooks,” a guard replied. Carter leaned down, his face close to Eleanor’s ear. “And you,” he whispered, his voice a venomous threat, “pull another stunt like that, and next time, it won’t be bile you’re spitting up. It’ll be blood.” The door clicked shut, leaving Eleanor alone with her silent, racking sobs. “Nice one,” I sent to Stella. “It was adequate,” she sniffed. “Just a warning shot.” “So what’s the plan now? We just wait here to be harvested?” I asked. “Of course not,” Stella shot back, her thought laced with fury. “He wants my heart? He’s not worthy of touching it.” “You have an idea?” “The idea,” she said, a grim satisfaction in her tone, “is to make his life a living hell.” That night, I got to work. I focused all my energy, all the skill I’d picked up in the afterlife dabbling in the art of weaving memories and nightmares. My abilities were more subtle than Stella’s brute force, but far more insidious. I constructed a nightmare just for Carter. In the dream, he was the one strapped to the operating table. Chloe, dressed as a surgeon, held a scalpel over his chest, her smile wide and terrifying. “Don’t be scared, Carter darling,” she cooed. “Noah needs a strong heart. And yours is just perfect.” Then, she sliced him open. The next morning, we overheard the maids talking. “Mr. Brooks must have had a nightmare. He was shouting all night. He looked terrible this morning.” “I know! He screamed at the head of housekeeping, said there was something ‘unclean’ in his room.” 4 In the weeks that followed, Stella and I perfected our two-pronged attack. Our “Womb Rebellion” was in full swing. Stella was the muscle. Whenever Carter and Chloe were having a romantic dinner downstairs, Stella would unleash a flurry of kicks and jabs. Eleanor would double over, her face pale, forcing her to call the on-call doctor Carter had assigned. The doctor’s arrival always shattered the happy couple’s private evening. “Eleanor, can’t you just be still for one damn minute?” he’d demand, standing over her bed, radiating impatience. “It’s your children,” Eleanor would reply, her lips white with pain. “They’re the ones kicking.” “Excuses,” he’d scoff. “They’re barely a few pounds. How much force could they have? You’re just doing this to upset Chloe, aren’t you?” Chloe, ever the martyr, would rush to her side. “Carter, don’t say that. It’s hard being pregnant. Her hormones are all over the place. Maybe… maybe I should move out for a while. If seeing me makes her this upset, it can’t be good for the babies.” “Nonsense! The only person leaving is her, after she’s done her job,” he’d snap, pulling Chloe into his arms. “You and Noah are the masters of this house. Anyone who makes you unhappy will be thrown out.” He’d glare at Eleanor. “I’m warning you. If one hair on Chloe’s head is harmed, I’ll make what’s inside you pay for it a hundred times over.” Eleanor would simply turn her face to the wall, feigning sleep. Meanwhile, I became a master dream-weaver. My nightmares for Carter grew more elaborate. I moved on from simple vivisection to showing him his beloved Brooks Corporation collapsing into ruin, him homeless on the streets of Manhattan, being stepped over by a grown-up Noah and a contemptuous Chloe. His face grew gaunt, dark circles forming under his eyes. His temper frayed to a raw nerve. “Did you hear? The boss is seeing someone now, some kind of mystic.” “He thinks he’s been cursed. He’s been screaming in his sleep every night.” The staff’s whispers were our daily entertainment. We thought we could ride this out, this campaign of low-grade psychological and physical warfare, until we were born. Then, one afternoon, Chloe burst into the penthouse, clutching a medical report and weeping hysterically. “Carter! It’s Noah! He… he can’t wait any longer!” “The doctors said his heart failure is accelerating! He needs the transplant… as soon as possible!” Carter held her, his own voice shaking. “What did they say? How soon?” “They said… they said within a month,” she sobbed. “But a month from now… the babies won’t be full-term!” “So we’ll have them delivered early,” Carter said. His voice was flat, colder than anything we’d heard before. Eleanor’s face went sheet-white. “What… did you say?” Carter didn’t even look at her. His focus was entirely on Chloe. “Don’t cry, Chloe. It’s okay. A month early? Modern medicine is incredible. The survival rate for seven-month preemies is very high.” “But… but that’s not good for the babies…” Chloe murmured, keeping up her saintly facade. “What does it matter?” Carter said, stroking her hair. “As long as the hearts are healthy, that’s all that matters. Whether they live or die is irrelevant to us.” He finally turned to Eleanor. “You heard her. Get ready. You’re having a C-section next week.” Eleanor swayed on her feet, grabbing the bedpost for support. She stared at the man she had once loved, and the last flicker of light in her eyes died out. “Carter,” she said, and then she laughed, a broken, hollow sound. “If I died, would you be sad? Even a little?” He frowned, as if she’d asked the most ridiculous question in the world. “You? Die?” He scoffed, and then uttered the cruelest words imaginable. “It would be convenient. It would save me the trouble of you trying to bother me and Chloe in the future. I’d have your body buried somewhere discreet. Consider it a reward for delivering the ‘donations’.” He smiled a thin, cruel smile. “After all, when a dog dies, its owner feels a brief pang of sadness. You’re at least a little better than a dog.” Eleanor didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She just looked at him, her gaze steady and empty, for a long, long time. Then she nodded once and said a single word. “Okay.” The calm acceptance in her voice seemed to surprise even Carter. Chloe, nestled in his arms, smiled. “I knew you’d come around, Ellie. You’re such a reasonable person when you want to be.” From that day on, Eleanor changed. The tears stopped. The protests ceased. She ate every meal they put in front of her and cooperated with every medical check. Carter was pleased. “See? This is how it should have been all along,” he’d say during his brief, infrequent visits. Chloe came by more often, flaunting new jewelry Carter had bought her, or talking about their romantic getaways. “Ellie, isn’t this bracelet gorgeous? Carter said that after Noah’s surgery is a success, he’s taking us all on a vacation to the Maldives.” “Ellie, you should eat more of the fish. It’s good for the babies. The healthier they are, the stronger their hearts will be. That gives Noah the best chance, you know?” Eleanor listened to it all with a placid, unreadable expression. “Do you think she’s given up?” I worried. “No,” Stella replied. Her senses were always sharper. “Her heartbeat is calmer than it’s ever been. This isn’t surrender. It’s the calm before the storm.” One evening, long after the house was quiet, Eleanor made a call. “Dad, it’s me. He’s making his move. Next week.”

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After years of trying to fix Cole, the story’s broken, brooding second lead, I finally had enough points to go home. I was electric with it, ready to cash them in on the spot. But the System flickered into my consciousness, blocking the path. “If you leave, what about the child? He’s the protagonist of the next story. You should stay for him.” I couldn’t stop the eye-roll. Cole and his son, Leo, were a matched set of unchecked aggression, their love language a dialect of shouting and blame. I didn’t owe them a damn thing. As if on cue, just as I was about to fight the System, Cole stormed back into the house, weaponizing guilt like he always did. “Can’t you at least try to act like a mother? Do we mean nothing to you? Absolutely nothing?” I wasn’t falling for it. Not this time. My hand snapped out, and the crack of my palm against his cheek echoed in the cavernous foyer. “Get out of my way.” No one was stopping me from going home. 1 That night, I was on a video call with Jenna when the System’s notification popped up. Host, I’ve detected your point balance is sufficient. Do you wish to remain? “No! Hell no! I’m going home!” Jenna’s face lit up on the screen. “Vivi, you’re finally getting out!” I’d met Jenna after I was dropped into this world. We were both from somewhere else, both unwilling players in a cosmic game, but our targets were different. Hers was the story’s hero, the one hopelessly devoted to the memory of his high school sweetheart. Mine was the runner-up, the man who was destined to lose the girl and curdle into bitterness. No matter what I did, Cole was written to fall for the story’s female lead. My role was damage control, a thankless, soul-crushing job. Jenna had a new assignment and had to log off soon. Before she went, her expression turned serious. “Vivian, Cole is abusive. Don’t let some twisted sense of loyalty make you stay just because you put years into this.” I nodded, my throat tight. The System, however, was radiating a sulky disapproval, its responses sluggish. It clearly didn’t want me to leave. Just as I was mentally preparing for the transfer, the front door slammed open. It was Cole. I ended the call and went downstairs, a creature of habit. I even handed him a mug of the herbal tea he liked, my hands moving on autopilot. But today, Cole was different. A storm cloud of rage hung around him, his eyes bloodshot. When I didn’t immediately fawn over him, his hand shot out and clamped around my throat. “Vivian,” he hissed, his voice dangerously low, “don’t get any stupid ideas. You stay right here, by my side. I take care of you, don’t I?” My fingers ghosted over a faint, yellowish bruise on my forearm. A souvenir from last week, when his “taking care of me” involved throwing a ceramic mug in my direction because his deal went south. “And don’t even think about leaving,” he continued, his grip tightening for a second before he let go, trying to recalibrate. “It’s not what you think with Chloe. I just… I admire her talent. It’s purely professional.” He was already spinning his narrative, pleading his case to an empty courtroom. I just watched him, my face a mask of stone. This man was a master of feigned sincerity, an artist who painted portraits of devotion right before slashing the canvas. I learned that on our wedding day. He stood beside me at the altar, and in walked Chloe, the story’s heroine. She wore a white dress that was more bridal than my own, and she looped her arm through his, pouting playfully. “Who’s this?” she’d chirped. Cole had patted her head, a gesture of sickening intimacy. “It’s nothing. She’s no one important.” In that moment, any feeling I might have forced myself to have for my target evaporated. It was all just a job after that. 2 Just then, my son, Leo, came running down the stairs and clung to Cole’s leg. “Dad, don’t even bother with her. She’s just jealous that Aunt Chloe is more talented and way nicer than she is.” I stared at the boy, a cold wave washing over me. I hadn’t felt the physical agony of giving birth to him—that was part of the world’s setup—but I was the one who raised him. He was a sickly child, and I couldn’t count the number of nights I’d spent awake by his bedside, a cool cloth on his feverish forehead. To hear those words from him… it was a special kind of cruelty. The System informed me that my transfer required “upper-level approval” and that I’d have to wait a few more days. Fucking bureaucracy. If it weren’t for this goddamn System, I’d be back in my apartment, living my life. My life, where I had a loving family, a great degree, and a promising career in marketing that had been snatched away the day before I was supposed to start. Leo was still talking, his voice a shrill whine. “Just let her go, Dad. All she does is hang around the house all day, spending your money. She’s not amazing like Aunt Chloe.” Before I was dropped into this world, I was on my own fast track. I was ambitious. Even after marrying Cole, I kept my job until Leo was born. He was so fragile, so prone to illness, that I didn’t trust a nanny. I quit my job to care for him myself. In those early years, Cole was always chasing after Chloe, which solidified my emotional detachment. Leo’s arrival had felt like a small flicker of light in a very dark place. My hand was shaking with rage. This ungrateful child was a perfect copy of his father. Cole had clawed his way out of the foster system, a fact that fueled a vicious, deep-seated insecurity. He was never good enough for the story’s heroine, not really. If I hadn’t found him, half-frozen and delirious with fever during a blizzard years ago, he would have died. But after the wedding, after he had my family’s resources, his true nature emerged. When he was angry, he lashed out. With his words, with his fists. My thoughts snapped back to the present. I raised my hand, and without a moment of hesitation, I slapped Leo across his cherubic, sneering face. He froze, his hand flying to his cheek, his eyes wide with disbelief. Cole, who had been watching with a smirk, finally snapped out of it. “Vivian, what the hell is wrong with you?” he roared. “He’s just a kid! What did I do wrong? He just said a few words, and you react like a psycho?” He said it so casually. Just a few words. As if any son should ever speak to his mother that way. The shock wore off, and Leo burst into tears, burying his face in Cole’s waist. “Daddy, Mommy hit me! I don’t want her to be my mom anymore! My face hurts!” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “The next time you say something like that,” I said, my voice dangerously calm, “you won’t see the sunrise.” That was the last straw for Cole. His rage boiled over, and he shoved me. Hard. We were standing at the top of the main staircase. I was off-balance, unprepared. And then I was falling. 3 The household staff at Cole’s mansion were experts at reading the room. Seeing their boss in a rage, not a single one of them moved to help me as I lay crumpled at the bottom of the stairs. I reached up to my head and my fingers came back wet and crimson. Cole’s abuse had taken a toll on my body over the years; I was weaker than I used to be. The blood loss sent the world spinning, and I blacked out. In the fuzzy haze of unconsciousness, I could still hear their voices floating down from above. “Dad, can Aunt Chloe be my new mom?” “Not yet, son. Your mother hasn’t signed over full control of the company to me.” … When I woke up, the only person by my bedside was Jenna. “That son of a bitch hit you again, didn’t he?” she said, her voice tight with anger. I nodded weakly. It wasn’t the first time I’d tried to escape, but the System always dangled the promise of “going home” to keep me in line. This time, though, how had Cole known I was about to leave? “System, stop hiding,” I projected into my thoughts. “Did you tell him?” There was a long pause, and then a pathetic, whimpering digital sigh. Host… your son is the protagonist of the next narrative arc. I’m assigned to him. If you leave, his character development will turn dark. I had no choice but to inform Cole. My relationship with the System had always been adversarial. I was living a perfectly good life in my own world. What right did it have to kidnap me, to force me into this role of “savior” for a man who didn’t deserve saving? It was disgusting. “So you sold me out.” The System didn’t answer. I felt a surge of fury. If my body in the real world had already died, like Jenna’s had, maybe I could have accepted this. But my life was waiting for me. Jenna, seeing my distress, squeezed my hand. “It’s okay, Vivi. Don’t forget the contingency plan. The one you put in place with Cole’s doctor a long time ago. He won’t be a problem for much longer.” My head throbbed. Or maybe Cole had just hired the cheapest doctor he could find. 4 That evening, Cole came to see me. “I’ve spoken with your System,” he announced, as if he were my manager. “You’re not going back. Who will take care of our son if you leave?” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Our son? Funny, I thought he was only mine when it came to wiping his nose and sitting up with him all night. Your estate is massive, Cole. I’m sure you can find someone to look after him. Or better yet, why don’t you marry Chloe and let her do it?” His face contorted with rage. “What is wrong with you? All I want is for my son to have a mother! And for the last time, Chloe and I are just friends!” As if on cue, there was a soft knock on the door. Cole’s personal nutritionist entered with a tray. “Mr. Hayes, your dinner. The main course is shrimp scampi. And don’t forget your vitamin C capsule tonight.” My eyes met the nutritionist’s for a fleeting second. I mentally checked the calendar. Everything was proceeding on schedule. After Cole finished eating, a nurse came in to change my bandages. Cole took the supplies from her, preparing to play the part of the devoted husband. Just then, his bodyguard burst into the room. “Sir, Ms. Vance is reporting chest pains.” Cole’s hand jerked. The sterile gauze and medical tape clattered to the floor. “What? Get her a doctor, now!” He was gone in a flash, leaving me with Jenna. She shook her head in disgust. “What a piece of garbage. He orders you to stay, then the second his side piece has a little heartburn, he runs off without a second thought for you.” I managed a weak smile. “If you weren’t here, he wouldn’t even pretend to care. The worst part is, he genuinely believes he’s done nothing wrong. He thinks I’m the one being unreasonable.” Cole grew up in the foster system. Now that he had money, his entire existence was a desperate performance of respectability. His obsession with Chloe was simple: she came from the same background. Being with her, “saving” her, made him feel powerful, like he had finally won. A little while later, Leo showed up. “Mom, how could you be so cruel?” he demanded. “Aunt Chloe is the nicest person in the world, why did you have to call and scream at her?” I was completely baffled. I hadn’t called anyone. Jenna’s eyes narrowed. She figured it out instantly. “It’s a setup. She’s playing the victim. She may be the heroine, but she’s got a manipulative streak a mile wide.” I pieced it together. Chloe had spent the afternoon telling everyone I’d called and verbally abused her. Now, she was having “chest pains,” ensuring that when Cole arrived, he’d find her in a state of tear-stained distress. But why? Her target was the story’s hero, not Cole. Why was she trying to sabotage me? I’d always found female rivalry to be a pathetic, low-stakes game. I never expected it from the story’s supposedly pure-hearted protagonist. “You’re a monster,” Leo continued, his voice filled with righteous indignation. “Dad should have married Aunt Chloe in the first place. I’m ashamed to be your son.” Jenna was aghast. “Your mother raised you. This is how you repay her? And even if she did make that call—which she didn’t—you have no right to speak to her like that!” Jenna was fighting my battles for me, but I just scanned the room until my eyes landed on the fruit knife on the bedside table. I picked it up. And without a word, I lunged at Leo. This little monster didn’t deserve to be my son. 5 Just as the gleaming blade was about to reach Leo, the door flew open and a figure threw itself in front of him. “Chloe, are you okay?” Cole yelled, rushing in right behind her. They both fussed over her as she lay on the floor. When she didn’t respond, Cole straightened up and turned on me, his face a mask of fury. “Vivian, have you lost your mind? That’s your son!” Leo, emboldened, echoed his father. “Is it because I like Aunt Chloe more than you? You’re a selfish, evil woman!” I looked down at the “kind and generous” woman on the floor with utter contempt. “Stop the theatrics,” I said, my voice dripping with ice. “The knife was turned backward. The handle hit you. As insane as you think I am, I wouldn’t murder my own child. Unlike some people.” This was a detail Jenna had told me, a piece of lore not included in the main story. In the original plot, Chloe, the heroine, got pregnant after a one-night stand with the male lead while working in a bar. The book says she had a miscarriage. The truth was far darker: she gave birth to the baby, and when she realized the hero didn’t care, she smothered the infant with her own hands. Chloe’s lips trembled. “Vivi, how can you say such things? I’ve never had a child.” Cole shielded her protectively. “That’s enough. You don’t get to spread vicious rumors just because you’re jealous of her. We’ll deal with that phone call you made to her later.” He then softened his voice, turning back to Chloe. “Come on, let me get you checked out by a doctor.” After they all swept out of the room, I turned my focus inward. “System. When are you sending me home?” A long silence. Then, a hesitant, distorted voice. I’m sorry, Host. I have come to an agreement with your husband. You will be staying in this world. A volcanic rage erupted inside me. “You’re what? And who the hell is Cole? What gives either of you the right to make that decision for me?” The System offered no direct answer, just a pre-programmed platitude. Host, you should be grateful. So many others would kill for an opportunity like this! “You’re a kidnapper,” I seethed. “A worthless, parasitic piece of code.” The System abruptly severed the connection. I was locked out. 6 Seeing me screaming at thin air, Jenna rushed to my side. “Vivi, what’s wrong?” The dam broke. “I can’t go back,” I sobbed, the words tearing from my throat. “The System made a deal with him. I’m stuck here! I want to go home!” When I first arrived, I was the disfavored daughter of a wealthy family, a role I had to fight my way out of. Then came Cole, and the constant, exhausting vigilance required to manage his volatility and keep his ‘darkness meter’ from overflowing. I never had a moment to breathe. Jenna hesitated for a moment, then her expression firmed. “My System can send you back,” she said quietly. “I have a good relationship with it. Your mission is complete. You’ve earned your exit.” I sat up so fast the room spun. “What about you? How will you get back?” If it was possible, I wanted her to come with me. She gave me a sad, gentle smile. “There’s nothing for me to go back to. In my original world… I’m already dead.” A heavy silence fell between us. A moment later, Jenna nodded. Her System had agreed to help. “Goes to show you,” I muttered, “not all Systems are created equal. Some of them are just bastards.” My own System, apparently still monitoring me, shrieked in my mind. Host, you can’t leave! What about your son? I had only one word for it. “Piss off.” Tipped off again, Cole returned, his face a carefully constructed mask of pained sincerity. “Vivian, I know you’re jealous of Chloe, but we’re really just friends. I swear. And besides, I just don’t want our son to grow up without a mother. Is that so wrong?” I stood in the center of the hospital room and laughed. “Jealous of Chloe? Why on earth would I be jealous of her? In my world, in this world, my life has always been better than hers. Am I supposed to be jealous of her inability to support herself? Of her need to bounce from man to man just to survive?” Chloe, who had followed him back, saw her beatific mask crack, replaced by a flash of genuine hurt. It was almost satisfying. “Cole,” she murmured, “Vivi is just speaking her mind. Don’t be angry with her.” Cole immediately puffed up, playing the role of her protector. “See, Chloe? You’re too nice. That’s why people take advantage of you. I’m going to make her apologize to you right now.” 7 He turned to me, his voice low and menacing. “Apologize to Chloe. Now. Or we’re getting a divorce.” His darling son, Leo, chimed in from behind him. “Yeah, Mom! You were mean to Aunt Chloe, so you have to say you’re sorry. If you don’t, I won’t be your son anymore.” Some people are just born rotten to the core. Leo was his father’s son. Jenna whispered behind me, “The portal is open. You can go.” Cole’s mouth opened, ready to issue another threat. I didn’t let him. I grabbed the fruit knife from the nightstand and hurled it at him.

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I was the stand-in boyfriend for a billionaire’s daughter. My brother was the arm candy for an A-list starlet. Our plan was simple: get the cash and get out. But before we could secure the money, we both got dumped. We had no choice but to pack our bags and vanish into the night. Two years later, the starlet found my brother. I was watching the drama unfold from the sidelines when a hand smacked me on the back of the head. “You run, fine,” she said. “But you take my dog with you?” 01 The moment Celeste Zhao walked through the door of the apartment, my brother, Liam, was shoving an iPad in my face, frantically trying to pick out a birthday gift for her. The buzz of the downstairs lock echoed up the stairwell, and Liam tossed the tablet aside. “Hide. Now. She hates it when anyone else is here.” I quickly contorted my six-foot frame into a question mark and crammed myself under the bed. A second later, Liam, who had been all business, transformed. He spread his arms like a lovesick puppy, ready to embrace the returning queen. “You’re back!” Celeste, however, was in no mood. She shoved him away, her face a mask of impatience. “This has your fingerprints all over it, doesn’t it? Leaking that story about Julian being born out of wedlock!” she snapped. “His gallery just opened. This kind of scandal could ruin him! If you have a problem, take it out on me! Why would you go after him?” A flush of red crept into Liam’s eyes. “You think I did that?” Celeste threw her purse down in a rage. “It happened right after you went to his gallery and saw him. He said you were the only person he told!” Liam opened his mouth to protest, but Celeste’s assistant rushed in. “We can’t get ahold of Mr. Ashworth.” Celeste, who had just picked up a glass of water, slammed it back down on the table. She shot Liam a look of pure ice and turned to leave. “Celeste, it wasn’t me, I swear,” Liam pleaded, his voice cracking. She scoffed. “You threw a fit last week just because I supported his gallery. If it wasn’t you, who was it?” Liam sniffled, a single tear falling and darkening the leather of his shoe. “Can you go tomorrow? Today is your…” “Shut up. Just stop,” she cut him off, her voice dripping with disgust. “I can’t believe you’re this kind of person.” Without another glance, she slammed the door behind her. “Did you ever… feel anything for me at all?” Liam yelled, wrenching the door open and shouting at her retreating back. The click-clack of her heels paused for a few seconds. There was no reply, only the sound of a car engine roaring to life and speeding away. Liam retrieved the iPad, rubbed his nose, and collapsed onto the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. “Well,” he sighed, “at least I don’t have to spend money on her birthday this year.” I poked my head out from under the bed and gave him a thumbs-up. “That was some Oscar-worthy stuff, bro. For a second there, I almost believed you were actually in love with her.” He kicked at me playfully. “Julian is your girl’s childhood sweetheart.” “Hey, I didn’t hurt him!” I protested. “And you think I did?” “What are you saying?” My voice trembled slightly. “We need to get some money together and run,” Liam said, his eyes now hard and serious. “Why?” “Last week at the gallery, Julian told me he was going to ‘choose’ between our two lovely patrons. I called him a shameless bastard, and now this shitstorm lands on my head.” He sat up, his voice low and urgent. “He’s Celeste’s great unrequited love, and he’s your Chloe’s childhood friend. You know what Chloe is like. If she thinks you’ve wronged her precious Julian, you won’t live to see next week.” That was all I needed to hear. I scrambled out from under the bed and started pulling on my shoes. “Okay, okay, say no more. Let’s figure out how much cash we can pull out. We need to go. Now.” 02 Liam and I are twins. He studied acting in college; I majored in economics. He was the trophy boyfriend for Celeste Zhao, the reigning queen of the box office. She spotted him at an audition during his senior year and basically whisked him away. I was the stand-in for Chloe Vance, the billionaire heiress. She cornered me in a parking garage after a job interview and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. We grew up in an orphanage. This insane luck, this life of unimaginable wealth, all came down to one thing: we both looked like a guy named Julian Ashworth. For three years, money was never an issue. Celeste, being a celebrity, was obsessed with her public image. Everything had to be perfect. Chloe was different. As the sole heir to her father’s fortune, she was a volatile, beautiful storm. Anyone who crossed her learned to regret it. Deeply. We thought this life could go on forever. But things had changed. Julian, the man who had once proudly refused any financial support from Celeste, was back. Life abroad had beaten him down, and he was done struggling. He had returned to choose between the A-list starlet and the billionaire’s daughter, securing a life of comfort for himself. “He told me at the gallery,” Liam said, his voice tight, “that all he had to do was snap his fingers, and Celeste would give him every resource she had. And that she’d tell me to get lost. Looks like he was right. I don’t care if I get kicked out, but Chloe… Chloe isn’t so forgiving. What if she decides to just… toss us both in the river?” I shuddered, remembering the last time Chloe got angry. Some guy had called me a gold digger. She’d found him, tied a bungee cord to his ankles, and had her men make him “jump” off a bridge all night. The next day, he was admitted to a psychiatric hospital, muttering nonsense. And I was just a stand-in for Julian. If Julian decided to come after me next… what chance did I have? He was her real childhood friend. Go. We had to go. Immediately. The plan was set. We would each go home, grab our cards, and run. 03 I had just about finished packing my duffel bag when the front door opened. A figure slammed into my arms from behind, a whisper tickling my ear. “Going somewhere so late, darling?” The scent of gin hung in the air around her. She was drunk. Even after four years together, and as much as I hated her drinking, I never dared to get angry with her. “I was just about to come find you.” She seemed to be in a good mood, her eyes crinkling as she burrowed into my chest and kicked the door shut. “What do you want me to wear tonight?” My heart hammered against my ribs. “You look beautiful in anything.” Chloe’s mother died when she was young, and her father was a notorious philanderer who brought a revolving door of women home. She grew up believing all men were the same. But once, after running away, she’d met a little boy who wiped away her tears. She said he was the first person to ever do that for her. That boy, I was sure, was Julian. Tonight, she was unusually forward. The moment I sat down, she was on my lap, a wicked smile playing on her lips as she tore open the front of her dress… Liam and I were different. He and Celeste had a connection of the mind, something artistic. My connection with Chloe was… more physical. Afterward, a familiar sadness settled over me. As she lay with her head on my arm, her hair soft against my skin, I stroked it gently. The words slipped out before I could stop them. “Do you love me?” She stiffened. In the dark, I saw her luminous eyes stare at the ceiling for a moment before fluttering shut. The only reply was the steady rhythm of her breathing. You can’t wake someone who’s pretending to be asleep. But tonight, I needed an answer. “What am I to you?” I rolled over, trapping her beneath me, my lips finding hers. One hand tangled in her hair, the other fumbled with the silk of the nightgown she’d just put on. “Leo, you’re crossing a line.” Her voice was cold, sharp. She shoved me away and got out of bed, slipping into her slippers. “You should get some rest. I’m going to sleep upstairs.” The woman who had been whispering in my ear moments ago was now a complete stranger. “Does this relationship always have to be a secret? I don’t want to hide like this anymore,” I said, my voice raw. “Oh?” She glanced at me, her expression one of utter indifference. “Then leave. Break up with me.” I stared at her, speechless. “Hmph. I’m not exactly short on men,” she said, tossing the words over her shoulder as she walked out and headed upstairs. 04 What was I to her? A poor kid from an orphanage who happened to resemble her childhood friend. A man kept in the shadows, a secret she could never bring into the light. I knew my place. I didn’t even have a ticket to the world of high-society marriage. And yet, tonight, I had to ask. I wiped the moisture from the corner of my eye and let out a long breath. In a way, it was a relief. Buddy, Chloe’s little mutt she’d found on the street, hopped onto the bed. He was my dog, really; I’d raised him from a pup. He looked at me with his big, dumb, droopy eyes as if he understood my pain. I had to take him with me. Cradling Buddy in one arm and grabbing my bag with the other, I tiptoed down the stairs and out the door. Once outside, I sent Liam a text: I’m out. His reply was immediate: Airport in thirty. Can’t fly. I’ve got the dog. Shit. Then it’s the bus! Bus station, thirty minutes! Liam took one look at me with my bag and Buddy in my arms and gritted his teeth in frustration. I, on the other hand, was baffled by the sight of him with three enormous suitcases, looking like he was fleeing a natural disaster. “What on earth did you bring, man?” “She dumped me. Said she wanted every trace of me gone from her world. So I packed every trace of me.” I stared at him. “Did you really have to bring a broom?” “I bought the broom.” I was silent for a moment. “Fair enough. I got dumped, too. Chloe said she’s not short on men.” Liam patted my shoulder with a look of profound understanding. Then, with faces full of misery, we heaved his luggage into the storage compartment of the bus. The two of us and one dog crammed ourselves into a pair of seats on the stinking coach, and just like that, we slipped out of the city like thieves in the night. 05 Celeste Zhao spent the day fielding one call after another from brands canceling her contracts. The story of Julian’s illegitimate status had blown up, and public opinion was vicious. His gallery had been trashed. She had no choice but to bring him to her place, where, of course, the paparazzi were waiting. The photos were all over the internet by morning. Then, Liam had thrown his “tantrum” and run away. And every photographer she’d tracked down had confessed: Liam was the one who paid them to leak the story. “Celeste,” her assistant whispered, “Liam took everything that was his. Should we…?” “Let him go. Ignore him,” she snapped. Julian, a bandage on his forehead from the attack on his gallery, spoke in a low, wounded voice. “Celeste, thank you for helping me. But you should go find him. I would feel terrible if I came between you two.” His eyes were dark and hollow, his voice heavy with sorrow. It only made Celeste more certain that what Liam had done was unforgivable. “Do you know who did it?” she asked. “When we met, I was trying to comfort him,” Julian said, his gaze distant. “I told him not to be insecure. I said that he was just poor, whereas I was an illegitimate child whose father didn’t love him and whose mother didn’t want him. That he was better off than me. I suppose… someone with ill intentions must have overheard.” Celeste’s heart clenched. What “someone”? The paparazzi she’d found had been clear: Liam paid them. She had held onto a sliver of doubt, but after hearing Julian’s account, that hope was extinguished. Julian watched her, his expression unreadable. He stood up. “Celeste, you should go look for him.” He took a few steps and then swayed, pretending to lose his balance. Celeste rushed to his side. “Forget him. He can go wherever he wants. Are you okay?” At that exact moment, the tell-tale red dot of a camera’s infrared sensor swept across the window. Years in the entertainment industry had made her hyper-aware of flashes and sensors. “Who’s there!” Feigning instability, Julian collapsed against her shoulder. “I’m sorry.” “It’s okay. I’ll handle it. You just focus on getting better,” Celeste said, her voice softening as she patted his back. Within minutes, a new wave of headlines hit the web. A-List Starlet Celeste Zhao in Late-Night Embrace with Illegitimate Ashworth Heir A One-Night Stand, or a Love Affair Revealed? … The articles flooded Liam’s phone. He sighed, his hand trembling slightly in the darkness of the bus. He pulled out the SIM card, snapped it in two, and tossed the pieces out the window. My phone was already clear. To make sure I wouldn’t be tempted to look back, I did the same, ejecting my SIM and flinging it into the night. “Your dog chewed the handle off the window,” Liam said, his jaw tight as he struggled to close it. “Now it’s stuck open.” Wind and dust swirled into the bus, coating our faces with a grime that might have been tears or might have been dew from the cold night air. And so we journeyed on, taking turns holding the dog and watching our old lives disappear behind us. When we finally got off the bus, we discovered our bank cards had been frozen. And so, to save what little cash we had left, we hitched rides on different rickety flatbeds until we reached the remote mountain town of Pine Creek. When we finally stumbled off the last truck, Liam’s hair was a bird’s nest, my face was streaked with dirt, and we both looked like we’d been dumpster diving for a living.

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My father called me at my top-secret facility post and ordered me home for an arranged marriage. My fiancé was perfect on paper—handsome, successful, chairman of the region’s top corporation. Due to my security clearance, I couldn’t fly commercial. My commanding officer lent me his personal vehicle to help me make a good impression. I arrived at my fiancé’s headquarters on time. While backing into a parking spot, a red Ferrari screeched toward me. I hit it before I could brake. The driver, a smug-looking woman, rolled down her window and yelled, “Are your eyes in your ass? Do you even know how to drive?” I took a deep breath. “You cut me off and tried to steal my spot. How is this my fault?” She scoffed. “My spot? Listen, tramp—every cent that hits the ground in Port Sterling belongs to the Hale family. Got it?” I paused, then called my fiancé. “I hear the Hale family runs this city. Is that true?” 1 If it wasn’t for my father, I wouldn’t have even bothered to make the call. Crashing my CO’s car was a problem that money alone couldn’t fix. If my future husband showed a reasonable amount of remorse, I might be able to make this whole incident disappear. “I’m busy. Get to the point,” a clipped, impatient voice answered. “Mr. Hale, I think it would be in your best interest to come downstairs personally. Otherwise—” The line went dead. I stared at my phone. Are all rich people this arrogant? The woman in the Ferrari saw my stunned expression and burst out laughing. “And here I thought you were some big shot. Turns out you’re all talk. Just pay up. If Mr. Hale finds out his car’s been damaged, you won’t be leaving Port Sterling in one piece.” She glanced at my car’s out-of-state plates and my age, dismissing me completely. “Ma’am, are you even capable of rational thought?” I shot back. “You’re the one who illegally changed lanes and tried to steal my spot. I should be the one demanding compensation, yet here you are, trying to extort me.” I pointed to the security camera overhead. “That’s recording everything. You keep lying, and I’ll call the police.” At the mention of the police, she became even more belligerent. “Go ahead, little bitch! Call them! I guarantee you’ll just end up paying more.” Her voice grew louder, and the acrid smell of alcohol filled the air. My hand tightened into a fist. “The reason you don’t want me to call the police… is because you’ve been drinking, haven’t you?” Her response was to shove me hard. “What I drink is none of your damn business! Pay up! You try to skip out on this, and I’ll make sure you never leave this city!” I’d spent years in the service with minimal contact with civilians. I had no idea how to deal with a shrew like this. Her sheer audacity was starting to piss me off. “You hit my car and you’re blaming me? Are you insane?” Her accusation prompted a wave of murmurs from the gathering crowd. “Damn, that girl’s got guts. Yelling at Ms. Wright? She must have a death wish.” “That’s Mr. Hale’s car. Most people wouldn’t dare breathe on it, and she just crashed into it.” “She picked the wrong person to mess with. Wendy Wright is Mr. Hale’s right-hand woman!” The whispers seemed to inflate Ms. Wright’s ego. “You dare call me insane? You must be tired of living!” Her threats were laughable. “Ms. Wright, I suggest you watch your mouth. If you push me too far, not even your boss will be able to handle the consequences.” “Watch my ass!” she shrieked. Words failing her, she rolled up her sleeves and lunged at me. “What’s the matter? People in Port Sterling resort to violence when they lose an argument?” She swung at me wildly, but her slaps met nothing but air. “Stand still, you little bitch! Just wait ’til I call Mr. Hale!” Despite her repeated provocations, I didn’t retaliate. I just dodged. It wasn’t because I was afraid of her. Before I left, my CO had given me a direct order: “Your actions reflect on the unit. Do not engage in conflict with civilians.” Besides, I didn’t know how to “fight.” My training was a different matter entirely. I don’t throw punches. I end threats. One move. Seeing my non-aggression as weakness, she charged again, fist raised. In that split second, a furious voice roared from behind me. “Stop!” 2 “Wendy! You’re my personal assistant. What are you doing, brawling in the street?” A man, flanked by bodyguards, strode toward me. It had to be Damian Hale. “You’re Ivy?” he asked. I took him in. I had to admit, my father had good taste. He was tall, at least six-one, in a bespoke suit that screamed power and style. The only flaw was the icy contempt in his eyes as he looked at me. “Mr. Hale. A pleasure. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Ivy, and I’m from—” “Don’t bother,” he cut me off with a wave of his hand. “We’re not compatible. Go back to wherever you came from.” For a second, I thought I’d misheard. I had just driven for over ten hours straight to get here. I hadn’t even had a sip of water. And he was dismissing me without a second thought? Was he playing me for a fool? My temper flared. “You must be Damian Hale, my father’s choice for a son-in-law,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Telling me to leave without even letting me finish a sentence is hardly polite, wouldn’t you say?” His expression soured. “Polite? Ms. Ivy, take a look at this building. Then take a look at yourself. Do you really think you’re in my league?” He scanned me from head to toe. “I don’t know what my father was thinking, setting me up with a gold-digging trophy wife like you.” The crowd erupted again. “What? She’s Mr. Hale’s fiancée? No way!” “A country bumpkin like her trying to marry into the Hale family? She should look in a mirror.” “Damian Hale is every woman’s dream in Port Sterling! I, for one, object to this marriage!” Their chatter was giving me a headache. When had I ever said I wanted to marry him? Even if I did, it would require approval from the highest levels of command. “Fine, fine. I’m a trophy wife, you’re the great tycoon, happy?” I said, my patience worn thin. “Since you’re not interested, can I have the dowry back, please? My mother specifically told me to get the money back if the engagement fell through.” My mother had said no such thing. I just couldn’t stand his arrogance. As I expected, Wendy Wright shot forward. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to, you little bitch? Mr. Hale is the youngest self-made billionaire in the history of this city! You think he cares about your pocket change?” Now I truly understood the meaning of the word “sycophant.” “Ms. Wright, I’m simply asking for what is mine. His net worth is irrelevant.” My words made Damian’s face flush with anger. “It was eighty thousand, right? I’ll give it back.” He pulled out his phone and wired me the money. “Here’s a hundred thousand. The extra is for your travel expenses.” A small smile played on my lips. “Why, thank you so much, Mr. Hale.” I turned to leave, but Wendy’s shriek stopped me. “Hold it, you little bitch!” I paused, turning slowly. “What is it, Ms. Wright? Did you want to invite me to dinner?” She shot me a venomous smirk and whispered something in Damian’s ear. A second later, the so-called youngest billionaire in Port Sterling exploded with rage. “Ivy! You crashed my car?” 3 From Wendy’s triumphant expression, I could tell she’d spun a tale painting me as the villain. A classic case of deflecting blame. Given Damian’s attitude, I knew explaining would be a waste of breath. “Name your price,” I said flatly. “I’ll pay.” Damian seemed taken aback by my immediate admission. “Pay? Can you afford it? This Ferrari was an eighteenth birthday present from my father. It’s one of three in the world, the only one in this country. A single scratch is worth more than your life. What could you possibly pay with?” I arched an eyebrow, a cool smile on my face. “Just give me a number, Mr. Hale. Whether I can afford it is my business.” “Ten million!” Wendy screeched before he could answer. “The entire front end is dented. It can’t be repaired here; it has to be sent back to the factory in Italy.” A collective gasp went through the crowd. Even Damian looked surprised. “Wendy, the car only cost a little over ten million new. A bumper repair shouldn’t cost that much, should it?” She waved a dismissive hand. “Mr. Hale, you’re not seeing the bigger picture. This was a gift from your father. The sentimental value is immense, wouldn’t you agree? Ten million is a bargain, really. We’re practically doing her a favor.” Damian considered her words and nodded slowly. “Fine. Ten million it is.” I didn’t give them a chance to reconsider. “Done.” Every eye in the parking lot was on me. Some thought I was bluffing, others suspected I was more than I appeared, and the rest were just enjoying the show. Their opinions were irrelevant. What was relevant, however, was that my car was also damaged. While not as severe as the Ferrari, the rear bumper had several deep scratches. If it had been a standard production car, Wendy’s reckless maneuver would have totaled it. “Now that we’ve settled the matter of your car, Mr. Hale,” I said, my voice deceptively sweet, “shall we discuss mine?” My smile widened. “It’s a domestic model, so thankfully it won’t need to be shipped overseas for repairs.” My words were met with a fresh wave of derisive laughter. Wendy pointed a scornful finger at me. “Is this woman crazy? A domestic car? How much could that possibly be worth? I’ll buy you a new one, how about that?” “I can’t believe it. Showing up to meet your fiancé in a domestic car. How embarrassing.” My gaze swept over the crowd, my expression hardening. “Ladies and gentlemen, while my car may be domestic, it has a serial number. I suggest you call your grandparents and ask them what the name ‘Red Flag’ signifies in this country.”

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For four years at university, Dean treated me like a dog. He’d pet me when he was pleased, and kick me when he was angry. Once, during a particularly painful period, he kicked me into the swimming pool. When he ordered his cronies to torment me, he’d secretly record it. Even for the morning-after pill, I had to pay for it myself. He was a cold-blooded devil who had tormented me for ten years. Yet, later, I found him on his knees in a pool of blood, choking back sobs as he begged for my forgiveness. He swore he’d make everyone who’d hurt me vanish—including himself. “I wish everyone else could see you like this, you pathetic little slut, begging for it,” Dean whispered, his voice a low growl against my collarbone. His vile words slithered into my ears. “A slut, am I? And what does that make you, who’s been chasing this ‘slut’ for ten years?” I retorted, a cold laugh escaping my lips as I met his lust-filled gaze. His strikingly handsome, rebellious face twisted instantly, the scar above his eyebrow making him look even more feral. Lust and rage mingled, erupting into a violent storm of punishment. “Watch closely,” he snarled, his voice thick with a dark promise, “this is how a dog marks its territory.” 1 The sound of running water echoed from the bathroom. Casually, I slipped two hundred dollars from Dean’s wallet and dropped it into my piggy bank. He had always been baffled by this habit, assuming it was simply greed. So, he’d tried various ways to shower me with gifts. A twenty-million-dollar deed to a house? I tore it up. A two-million-dollar diamond ring? I tossed it into a sewage drain. Only these vibrant red banknotes, accumulating to the point of overflowing, did I keep. 2 “Your first love, Sebastian Gosling, is getting married,” Dean announced, wrapped only in a towel, a mocking smirk playing on his lips. He ran his hands through his wet hair with a wild, careless gesture, droplets tracing paths down his sculpted abs, disappearing into places that stirred the imagination. “To Isabella Reed.” He paused, a calculated silence, as if expecting to pique my interest. “What do I care?” I replied, shrugging. Failing to elicit the reaction he anticipated, Dean’s dissatisfaction simmered. He leaned over me, pinning me with his intense gaze, a playful menace in his eyes. “We simply must send our blessings! After all, you once would have given your life to protect him.” He chuckled, a low, unsettling sound. “Tell me… what if I sent him those videos of you as a wedding gift?” “You psycho!” My voice trembled, a tell-tale sign of my agitation. Dean’s smile widened, an almost demonic glee in his eyes, as if his twisted prank had landed perfectly. “That’s right, glare at me just like that. In the videos, you had the same look in your eyes…” 3 Honestly, Sebastian Gosling wasn’t really my ‘first love’ in any meaningful sense. It was just a high school crush, a pink-envelope love letter slipped to the star student. The next day, Isabella had dragged me into the girls’ restroom and doused me with ice water. “Crushing on Sebastian? You? You don’t deserve him!” she’d spat, her hand rising to deliver a stinging slap across my face. It burned. That’s when Dean kicked open the door. His clothes hung loosely, his gaze sweeping over my shirt, now clinging to my skin and revealing my underwear. He let out a low whistle. “Call me ‘big brother,’ and I’ll help you get revenge.” I didn’t. And so, he and Isabella joined forces, weaving an endless tapestry of nightmares for me. Sebastian Gosling, in a twisted way, had been at the heart of it all. 4 On the day of Sebastian and Isabella’s wedding, Dean dragged me along. Isabella glowed, a vision of happiness, nestled against Sebastian. Their gazes, when they met, were brimming with affection. Seeing the boy I once adored marry the girl who had pulled my hair and slapped me—a notorious mean girl—a bitter taste settled in my heart. Dean, sensing my low spirits, tightened his arm around my waist, a silent display of his displeasure. “Keep staring and I swear I’ll take you right here, right now.” As the powerful and wealthy heir to the Sterling fortune, Dean was constantly surrounded by people eager to speak with him. “Well, well, if it isn’t ‘Two-Hundred-Bucks’!” A balding man reeking of alcohol stumbled closer. “Still not tired of her, Dean?” The familiar nickname sent a chill down my spine. Years ago, Dean had stood over my shadow, holding my love letter high above his head. “‘You are like a star in the heavens, illuminating my dull life…’” he’d mimicked, pinching his voice to a high-pitched, girlish tone, reciting every word I’d written for Sebastian. My face burned with shame. I stretched on my tiptoes, desperate to snatch the letter back, oblivious to how close we were. “So eager to throw yourself at a man? How much for a night, huh?” Dean’s words had left me frozen in humiliated silence, unsure how to react. From the crowd, someone had yelled, “Two hundred bucks for an all-nighter!” The entire class erupted in laughter. From then on, “Two-Hundred-Bucks” became my personal moniker, following me for years. 5 The memory-fueled rage manifested as a stinging slap across the bald man’s face, leaving him stunned. Snapping back to reality, his bloodshot, alcohol-hazed eyes widened. “You little slut, you dare hit me!” Just as his fist was about to descend, Dean stepped in front of me, effortlessly snapping the man’s wrist before kicking him aside. I was pulled into a warm embrace, the familiar scent of rich mahogany engulfing me. “You dare lay a hand on my woman?” Dean snarled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. The commotion caught the attention of the wedding party. “Audrey, what in the—you’re still mixed up with Dean?” Sebastian’s concerned voice reached me from behind, tightening a knot in my chest. “Sebastian, you’ve already married my goddess. Can’t you even spare me a broken toy?” Dean’s barbed words, sharp as daggers, plunged deep into my heart. Like a cornered, panicked rabbit, I blurted out, “A broken toy? You’d still want that?” “Broken toys are more… resilient, aren’t they?” Dean challenged, his gaze fixed on Sebastian. Then, he grabbed my chin and publicly bit my lower lip. The metallic tang of blood spread through my mouth as the dazzling crystal chandeliers blurred my vision. Right. How could I compare to his goddess? I was just a plaything he’d taken to his bed. 6 After Isabella’s wedding, Dean seemed to snap. The word “marriage” was constantly on his lips. “Hey, where’s that ring I gave you? Put it on! Let’s go get hitched!” “If you want to act crazy, find someone else. The ‘friends-with-benefits-turned-spouse’ trope? Aren’t you tired of how cliché that is?” I rolled my eyes, unwilling to play along with his sudden display of deep affection. Even more ridiculously, he planned a four-person honeymoon trip. I knew perfectly well it wasn’t a honeymoon; it was just an excuse to bring a shield along to accompany his ex-lover. Seeing my indifference, Dean didn’t seem angry. He gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, leaning in close, his voice a soft murmur, like a lover’s whisper. “Your parents… how have they been lately?” His most practiced trick, yet still the most effective. 7 The air in Bali was light and humid, and the waves of heat made me restless. Isabella, in a lace swimsuit, kept pressing herself against Dean, her ample cleavage inviting suggestive glances. I, being afraid of water, lay on the shore, feigning illness. “Aren’t you coming to swim, Aubrey?” Isabella asked, tilting her head, feigning innocence. “Still mad about those old little things? It was just a game, you know.” She pouted, cooing to Dean, “Dean, darling, maybe I should bow to her as an apology?” I was too weary to play the spoiled princess’s game and turned to leave, but his hand clamped around my wrist like iron pliers. “Bella has graciously invited you. Don’t be so dramatic; go swim with her for a bit.” Dean tugged at my arm, forcefully dragging me to the edge of the pool. I resisted with all my might. Finally, his patience worn thin, he hoisted me onto his shoulder and tossed me directly into the water. The icy liquid instantly filled my nasal cavity, the sensation of drowning dragging me back to that past swimming lesson. Dean had done the same then, throwing me, a girl on her period, into the water like trash. Everyone had stood on the shore, hands on hips, laughing as I struggled, like a dying swan. Someone had shrieked, “Why is she bleeding?” Dean had wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You’re getting the pool dirty. So gross.” Back then, I had shivered uncontrollably, only daring to cling to the pool’s edge, forbidden to get out without his permission. But this time, I felt as if I’d lost the strength to struggle, letting my body sink deeper and deeper. Just as I was about to succumb to darkness, an arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me to the surface. “What are you doing?” The fantasized hero still hadn’t appeared. It was only Dean, his face livid, cursing me out. “What the hell is wrong with you, trying to drown yourself?!” He pinned me against the pool wall, the panic in his eyes starkly visible. “Don’t you want me dead anyway? Just doing as you wished.” My water-choked voice was hoarse. His pupils constricted sharply. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. 8 That night, Dean was exceptionally rough, tormenting me in every conceivable way. He blindfolded me with a dark blue tie, his warm, moist breath caressing my ear. “Guess what Sebastian and Isabella are doing in the next room?” The darkness heightened every sensation, and I felt his nimble fingers tracing paths across my body, eliciting shivers. I bit down hard on my lips in shame, desperate not to let any sound escape. At first, I clenched my teeth, enduring it. But eventually, instinct overwhelmed me. In my hazy state, I heard the sound of Dean’s phone unlocking, and my blood ran cold. “Are you filming again, you sick bastard?!” I screamed, panicking, struggling to tear off the tie. He pinned my struggling hand with one of his, chuckling darkly. “It’s fine, I’m just enjoying it myself. I’ll delete it after.” He’d said the same thing back then! In that filthy equipment room, Dean, with a group of his cronies, had held me down, their hands all over me. And he, unhurried, had sat before me with a camera, recording my humiliation. To this day, that video remained perfectly preserved on his computer, a chain binding me. 9 Morning light filtered through the sheer curtains. Isabella, stifling a yawn, complained to me, “Can you two be a little more considerate of your neighbors?” Embarrassed, I stirred my coffee, unable to meet her gaze. Dean walked in, rubbing his shoulder. His black silk pajama top had slipped, revealing a blood-stained bandage. Sebastian, pouring coffee, paused. “Injured?” “Got scratched by a little kitten last night. A paw-sized bloody mess, hurt like hell.” As he spoke, he peeled back a piece of gauze, revealing the wound to everyone. “That brutal?! A biting animal like that should be put down,” Isabella gasped, suggesting. “Got scratched years ago, even worse than this one,” Dean said, pointing to the faint, almost imperceptible scar above his eyebrow, then looked at me suggestively. “Tsk, just a bit temperamental, but quite entertaining. I’ll keep her around.” Sebastian, who had seemed unresponsive, suddenly looked at me, a flicker of guilt in his eyes that I couldn’t quite decipher. I kept my head down, silent. Because the “unruly kitten” Dean spoke of was me. Last night, to retaliate for his secret filming, I had bitten hard into his shoulder several times. And that old scar, years in the making, bore witness to my past of blood and tears. 10 It was my first time, and Dean’s first time. My first time resisting, his first time getting his head split open. And our first time in bed together… In the dilapidated motel room, Dean sat like a god. Before him, I knelt, tears streaming down my face, begging for mercy. “I’ll let Sebastian go, but you have to sleep with me, or… you die.” His hand gripped my hair tightly, his thin lips parting to offer me a fatal choice. At the time, I didn’t know Sebastian came from a powerful family; I only thought he was as pitiable as me. To protect him, and my laughable dignity, I unhesitatingly rushed toward the window. I chose death, but Dean didn’t give me the option. In the nick of time, he embraced me, forced himself upon me, leaving me with a wretched life. The cost: I became his pet. On call, ready for his release. Inexperienced, I trembled with fear. When Dean’s kiss fell, I instinctively fought back. Grabbing the nearest beer bottle from the nightstand, I brought it down hard on his head. Blood stained half his face, making him look like a demon from hell. Scattered shards of glass grazed his eyebrow, adding a sinister edge to his sculpted features. “You made me bleed. As compensation, you’ll have to bleed a little too…” As soon as the words left his lips, a tearing pain spread through my lower body. On the sheets, scattered drops of blood bloomed like red cherry blossoms. Dean gazed at his handiwork with satisfaction, then, in an act of twisted mercy, handed me some cash. “Buy yourself some ointment, and… don’t forget to take the pill.” I counted. It was exactly two hundred dollars.

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The moment my new neighbor found out I was Chief of Obstetrics at City General, the harassment started. “Dr. Hayes, open up! Something’s wrong—you have to check!” “Are you dead? This baby is special! If anything happens, can you even pay for it?” Three in the morning. My door was hammered so hard the walls shook. It was the sixteenth time this month I’d been woken like this. At first, I thought it was an emergency. I let her in, examined her—only to find her perfectly healthy, just bloated from overeating. But to her, she’d found a free, on-call private doctor. She started demanding nightly check-ups. Between my demanding job and no sleep, I nearly passed out in the OR more than once. I began refusing her. But she was relentless. Every night, without fail, she’d pound on my door—the noise earning complaints from the whole floor. I was at my wit’s end when a post on the community board caught my eye: “Seeking new apartment. Severe insomnia, emotionally unstable. Just beat up my neighbor. Need to move ASAP.” My eyes lit up. I contacted him immediately. 1. He replied almost instantly. We settled on a price, and he said he’d move in next month. I let out a long, slow breath. Finally, someone who could handle my neighbor. When I continued to ignore her, the pregnant woman, Brenda, became even more unhinged. She started shrieking in the hallway. “Lillian Hayes, are you trying to murder me and my baby?” “They say doctors are supposed to be compassionate. You call yourself a doctor?” “I am ordering you to come out and examine me right now, or I’m calling the cops and telling them you’re letting a patient die!” Her screaming was so loud it woke up half the building. The residents’ group chat started blowing up. “Seriously? Again? When is this going to end? Why is there always screaming at this hour?” “Apartments 301 and 302, whatever your issue is, please handle it privately. The rest of us are trying to sleep.” “To the pregnant woman in 302: Have you ever heard of common decency? My son has his SATs coming up, he needs his rest. Could you please be quiet?” Brenda, still lurking outside my door, must have seen the message. Her voice ripped through the hallway again. “What kind of idiot is your son that he’s not pulling all-nighters to study for his SATs? He probably won’t even get into community college.” “The baby I’m carrying is a golden child, a once-in-a-generation miracle! A psychic told me he’s destined for greatness, to be a senator or something.” “If anything happens to him, the worthless lives of everyone in this building couldn’t pay for it!” Her words were so vicious that the parent who had posted the message was furious. They tagged the building management. “Are you people going to do anything about this? Do we pay our HOA fees just to be verbally abused?” The property manager was clearly exasperated. He called me first. “Ms. Hayes, is there any way you can talk to Ms. Jones? Get her to stop the nightly disturbances.” “We’ve tried talking to her multiple times, but she just throws a tantrum every time. We’re at a loss.” I wanted to reason with her, but did Brenda sound like someone who understood reason? “You’d better come up here. I can’t communicate with her either.” I rubbed my temples, a migraine pounding behind my eyes. Just two nights ago, I’d opened the door and told Brenda she needed to go to the hospital for check-ups, not harass me. She had stormed right into my apartment, shouting indignantly. “Easy for you to say! Do you know how much a hospital visit costs?” “The co-pay alone is enough to buy me a week’s worth of groceries. I’m not rich like you.” “My husband works his fingers to the bone at a construction site out of state. Every penny he earns is precious!” Then, as if she owned the place, she’d marched to my medical supply cabinet, grabbed my fetal doppler, and shoved it into my hands, demanding I check the baby’s heartbeat. Before leaving, she’d shamelessly helped herself to a pile of my prenatal supplements. 2. I wanted to snatch them back, but she was holding that huge belly of hers like a shield. If we struggled and something happened, she’d sue me into oblivion. Remembering that, and listening to the rhythmic thump-thump-thump on my door, I wished I could just march out there and slap her. I clenched my fists, taking a deep breath to calm myself. The end of the month was coming. Once the insomniac moved in, we’d see if Brenda still dared to be so arrogant. The property manager arrived quickly. I opened the door to find Brenda, hands on her hips, in full-blown tantrum mode. “What’s it to you if I’m here to see Dr. Hayes for a medical issue?” “Now get lost before you upset my precious son!” The manager gave me a helpless look. “Dr. Hayes, maybe it would be easier if you just did a quick check-up for her. At this rate, nobody’s getting any sleep tonight.” Hearing this, a smug, triumphant look washed over Brenda’s face. “See, Dr. Hayes? You should feel honored that I’m letting you examine my son. I don’t let just anyone touch my belly, you know.” I took another deep breath, keeping my voice polite. “I’m sorry, but I am not your personal physician. I am under no obligation to perform daily check-ups for you.” “The women’s health clinic is two blocks away. You can go there if you need medical attention.” At that, Brenda’s eyebrows shot up. She jabbed a finger in my face. “You’re the Chief of Obstetrics! Why should I pay to go to a clinic?” “You doctors are all the same—heartless scammers. You won’t lift a finger to help someone for free, you just want to trick people into spending money at the hospital.” “I get it now. You must have a deal with that clinic, right? You send them patients and get a kickback!” “I’m telling you, if you don’t examine me right now, I’m putting this all over the internet. We’ll see how long you have a job after that!” I had tolerated her nonsense for weeks, but this was the last straw. “Ms. Jones, let me make myself clear one last time: I will not be examining you. Not now, not ever.” “I have a security camera right here. It recorded every slanderous word you just said. Go ahead, post it online. Let’s see who ends up in jail.” My usual demeanor was calm and professional. This was the first time I had ever lost my temper like this. Brenda was momentarily stunned. After a long pause, she hissed through clenched teeth. “Fine. You don’t have to check on me.” “I have three months left until my due date. That’s about one check-up every other day. You give me twenty thousand dollars for my medical expenses, and I’ll leave you alone.” Her demand left not just me, but the property manager, completely speechless. My breath came in short, angry bursts. “He’s not my child. Why on earth would I pay for your expenses?” Brenda’s voice dripped with entitlement. “You’re a department chief. You must make tens of thousands a month. My husband breaks his back on a construction site for a few grand. You’re rich. What’s twenty thousand dollars to you?” “They say doctors are angels in white coats. If you won’t help me, then you should pay!” Her logic was so twisted it was nauseating. I had lived for decades and never met anyone so utterly shameless. The property manager couldn’t help but intervene. “Ms. Jones, Dr. Hayes is just your neighbor. She has no obligation to pay for your prenatal care…” Before he could finish, Brenda’s shriek cut him off. “What the hell are you talking about? She’s a doctor, she’s supposed to help me!” “You’re taking her side. Are you two sleeping together?” The manager’s face darkened. “I am a married man with a family. Please do not make such baseless accusations!” 3. Brenda rolled her eyes dismissively. “So what if you’re married? Lillian Hayes dresses like a tramp every day. It’s obvious she’s trying to seduce men.” “Who knows how many married men in this building she’s already slept with.” “It’s a good thing my husband works out of state. I wouldn’t feel safe living next to her otherwise.” I work in a hospital. I spend most of my day in scrubs. When I’m not working, my clothes are perfectly normal and modest. I couldn’t fathom how she had twisted that into something so vile. I tried to stay calm, but my heart was hammering against my ribs with pure rage. “Ms. Jones, if you’re going to make accusations, you need proof. You slander me again, and we’ll settle this in court.” Brenda crossed her arms, smirking. “You know whether it’s true or not. I’ve knocked on your door plenty of times when you refused to open it. You must have been hiding a man in there.” “You act all high and mighty, but you’re just a slut.” Her insults grew more and more vulgar. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. Seeing me actually call the police, a flicker of panic crossed Brenda’s eyes. But then she glanced down at her round belly, and her arrogant expression returned. The police arrived within half an hour. Before I could say a word, Brenda burst into tears, playing the victim. “Officers, you have to help me!” she wailed. “Lillian Hayes, a doctor, is bullying a pregnant woman! My stomach is killing me, I’m dying, and she won’t even look at me! Isn’t that attempted murder?” The officers frowned and turned to me. “What’s going on here?” I didn’t say much. I just played the security footage from my phone. “I am a doctor, but I am not obligated to be her 24/7 free clinic. She harasses me every night and verbally abuses me. I want to press charges.” After watching the video, the officers looked just as fed up as I was. The lead officer addressed Brenda sternly. “Ma’am, your behavior constitutes public disturbance and harassment. Please come with us to the station.” Brenda hadn’t expected this. She started screaming. “Why are you arresting me? Lillian is the one who refused to help a dying woman! You should be arresting her!” One of the officers took out a pair of handcuffs, but as he approached, she threw herself on the floor, clutching her stomach. “Help! The police are trying to kill me! They’re going to kill me and my baby!” She was impossible to deal with. And with the pregnancy, it was a minefield. The officer gave me an apologetic look. “Ms. Hayes, she’s pregnant. We can’t forcibly remove her.” “How about this: we’ll give her a formal warning for now. If it happens again, we’ll file for a court order.” I knew their hands were tied. I could only nod. After that incident, Brenda was quiet for a few days. I finally got some much-needed sleep. Just when I thought she had given up, I came home from work to find the window to my apartment wide open, the reinforced security screen violently torn. I thought I’d been robbed. I rushed inside, only to find Brenda sitting on my sofa, eating a durian. 4. She glanced at me, a look of disgust on her face. “This durian you bought isn’t even ripe. It’s not very good. You should pick a better one next time.” I was stunned. “What are you doing in my house?” I asked, my voice shaking. Brenda answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I ran out of my vitamins. You weren’t home, so I had to pry open the window to get them.” I was so furious I could barely speak. “This is my home,” I said through clenched teeth. “This is breaking and entering!” “And what does you running out of vitamins have to do with me? Why are you stealing mine?” Brenda rolled her eyes. “So stingy. How much could this stuff possibly be worth?” “If my son is born unhealthy because he lacked nutrients, could you afford to compensate me for that?” The supplements I had were for my sister, who was trying to conceive. They were expensive, hundreds of dollars a box. I had let the previous thefts slide, but this batch was special. I’d had a friend buy them for me from abroad. There was no way I was letting her take them. I moved toward her to grab the vitamins, but she clutched them to her chest and shrieked. “What are you doing?” “I’m not even asking you for that twenty grand anymore, and you can’t even spare a few boxes of vitamins? You are such a cheap bitch!” She was screaming like a maniac. I couldn’t get near her. My only option was to call the police again. When the officers arrived and saw the scene, they looked exhausted. But this time, it was breaking and entering and theft. They were finally able to haul her down to the station to make a statement. It didn’t matter. As soon as she was released, she was back to her old tricks. She even posted a twisted version of the events online. The headline read: “Chief Physician at City General Hospital, Dr. Lillian Hayes, Refuses to Help Pregnant Woman, Repeatedly Conspires with Police and HOA to Bully Her.” The post gained a lot of traction. My hospital’s administration contacted me, demanding to know what was going on and telling me to handle it immediately. I explained the situation to my superiors, then, seething with a rage I could barely contain, I knocked on Brenda’s door. She took her time answering. When she saw me, a triumphant smile spread across her face. “What’s this? Finally decided to come and give me my check-up?” “You’re pathetic. Have to be beaten into submission before you do the right thing.” I shoved my phone in her face. “Did you write this?” I gritted out. Brenda’s lips curled into a smirk. “I did. This is what you get for calling the cops on me. This is your punishment.” Looking at her arrogant, gloating face, I dug my nails into my palms, trying to keep my anger in check. “Take the post down. Now.” She scoffed. “Why should I? Everything I wrote is the truth. Go ahead, sue me!” “It won’t matter. I won’t go to jail, and you’ll be the one whose reputation is ruined.” Conventional methods were useless against a person like this. I gave her one last, cold glare and went back to my apartment. I endured it for three more days. Then, finally, the day my new tenant was scheduled to move in arrived. I hired a moving company and quietly, without a word to anyone, moved out. I had my lawyer handle the online post, and then I threw myself back into my work. Less than a week later, my upstairs neighbor added me on a messaging app, her text urgent. “Dr. Hayes, something terrible happened! That pregnant woman from 302 is in the community courtyard with a huge banner, saying she’s going to sue you for murder!” “What do you mean?” I typed back, a knot of dread forming in my stomach. My neighbor’s reply came back instantly. “You moved out, right? Well, Brenda went over to your place in the middle of the night and started banging on the door. When no one answered, she found a crowbar and started trying to break it down.” “Your new tenant opened the door, snatched the crowbar from her, and beat her with it. She lost the baby, Lillian.” My blood ran cold. “She’s too scared to go after your tenant,” the neighbor continued, “so she’s blaming you. She says you’re the one who killed her baby, and she’s demanding you pay for it!”

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The first time I stayed over at Mishka’s place, I found his stepsister wearing his t-shirt as a nightgown. I told him then and there: that was a line I wouldn’t let anyone cross. To keep the peace, he sent her to study abroad. Five years later, on the eve of our wedding, a drunk Mishka posted a cryptic message to his social media. The tragedy is, all your regrets are tied to me. It was there for only a few seconds before it vanished. I stared at the empty space on my screen for a long moment, then opened the county clerk’s website and canceled our marriage license appointment. If his heart wasn’t in it, then I didn’t want the man, either. … 1 At 3 AM, Mishka sobered up. Babe, love you. I was wide awake when his text came through. Someone once said the difference between “I love you” and “love you” isn’t the “I.” It’s the difference between a sincere confession and a hollow habit. Maybe, for Mishka, being with me was just that. A habit. I tossed my phone aside and acted as if nothing had happened. I went through with the wedding the next day. Not because I had any hope left, but because I wanted to see, with my own eyes, what was really going on in his head. He was on one knee before me, the three-carat diamond on the ring he held out so brilliant it made the world go hazy. Then, a sharp, commanding voice cut through the air. “Mishka Thorne, you are not allowed to get married!” He didn’t seem surprised. Just… tired. He let out a weary sigh. Isabelle Vance stood at the edge of the manicured lawn, a vision in a scarlet dress, the hem billowing in the breeze. All eyes were on her. “Isabelle, don’t make a scene,” Mishka said, his brow furrowed. As he spoke, his hand, which had been holding mine, slipped away. “This is the most important day of my life. This isn’t one of our childhood games.” “The necklace you gave me for my 18th birthday,” she declared, her voice ringing with drama. “You said if I ever brought it to you, you’d grant me any request, no matter what.” “My request is this: leave her. And come with me.” She ripped the necklace from her throat and threw it onto the grass at his feet. Mishka scrambled to pick it up. As his fingers closed around the pendant, his face darkened. “Do you really have to do this?” From the crowd of guests, Mishka’s father shot to his feet, his face purple with rage. “This is absurd! Mishka, Isabelle, whatever this is, you can settle it at home! Officiant, continue the ceremony!” But Mishka just stood there, clutching the necklace, before pocketing it. He looked at his father and mumbled a quiet, “I’m sorry.” A wave of shocked murmurs swept through the guests. “What is happening? Is he actually leaving?” “Ugh, blended families are always a mess. Those two have been at each other’s throats since they were kids. But Isabelle is being completely out of line, deliberately ruining her brother’s wedding.” “That poor bride. How humiliating. I can’t even imagine.” Mishka turned to me, his eyes swimming with guilt. “Laila, forgive me. I swear, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll give you an even grander wedding.” “Mishka.” My voice was quiet, but it carried, and the entire venue fell silent. “I don’t want ‘later.’ I want today. If you walk away now, we’re over.” He stared at me, a flicker of desperation in his eyes. He squeezed them shut, a pained expression on his face. When he opened them, all he could offer were two gut-wrenching words. “I’m sorry.” Isabelle let out a short, triumphant laugh. “Don’t be too sad, Laila. I was just doing you a favor, helping you see the kind of man you were about to marry.” Her voice dripped with mock pity. “See? You don’t mean that much to him after all. So easy to cast aside.” “Shut up!” Mishka roared, spinning on her. “I agreed to go with you. Stop hurting her.” Isabelle just sniffed, turned on her heel, and stalked away. Mishka followed her without a single glance back. “You ungrateful son!” His father’s furious shout was followed by the sound of a champagne bottle shattering against the stone path. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I stood on that stage, a brittle smile plastered on my face, and addressed our guests. “Well, you’re all here. Please, eat, drink, and enjoy yourselves.” I played the gracious host, as if I weren’t the one who had just been publicly abandoned at the altar. But inside, my heart was a ruin. 2 Once the guests were seated, I finally escaped to the dressing room. I pulled off my veil, then reached for my earrings, but my hands were shaking too violently. “Here, sweetie. Let me.” My mother had followed me in without me noticing. She gently unfastened the diamond studs and then began to remove my makeup with a soft cloth. “Oh, my child,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “You’ve been through so much.” I noticed new streaks of silver in her hair. They blurred before my eyes, the white strands bleeding into an encroaching darkness until my world went completely black. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. A doctor was speaking, his mouth moving, but it took a long moment for the sound to register. “She’s fine. Just exhaustion and extreme stress. But you’ll need to focus on her nutrition from now on. After all, she’s eating for two now.” A cold dread washed over me. My hand instinctively clenched the bedsheet. The child Mishka had wanted for so long… had decided to arrive now. Of all times. I met my mother’s gaze. Her eyes were filled with a profound, aching pity. “Laila, don’t overthink things. Just rest. You need to take care of yourself.” I pushed myself up into a sitting position. “Where’s Mishka?” My mom hesitated. “His phone’s going straight to voicemail. His family is out looking for him.” My father stood by the window, his face a mask of cold fury, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white. A titan of the business world, a man respected throughout the city, he had never suffered such a public humiliation. My heart ached for him. Suddenly, my phone rang, Mishka’s name lighting up the screen. My mother shot me a look, then gently pulled my father out of the room. I answered. “Laila, what happened today was all my fault,” he began, his voice earnest. “Blame me, hate me, do whatever you need to do. But please, don’t take it out on Isabelle, okay?” His voice was a knife in my chest, stealing my breath. He wasn’t worried about how I was, how much pain I was in. He didn’t care about the catastrophic mess he’d left me to clean up. His first thought, his first concern, was protecting Isabelle. My lips moved, but all I could manage was a weak, hollow, “Okay.” “She’s had a hard time abroad,” he continued, oblivious. “She’s angry with me, and she has every right to be. I owe her so much.” He sounded anxious now. “Laila, just give me some time. I’ll sort this out, I swear. And then, I’ll give you the wedding you deserve. A real one. Okay?” It wasn’t the wedding I couldn’t wait for. It was the way he’d left, so decisively, as if I meant nothing at all. A single hot tear slid down my cheek. “Mishka,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Are you… are you hiding something from me?” Silence. A sob caught in my throat. “Have your feelings for me changed?” “What? No, of course not!” he said, a little too quickly. “Laila, don’t think like that. Please, just trust me.” His hesitation had already told me everything. I ended the call without another word. A few days ago, I’d overheard one of Mishka’s friends ask him, “Did you know Isabelle is coming back? You don’t think she’s going to try and crash the wedding, do you?” Mishka had been so sure of himself then. “I would never let Laila get hurt.” I had trusted him. I believed he would handle it. I had never imagined I could lose so completely. A few minutes later, a message came through from Mishka’s assistant. Ms. Reed, Mr. Thorne would like to transfer ownership of his art gallery in Florence to your name. Please let me know when you would be available to sign the contract. A wave of desolation washed over me. Was this it? Was he trying to buy his way out of his guilt? That night, a video arrived from Isabelle. My curiosity got the better of me. I opened it. In the murky light of a dive bar, Mishka was slumped over a table, completely wasted. Isabelle pushed a bottle of red wine in front of him. “If you want my forgiveness,” her voice purred, “get on your knees and drink this whole bottle.” Mishka staggered to his feet and then collapsed onto his knees before her, slurring, “My fault… Forgive me, Izzy…” He fumbled for the bottle, his hands grasping at empty air. Isabelle snatched the bottle, grabbed his chin with one hand, and brutally forced the neck of the bottle into his mouth, pouring the wine down his throat. Dark red liquid streamed from the corners of his mouth, staining his shirt, his neck. He choked, sputtering, and fell to the floor in a fit of violent coughing. I closed the video, my hand trembling. A new message popped up. See? He’s like a pathetic little dog on a leash for me. The phone slipped from my grasp and hit the floor. The screen spiderwebbed with cracks. To earn her forgiveness, he would sacrifice his last shred of dignity. I didn’t sleep all night. Five years of memories played on a loop in my mind. Embracing under a shower of cherry blossoms, him whispering he wished that moment could last forever. The first snow of the year, him changing his flight to come home early, a steaming pot of hot pot waiting for me the moment I walked in the door. All those beautiful moments, now just shattered fragments of a life that was no longer mine. The next morning, the wedding planner called. “Ms. Reed? Just confirming the details. Mr. Thorne booked our videographer and makeup artist for your marriage license appointment next Wednesday morning. Is that correct?” I stared out the window, my voice flat. “I’m sorry. That won’t be necessary.” “Oh,” she said, confused. “But Mr. Thorne just made the booking yesterday…” “It’s been canceled.” I couldn’t understand him. He was groveling at Isabelle’s feet, yet he was still planning to marry me. What did he think I was? A convenient cover? A bandage for his reputation? I was just leaving the hospital wing when I ran straight into him in the emergency room lobby. His clothes were disheveled, and a dark, dried patch of blood stained his cuff. A thick gauze bandage was wrapped around his forearm. His eyes, when they met mine, were hard. “What are you, a bloodhound? How did you track me here so fast? This has nothing to do with you. Stay out of it.” I took a deep breath. “I’m not here for you.” A flicker of panic crossed his face, and he moved to block my path. “Don’t you dare go near Isabelle. Me getting hurt has nothing to do with her.” Isabelle, who was standing behind him without a scratch on her, folded her arms with a smirk. “That’s right. It has nothing to do with me. He’s the one who started it.” Two police officers motioned for them to follow, and Mishka trudged after them, his head down. As Isabelle passed me, she leaned in, her voice a triumphant whisper. “He’d die for me. Would he do that for you?” My body went rigid, as if I’d been nailed to the floor. Isabelle’s smirk widened into a grin. They hadn’t gone far when my phone shrieked. It was someone from Mishka’s company PR department, her voice an octave higher with panic. “Ms. Reed, there’s a video of Mr. Thorne beating up Ethan Cole going viral, and I can’t reach him…” “Ethan Cole?” “Yes. Isabelle’s ex-boyfriend. The one she dated for years while she was abroad.” The ground seemed to tilt beneath my feet. Mishka was always so calm, so controlled. Now he was getting into brawls over her, like a jealous teenager. So, he could be reckless. He could throw everything away. Just not for me. “Ms. Reed? What should we do? We’re in the middle of a critical negotiation. Any bad press right now could be disastrous…” A roaring filled my ears. “If you can’t reach Mishka, call his father. Someone from the Thorne family needs to handle this.” I hung up, the buzzing in my head threatening to swallow me whole. I turned around, walked back into the hospital, and went straight to the obstetrics and gynecology department to schedule a medical abortion.

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It was our anniversary, and all I wanted was a slice of cake to celebrate. Instead, I found the driver’s seat of my car pushed all the way forward. And on the floor mat, a delicate shower of croissant flakes. I called my husband. “Hey, has anyone else been driving my car?” The hesitation in his voice was a story in itself. “Oh, yeah. My cousin Nick borrowed it yesterday. Why?” His cousin Nick is six-foot-four, built like a linebacker. He wouldn’t fit in my car with the seat pushed up to the steering wheel. More importantly, Nick has a severe gluten allergy. The man treats bakeries like biohazard zones. A small, cold laugh escaped my lips. I hung up and drove straight to the artisanal patisserie he’d been frequenting lately. Through the window, I saw a girl with a saccharine smile, laughing with a coworker. “So what if I’m short?” she chirped, loud enough for half the shop to hear. “I have to pull the seat all the way up to drive, but I’ve got a man who spoils me rotten!” I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and just watched her. Alex always told me I was too tall for his taste, that I wasn’t quite his type. It seemed he’d finally found someone who was. 1 “Welcome to The Gilded Spoon—” The girl’s practiced smile evaporated the second she saw me. Panic flickered in her eyes, a tiny, satisfying storm. She dropped her gaze to the countertop. “Hi… what can I get for you?” The moment our eyes met, I knew. She was the one. A slow smile spread across my face. I let my eyes drift over her, from her too-big apron to her petite frame, the picture of innocent, damsel-in-distress charm. “Two crème brûlée tarts, please.” She was exactly his type. Small, sweet, breakable. All those times Alex had told me, It doesn’t matter that you’re not petite, Claire. It’s cute. I used to think he was reassuring me. Turns out, it was just wishful thinking on his part. She handed me the neatly packaged box. As I took it, I held her gaze, my smile unwavering. “Are you new here? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.” The other barista, a familiar face, chimed in. “Claire! It’s been ages. This is Mia, our new intern. Your husband actually recommended her for the position.” Then, turning to the girl, she said, “Mia, this is Mrs. Hayes. You know, your sponsor’s wife. You should say hello.” The girl—Mia—kept her eyes downcast, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s… it’s nice to meet you.” I couldn’t help it. I laughed out loud. Just a moment ago, she was preening, boasting about being spoiled and cherished. Now she was shrinking like a violet in a hailstorm. I finally took the box she’d been holding out, glanced inside, and let my brow furrow. “I didn’t ask for these to be warmed.” Her face went blank with panic. She bit her lip, cornered. “I’m so sorry,” she stammered, her voice tight. “It’s just… Mr. Hayes always asks for them fresh from the oven. I guess I just assumed…” I almost laughed again. Was she trying to establish her territory? To let me know she was more familiar with my husband’s habits than I was? What a pathetically childish move. The truth was, this bakery used to be my spot. I was the one with the Black Card VIP membership. Then Alex started insisting. Let me get your pastries for you, honey. I hate the thought of you going out of your way. It’s my job to take care of you. And just like that, I’d handed them the perfect cover for their little rendezvous. At first, it had felt so romantic. No matter how late he worked, he’d come home with a little white box containing my favorite dessert. I’d felt a mix of sweetness and guilt. I would help him out of his suit jacket, telling him he didn’t have to go to such trouble. But he’d shake his head, his voice sincere. You deserve every good thing in this world, Claire. And he acted like he meant it. I never had to do a single chore; he kept the house spotless. If I craved a specific dish, he’d learn how to make it, even if he burned his hands in the process. He’d even stop mid-Zoom call, in front of his entire team, to bring me a cup of my favorite chamomile tea if he heard me cough. I thought I had found that once-in-a-lifetime, all-consuming love. Now I see it for what it was. The equivalent of a 4 a.m. “I love you” text. Not a declaration of love, but an act of penance. A desperate attempt to soothe a guilty conscience. My gaze drifted from Mia’s flustered face down to her wrist. “Nice bracelet,” I said casually. She gave a nervous laugh. “Oh, this? Just a cheap thing I picked up.” I smiled and said nothing. That “cheap thing” was a one-of-a-kind vintage piece. Alex had won it for me at a charity auction for my birthday. It was the first real gift he’d ever given me, and I cherished it. I kept it locked away in the safe in my walk-in closet. I never thought the next time I’d see it would be on another woman’s wrist. Just then, my phone buzzed. A text from Alex. [Alex: Hey, you went to The Gilded Spoon?] My heart gave a little jolt. I looked up and saw Mia hastily shoving her own phone under the counter. A cold, heavy certainty settled in my stomach. I typed back, my fingers steady. [Me: Just getting out of the house for a bit. Want me to bring you something?] His relief was palpable, even through text. A voice note popped up a second later. “No, you just get whatever you want, honey. Love you.” The automated transcript displayed the words “Love you” under the audio file. The sight of them made me feel sick. I glanced at Mia, who was now trying to act casual, as if she was about to strike up a conversation. Pathetic. I ignored her, turned on my heel, and walked out of the bakery. The moment the door closed behind me, I dialed my father’s number. His overseas firm had, just two days ago, agreed—at my urging—to invest a significant sum in Alex’s company. “Dad,” I said, my voice calm and clear. “Don’t sign the contract. And while you’re at it, could you get me the name of the best divorce attorney you know?” “Yes, a divorce. It seems Alex has picked up a new hobby: cheating.” 2 The first thing I did when I got home was tear apart my walk-in closet. Just as I suspected, more things were missing. The closet was mostly for my couture gowns and valuable pieces I rarely wore anymore. After marrying Alex and becoming a homemaker, I had little use for them, so the closet became more of a vault. Alex was the one who managed it, who had the dehumidifiers checked and the garments steamed. To a casual observer, nothing looked out of place. But the items that held the most meaning for me… they were gone. My face was a grim mask as I pulled up the security footage from the closet’s discreet camera. I discovered that in this small, fifty-square-foot space, a whole other life had been playing out. May 7th: The first time they entered my closet together. Standing in front of my full-length mirror, trying on my clothes. Or rather, he was putting my dresses on her, laughing as they spun around. It wasn’t about fashion; it was a twisted act of intimacy. August 29th: Our seventh anniversary. He’d canceled the elaborate dinner I’d planned, claiming a last-minute work emergency. Instead, he’d spent the entire night locked in here, on the phone with her. October 5th: I was on a business trip. He brought her here, and they made love on a pile of my gowns. A wave of nausea washed over me. I ran to the bathroom and retched until there was nothing left. The footage kept playing. The camera now showed Alex standing in front of the open safe. He removed my bracelet, and then his eyes landed on a document inside. A cold dread pooled in my stomach. It was the deed to the condo my mother had left me. The last physical piece of her I had in this world. I watched in horror as, on the screen, Alex turned and handed it to Mia. I scrambled back into the closet, my hands shaking as I pulled the corresponding file from the safe. The document inside looked identical, but it was a forgery. It lacked the official notary seal. I had trusted him so completely, it never would have occurred to me to double-check it. I sank to the floor, a chill seeping into my bones as I listened to the audio from the recording. Alex’s voice, so gentle and reassuring. “Don’t you worry,” he murmured to Mia. “I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, with or without a ring on your finger.” Mia’s voice was a practiced performance of modesty. “Alex, this is too much. I can’t accept this…” And then, another voice from the doorway—a voice that made the blood freeze in my veins. “Oh, just take it, Mia! I had to work my butt off to get Claire out of the house just so Alex could pull off this surprise for you!” It was my best friend, Chloe. “I better get a seat at the head table at the wedding for this! You hear me?” Seeing Chloe’s smiling face in my closet, conspiring with them, felt like a physical blow. I remembered that day perfectly. Chloe had called me in a panic, begging me to go get her a specific cronut from a famous bakery across town. I’d stood in line for three hours, my feet blistering in my heels, just to do her a favor. I was trembling with a rage so profound it felt like it could split me in two. Not just my husband. My best friend, too. In the video, Alex pulled Mia into an embrace. “What’s mine is yours,” he whispered, his voice thick with adoration. “Don’t you ever feel like you have to ask.” Using my mother’s legacy to romance his mistress, and spouting clichés like what’s mine is yours. The irony was suffocating. For a moment, all I wanted was to find them and claw their eyes out. To make them understand exactly whose life they were tearing apart. Just then, my phone chimed with a new friend request on social media. I accepted, and a video immediately popped up in my DMs, then was just as quickly deleted. But I saw it. In the short clip, Mia was holding up her phone, beaming. “Mom, look! I finally have my very own place!” The background was unmistakable. It was my mother’s condo. Every last shred of my composure vanished. I remembered that day at the hospital. My mother, frail and fading, pressing the deed into my hand. I was sobbing, telling her I didn’t want a condo, I just wanted her. Alex had gently taken the document from my grasp, pulling me into his arms. His voice was heavy with sorrow as he spoke to my mother. “Don’t you worry, Mom. I’ll take care of Claire. I’ll never let her feel alone.” My mother had given him a weak, grateful smile. It was the last expression she ever made. I had collapsed in the cold, sterile hallway, and Alex held me tight, whispering over and over, “It’s okay, Claire. I’m here. I’ve got you.” In the fog of grief that followed, I couldn’t bear to look at anything that reminded me of her. Alex handled everything—the funeral arrangements, sorting through her belongings. My father saw his devotion and told me Alex was a man I could truly depend on. And all along, the man my parents had trusted with their daughter’s heart was only ever interested in her inheritance. It wasn’t flawless. Looking back, the signs were there. The faint scent of a different perfume clinging to his shirts. His sudden use of slang popular with college kids. The endless string of “business trips.” I had made him my entire world, the sole pillar of my emotional stability. And so, I chose to be blind. A new message from Mia popped up. “Oops, wrong person, so sorry!” It was followed by a slew of photos of new seasonal pastries from the bakery. I stared at the appallingly bad acting on display. Without replying, I clicked on her profile. She hadn’t blocked me yet. Her latest post was the same video she’d just “accidentally” sent me. [Moved into my new place today! Housewarming party this weekend—everyone’s invited!] The address listed below was, of course, the address of my mother’s condo. And underneath, a comment from Alex, punctuated with a heart emoji: “Congrats, babe.” My eyes scanned further down. There was a comment from Chloe, too. “So proud of you, girlie! Another strong, independent woman getting what she deserves! ✨” They all knew. They all knew it was my property, and they stood by, smiling and applauding as she claimed it for her own. My face was a mask of ice. I made a call to the county clerk’s office, informing them of a fraudulent transfer of title for that property and requesting an immediate freeze on all activity associated with the address. Let’s see how they enjoy their party when they can’t even get through the front door. The next day, I drove to my mother’s condo. I had a locksmith meet me there, and within an hour, the old lock was replaced with a new biometric system keyed only to my fingerprint. Then, I parked across the street and waited. Soon enough, the small, private courtyard began to fill with flowers, catering trays, and a ridiculous champagne tower set up in front of the fountain. Guests started to arrive, most of them strangers to me. Then I saw Chloe. She swanned through the gate, a glass of rosé in hand, and cozied up to Mia. Her expression was one of pure envy.

It was one in the morning when I sent the message to the brilliant programmer my husband had referred for a job. “What’s the difference between a programmer and a non-programmer?” Liam, my husband, was overseas. But the new hire, a woman named Lorraine, replied almost instantly. “The programmer thinks a kilobyte is 1024 bytes.” She followed it up with a smug little emoji of a finger tapping a head, as if calling me an idiot. It was a subtle, precise little jab, an inside joke I wasn’t supposed to get. But this time, I didn’t scream or cry. I didn’t make a scene. I just took a screenshot and showed it to my husband on our next video call. “Get rid of her,” I said, my voice flat, “and we can pretend this never happened.” Soon after, his young, brilliant secretary was replaced by a woman who looked old enough to be his mother. I thought that was the end of it. I thought I could finally breathe. Then, on our anniversary, a package arrived from overseas. Inside was a nine-carat diamond ring. My friends cooed and gushed, telling me how lucky I was. But I took one look at the magnificent diamond and calmly dialed Liam’s number. “I’m sending the ring back,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion. “Make sure you sign for it. When you get back to the States, we’re getting a divorce.” 1 The room fell silent. On the other end of the line, I could hear the tremor in Liam’s voice. “What? Stella, why? What did I do wrong? I fly back on red-eyes every other week just to see you. I send you gifts constantly.” His voice rose, thick with disbelief. “You were feeling insecure, so I replaced a secretary I’d worked with for years with an old woman, just to make you comfortable! And this ring… it’s one of a kind. How is that not enough for you?” I stared out the window, my expression a mask of indifference. “Give the ring to whoever you want. We’re done.” That night, Liam boarded a fourteen-hour flight and came straight from the airport to the hospital where I was on bed rest for my high-risk pregnancy. The moment he walked in, I pulled the divorce papers from my bag and laid them on the bedside table. “Since you’re here,” I said quietly, “you might as well sign these.” The color drained from his face. “Stella, come on,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “You just did this to get me to come home, right? I’m here now. You can stop.” The other patients in the shared ward started whispering. “Fighting again? What a shame. And look at her, she’s about to pop!” “I know her. Her husband works abroad but sends her flowers and gifts here almost every day. He treats her like a queen.” “She’s just being dramatic. I heard he sent her a nine-carat diamond yesterday and she wasn’t happy with it!” The murmurs grew louder, the accusing glares more frequent. In their eyes, I was the spoiled, ungrateful wife, and Liam was the long-suffering saint. And why wouldn’t they think that? For years, Liam had been the perfect husband. We were high school sweethearts, each other’s first everything. When his company needed someone to manage the new European branch, I was nervous. He volunteered immediately, promising it wouldn’t change a thing. And for years, it hadn’t. He shuttled back and forth across the Atlantic, collecting hundreds of boarding passes, all just to spend a day or two with me. When I got pregnant and my hormones went wild, he fired his beautiful, competent assistant and hired a sixty-year-old woman without my even asking. Everyone, our friends, our family, they all said I’d hit the jackpot. But that was all in the past. I turned my head away, my voice hard as stone. “I don’t care what you think. We are getting a divorce. Today.” Liam’s eyes reddened. He grabbed my hand, his grip desperate. “Stella, please, don’t do this. If you don’t like the ring, I’ll buy you something else. I’ll quit my job. I’ll move back home right now and we can have this baby together. Okay?” “No.” I pulled my hand from his. “I just want a divorce.” Just then, his new secretary, Lorraine, burst into the room. “Mrs. Archer, how can you do this to him!” she shrieked, her face a mask of righteous indignation. “He dropped a multi-million-dollar contract and flew for fourteen hours just because you threw a little tantrum! And this ring! He commissioned it from a world-famous designer! Do you have any idea how much his devotion is worth? You’ve thrown it all away!” I shot her a look of pure disgust. “You’re his secretary. What gives you the right to open your mouth?” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Since you feel so strongly for him, why don’t you marry him instead?” Lorraine’s face flushed a blotchy red. “Mrs. Archer, what are you saying? I’m an old woman! You can’t be jealous of me!” Liam frowned, his brow furrowed with concern. “Stella, darling, I think your pregnancy hormones are making you paranoid. Me and Lorraine? How could you even think that?” The other patients glanced at Lorraine’s wrinkled face and graying hair, and a few snickers broke out. “Is she crazy? She’s jealous of a grandma?” “That woman has to be sixty, at least. Her husband is young, handsome, and rich. If he wanted to cheat, he could have his pick of models. Why would he go for someone old enough to be his mother?” “Exactly! He’d have to be pretty desperate to go after that!” The laughter grew. Liam looked at me, his eyes full of weary helplessness. He squeezed my hand, his voice a low, pleading whisper. “I hired an older secretary specifically so you wouldn’t worry. How can you still imagine things?” “We have so much history. Please, stop this. We can’t get divorced.” I looked at him, a cold, humorless smile touching my lips. “Fine. Then fire her.” Liam froze. For just a second, a flicker of hesitation crossed his face. “Mrs. Archer!” Lorraine cried out, and then she threw herself to her knees in front of me, a theatrical display for the entire room. Tears streamed down her face. “My son has a terminal illness, and my husband is dead! Mr. Archer took pity on me and gave me this job! You can’t ask him to fire me!” Her voice rose to a hysterical wail. “My life doesn’t matter, but my son is in the ICU! He needs this money to live! Please, I’m begging you!” She was putting on the performance of a lifetime. The audience ate it up. A chorus of sympathetic sighs filled the room. “She’s been through so much. How can you be so cruel?” “This is your paranoia talking. The poor woman has enough to deal with without you taking away her livelihood!” “You’re eight months pregnant! Don’t you have a shred of compassion?” Seeing she had the room on her side, Lorraine crawled forward and clutched at the hem of my hospital gown. “Mrs. Archer, I promise I’ll stay away from him. I’ll only do my work… Please, just let me keep my job…” When I remained unmoved, Liam’s face hardened. “Stella, you’ve gone too far this time. Lorraine is a desperate woman.” “I’ve gone too far?” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. I met his eyes. “Liam, the disgusting things you’ve done are far worse than anything I could imagine. Don’t make me say them out loud.” A flash of panic crossed his face before he masked it with outrage. “What have I done? Stella, everything I do is for you! To make you happy, to give you a better life!” Lorraine, wiping her tears, jumped to her feet. “How can you say that to him?” she accused. “You sit here in the hospital being waited on hand and foot, while he works himself to the bone, skipping meals and sleeping in his office! What could he possibly have done? He’s a fool, that’s what, for loving a woman like you!” My gaze flickered between the two of them. “Sleeping in the office? Or are you two just getting your stories straight about what filthy things you’ve been up to?” I threw the divorce papers onto his chest and turned to leave. Just then, my mother-in-law rushed in, breathless. “Stella, what’s going on? I heard you were talking about divorce. What happened?” She grabbed my arm, her face etched with concern. “Did that idiot son of mine do something to hurt you? You tell me, and I’ll handle him!” I looked at Eleanor, my mother-in-law, and took a deep breath. For years, she had treated me like her own daughter. When I got pregnant, she doted on me, catering to my every whim. Between a loving husband and a caring mother-in-law, I had been blinded by my own good fortune. I thought I was the luckiest woman in the world. What a fool I’d been. I didn’t have all the proof yet, so I couldn’t tell her the whole truth. I remained silent. Seeing my silence, Eleanor grew more anxious and turned on her son. “Liam, what did you do?” He opened his mouth, then closed it, sighing deeply. The peanut gallery chimed in to defend him. “It’s not his fault! Your daughter-in-law is being completely unreasonable!” “She wants him to fire his secretary. It’s a misunderstanding. The woman is ancient!” Eleanor looked at Lorraine, then back at me, a helpless expression on her face. “Stella, honey, is the stress of the pregnancy getting to you? You’ve always been so level-headed. Why would you get so upset over this old woman?” “She’s my age, for heaven’s sake,” she added with a sigh. “Are you just upset that Liam’s been away so much? I’ll make him stay. The baby’s due soon anyway. He can stay here with you until it’s born.” My face was a stone mask. “No. I want a divorce.” “Stella!” Liam’s voice cracked. He fell to his knees in front of me, his eyes red-rimmed and desperate. “If I did something wrong, just tell me. Please, don’t threaten me with divorce.” “I know I haven’t been here for you enough, but it was all for the company! To provide for you and our child!” he sobbed, tears streaming down his face. The onlookers were moved. “You have to be understanding, dear. You can’t just throw away a marriage.” “He’s a good man. We’ve all seen how much he loves you.” “And you need a real reason for a divorce. You can’t do it just because of an old lady…” At that, Lorraine shuffled closer again, her voice thick with manufactured sorrow. “If I’m the reason you’re leaving him, then I’ll go! Maybe this is just my fate… to lose my husband, and then my son. When my boy dies, I’ll just follow him…” That did it. The room erupted in condemnation, all of it directed at me. “See what you’ve done? Now you’re going to drive this poor woman to suicide!” “You rich people have no hearts! Her son is her whole world! Do you really think she has the time or energy to seduce your husband?” “Exactly! And frankly, he’s not that desperate!” The accusations flew. Liam and Lorraine were a sobbing, tragic mess on the floor. I watched them, unmoved, and simply held out the divorce papers again. “If you want to be a saint and save her and her son, that’s your business,” I said to Liam. “It has nothing to do with me. Sign these papers, we get divorced, and I don’t care what you do.” I added one last thing. “And you leave with nothing.” The room gasped. Liam’s face went white. “Stella! You have to stop this!” he roared. I said nothing, just stared back at him. The air was thick with tension. Eleanor looked from me to Liam and back again. Finally, she sat on the edge of my bed. “Stella,” she said softly. “I’m not playing favorites, and I know you’re not the type to make things up. Just tell me what’s wrong. Don’t be afraid.” She sighed. “But this secretary… it must be your pregnancy hormones making you overthink things. And the baby is due any day now. You can’t let him be born without a father.” At the mention of the baby, my hand instinctively went to my belly. A pang of regret shot through me. Liam saw it and pressed his advantage. “She’s right, Stella. You can’t let our child grow up without a father just because of some crazy jealous fantasy. Please, stop this, okay?” he begged, his voice cracking. Just then, a doctor knocked and entered the room. He scanned the scene, his eyes landing on me. “Stella Archer,” he said sternly. “Regarding the question you asked me last week, I need to emphasize this again: at this stage of your pregnancy, a termination is absolutely not an option.” A collective shockwave went through the room. Liam froze, the blood draining from his face. The doctor then turned to him. “You’re the husband, correct? Your wife is under extreme emotional distress. You need to be here for her. She’s been to a dozen prenatal appointments, and this is the first time I’ve seen you. That’s a dereliction of your duty.” Liam, looking ashamed, could only nod. As the doctor left, Liam’s face contorted with a rage that finally boiled over. “Stella, what the hell is wrong with you!” he bellowed. “This baby is eight months along, and you were trying to get an abortion? Are you trying to kill yourself?!” Eleanor’s eyes welled with tears. “Stella,” she sobbed, “we tried for years to have this child! What could possibly be so bad that you would even consider such a thing?” A knot of grief tightened in my chest. Of course, I knew how precious this baby was. And I knew how dangerous an abortion would be now. But I grew up in a single-parent home. I knew the whispers, the pity, the feeling of being different. I was terrified of my child suffering the same fate. I took a shaky breath and looked at Liam. “I will keep the baby. But we are getting divorced. You will go back to Europe, and you will never see us again.” As the words left my mouth, Liam’s knees hit the floor with a sickening thud. He lunged for the fruit basket on the table, grabbing a small knife and pressing it against his own wrist. “If you divorce me,” he rasped, his eyes wild, “I’ll kill myself right here!” The room descended into chaos. The onlookers finally lost all restraint. “Just agree with him! Do you want a death on your conscience?” “She wants to abort her baby and divorce her husband over an old woman! I’ve never seen such a heartless monster!” “She’s throwing away a perfect man! What a waste!” Eleanor was on her knees now, too, begging me. “Please, Stella, I’m begging you… What did he do that was so wrong? Are you trying to destroy our family?” The insults rained down on me, a torrent of vile, hateful words. “Fine.” My voice, when it came, was shockingly calm. The room fell instantly silent. Every single person turned to look at me. I slowly scanned their angry, judgmental faces, my gaze finally landing on Liam. “You all want a reason,” I said, my voice as cold and clear as ice. “I’ll give you one. I’ll tell you exactly why I have to get this divorce.”

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