Category: English

To get my claws into Ron Rockefeller, the city’s crown prince, I did the unthinkable. After the fire, I had my face reconstructed to be the spitting image of his long-lost love. For three years, I was his devoted lapdog. But he just laughed, pulling some new starlet close and flicking a black card at my face. “I’m over Lillian Shaw,” he sneered. “Go get yourself a new face.” Pure joy surged through me. I immediately texted his mother: [Mrs. Rockefeller, your son’s obsession is finally broken. He’s over Lillian.] She was ecstatic. A hundred million dollars hit my account almost instantly. Without a second thought, I walked out of that VIP lounge, booked the first flight out, and hopped into a cab bound for the airport. 1 “Well, that’s a new one. Mia Shen finally stopped chasing him!” “Right? She used to follow Ron around like a lost puppy, ready to do anything he asked.” Ron’s sycophantic friends buzzed with disbelief. “She didn’t even take the black card. Is she trying to play hard to get?” Ron, probably feeling the sting of public rejection, shoved his new arm candy aside. He blew up my phone with dozens of calls, but each one went straight to my blocked list. His face darkened into a thunderous scowl. His friends quickly changed their tune. “Come on, she’s a gold digger. There’s no way she’d give up before sealing the deal.” “It’s not just her. Her parents are just as desperate to climb the social ladder. They even got surgery to look like Lillian’s parents. She’ll be back, tail between her legs.” Ron’s expression softened slightly, a contemptuous snort escaping his lips. “No matter how much she begs this time, she can forget about making things official for the next three months. Unless…” His friends eagerly chimed in, brainstorming a new list of humiliating, bizarre tasks for me to perform. I was blissfully unaware of their plotting. Phone in hand, I was already arranging for my parents to pack their bags and meet me at the airport. Once everything back home was settled, I let out a long, shuddering breath. Three years. My life as a doormat was finally over. My family used to run a small business, but we were ruined when a client defaulted on a massive payment, shattering our supply chain. Debt collectors descended on us like vultures, ransacking our home. One night, their harassment escalated to arson. The fire left my parents and me horribly burned and unrecognizable. My Ph.D. studies came to an abrupt, painful halt. It was during a visit to one of her foundation’s hospitals that I met Mrs. Rockefeller. She told me about her son, Ron, who was spiraling into a deep depression after the disappearance of his first love, Lillian. Her proposal was simple. Since I needed reconstructive surgery and skin grafts anyway, why not take on Lillian’s face? I could help Ron heal, pull him out of the darkness. In return, she would cover all my family’s medical expenses and clear our crippling debt. I agreed. For three long years, I weathered Ron’s darkest moods and endured the endless mockery from his so-called friends. And finally, it worked. He had grown so utterly sick of looking at Lillian’s face that the spell was broken. When Mrs. Rockefeller got the news, she was overjoyed and immediately transferred the promised sum. This was a business transaction, and I had no intention of leaving loose ends. I booked the earliest flight possible. The cab sped through the city, and soon I was at the airport, wrapped in a tearful, triumphant embrace with my parents. The plane took off on time, leaving all our hardship and humiliation behind on the ground below. A day and a night later, after we’d settled into a comfortable hotel suite, a message from an unknown number buzzed on my phone. [Mia, don’t get cute. You dare to block me?] [You were with me for three years. We did everything. What man is going to want you now? Stop this act and come back.] [If you don’t come back, you won’t like what happens next.] He still thought this was like all the other times, that I would swallow his insults and come crying back, begging him not to leave me. I just smiled and blocked the number. Soon, Ron’s friends started coming out of the woodwork, trying to contact me through various channels. [Mia, you should know when to quit. If you really piss Ron off, he might actually dump you for good.] [Just apologize and come back. He’s not happy without you waiting on him hand and foot.] [Where else can you go without Ron? You’ll just end up crawling back, begging him to take you in!] I scoffed, adding each of them to my blocklist. For the next six years, I poured every ounce of my being into my education and career. My talent for mathematics hadn’t faded, and despite the delay, my old university welcomed me back to complete my doctorate. My performance was stellar, and I graduated in just two years. Upon graduation, I was recruited by Granite Capital, a massive multinational financial institution. I worked relentlessly, dedicating myself to the firm and spearheading numerous successful investment projects. Year after year, I was among the top three performers. After four years of relentless grind, I was promoted to Managing Director. This trip back was for work—to scout the domestic market for expansion. I had just finished a meeting with an investor. As we parted ways, a hesitant voice called out from behind me. “Mia… is that you?” 2 I turned, a flicker of surprise in my eyes. I vaguely recognized him. One of Ron’s cronies, Chad, I think. His eyes were wide with disbelief, scanning me from head to toe. The woman standing before him was a world away from the girl he remembered. Dressed in a high-end power suit, I carried myself with an aura of quiet confidence—a far cry from the desperate girl who used to worship the ground Ron Rockefeller walked on. “Mia, you’ve changed! I almost didn’t recognize you!” I was more surprised that he recognized me. I had invested a good portion of my earnings into seeing the world’s top plastic surgeons, who had painstakingly restored my original features. Today, I looked nothing like Ron’s precious Lillian Shaw. Chad must have seen the question in my eyes. “After you left,” he explained, “Ron dug up everything about you. He knows what you used to look like.” He must have been disappointed, then. My original face was nothing like Lillian’s. Not that I cared anymore. “I have to run,” I said, offering a polite but dismissive smile. “We can catch up some other time.” “Wait,” he said, grabbing my arm. “After you vanished, Ron was a mess for a long time.” “It’s been six years, Chad,” I replied coolly. “His emotional state is no longer my problem.” I wasn’t in the business of after-care. His face flushed with anger. “Think you’re hot stuff now that you’re not with Ron? No matter how much you make, you’ll never touch his level of wealth. Ron’s taken over the whole Rockefeller empire now. He’s throwing a party at the Elysian Club tonight. You should come. Maybe he’ll even find a little job for you…” The sheer arrogance of it was astounding. I simply pulled my arm free, slipped into my Pagani, and left him standing in my exhaust. After a long afternoon of company meetings and a cocktail party, it was already late. As I stepped out of the venue, I ran right into Chad and his entourage. It turned out my event and their party were in the same high-end club. “Well, well, look who it is,” Chad sneered. “Said you weren’t coming. Who are you all dressed up for?” Before I could protest, he was steering me toward their private room. The door swung open to a scene of loud music and drunken revelry. Someone spotted Chad and whistled. “There you are, man! Took you long enough. Not gonna introduce us to the beautiful lady?” My gaze swept across the room. I recognized a few faces from Ron’s old crew, but most were new. They were all clustered around one man, who sat like a king on his throne. It was Ron. The years had chiseled away his boyish arrogance, replacing it with the polished steel of a man in power. But it wasn’t him that made my breath catch. It was the woman beside him. Her face was a perfect, mature echo of the one I used to wear. Lillian Shaw. The real Lillian Shaw. My fingers flew across my phone’s screen, snapping a quick picture and sending it to my boss. His reply was instant: [Keep her there. I’m on it.] Just then, a familiar voice cut through the noise. “Mia? Ron, isn’t that your old lapdog?” The entire room fell silent. You could hear a pin drop. Ron’s head snapped up. His eyes locked on me, and the wine glass in his hand shattered, red wine and glass shards spilling onto the plush carpet. His lazy amusement morphed into shock, then into an unreadable, complex storm. The whispers started, laced with mockery and pity. “That’s Mia. During the years Lillian was gone, she tried to slide into her place. Even got surgery to look just like her. She was obsessed with Ron.” “Obsessed? Please, she was a gold digger. Every woman in this city wants a piece of Ron Rockefeller. He never actually cared about her.” “But he threw a huge fit when she left.” “And even though Lillian’s been back for a while, Ron keeps saying they’re just ‘friends’…” “No way. Remember how devastated he was when he thought Lillian died? She’s the one he actually loves.” “So this impostor is back now? You think she’s trying to compete with the real thing?” A shadow of malice crossed Lillian’s face before she masked it with a brilliant smile. She glided toward me. “Mia, is it? Thank you for taking care of Ron for three years, using my face.” 3 My expression remained placid. I plucked a Manhattan from a passing waiter’s tray and took a delicate sip. “No thanks necessary,” I said, my voice smooth as silk. “I was well paid for my services.” A hundred million for three years’ work. It was a deal I’d take again in a heartbeat. She looked taken aback, clearly not expecting me to admit my motives so brazenly. A girl nearby piped up, her tone dripping with disdain. “Mia, some things never change. You’re still as shameless as ever. If you hadn’t gotten that surgery, Ron wouldn’t have even looked at you. Did you leave six years ago because you’d finally milked him for enough cash?” Ron sat frozen, his face a mask of conflicting emotions. Lillian smiled sweetly. “Don’t be too hard on her. It’s my fault, really. If it weren’t for my… accident, Ron wouldn’t have needed to find a replacement.” I said nothing, letting her words hang in the air. A guy pushed his way through the crowd. “Mia, I heard Ron dumped you, so you ran off overseas in a huff. What do you do for work now? Chad said he saw you with some old guy earlier today. You’re not… you know…” He winked, the implication hanging filthily in the air. Smirks spread across the faces around me. I smiled back. “I’m in investments. Mr. Lin is one of my clients.” “Don’t bullshit us,” he scoffed. “We all know what you’re capable of.” He heaved a dramatic sigh. “You’re in your thirties now, right? How long can a career like that last? These men might say they love you, but it’s all an act. Take my advice: find a real job. Before you know it, you’ll be dealing with lower-class johns, and then…” Another woman chimed in. “Didn’t Mia’s family home burn down years ago? She probably has PTSD. I bet she still lives in hotels.” She shot me a smug look. “My family’s in real estate. I could set you up with a free apartment, totally safe. I could even help you find a job nearby. We go way back, after all. It’s the least I can do.” The guy snorted. “Don’t be so nice. What if she starts turning tricks in your apartment? Think of the property values…” The woman gasped, covering her mouth. “Oh, she wouldn’t do that, would she?” A glass crashed to the floor near Ron’s feet. Whether it was intentional or not, I couldn’t say. His face, half-hidden in the dim light, seemed to be waiting, expecting me to crumble and beg for his help, just like old times. Then he would play the valiant hero, shielding me from their barbs. I didn’t even glance his way. Lillian chose that moment to interject. “Oh, stop teasing her. Ms. Shen, I’m not one to forget a favor. Ron and I co-own a company that’s about to enter another round of financing. Our operations department is swamped. You have experience with… personal care. The department head has a paralyzed mother who needs looking after. And since you know a thing or two about investments, you could even chat with her about financial reports in your spare time…” “That won’t be necessary. I have a job.” I smiled, taking another sip of my cocktail, savoring the sweet, bitter notes. Lillian’s brow furrowed. “This is a rare opportunity for someone like you. Ever heard of Granite Capital? They’re the biggest name in global finance. I’ve already emailed their Managing Director to set up a meeting. When we discuss the investment, you could tag along as the department head’s assistant and see how the real world works. This woman is a genius, you know. Rose from obscurity to MD in just a few years. For the sake of my future with Ron, I had to pull a lot of strings just to get in touch with her.” She cast a loving, proprietary gaze at Ron, her pride on full display. 4 The crowd erupted in fawning praise. “Lillian, you’re amazing! You actually managed to connect with Granite Capital!” “I’ve heard of that MD! She has a Ph.D. in mathematics from a top university. Granite recruited her before she even graduated. She’s a prodigy!” “You have no idea how hard Lillian worked for this. She pulled all-nighters studying their portfolio. I guess she and Ron are more than just ‘friends’ after all!” Lillian sauntered over to Ron, downed his drink in one gulp, and theatrically fell into his lap. The crowd roared, chanting for them to kiss. Lillian even tilted her perfectly made-up face up to his. But Ron didn’t move. He held her with one arm, his gaze fixed on me, a strange, defiant look in his eyes. I found the whole situation amusing. “That investor… her name is Susan Shen, if I remember correctly.” “Yeah, that’s her. I heard she’s originally from around here.” “Shen?” someone mused, a playful smirk on his face as he gestured toward me. “Don’t tell me it’s our Mia Shen.” I nodded. “Yes. That’s me.” A beat of silence hung in the air. Then, the room exploded with laughter. “Mia, have you completely lost your mind? Comparing yourself to a powerhouse like Susan Shen? You’re not even in the same league.” “Some women are born to be queens. You were born to be trampled on.” The insults flew, each one a testament to their blind worship of the mythical “Susan Shen” and their disdain for me. It didn’t bother me in the slightest. If my boss hadn’t asked me to stall, I would have been long gone. I finished my drink and signaled the bartender for another. Just then, a young woman in a sharp business suit rushed into the room, clutching a stack of files. “Excuse me, Ms. Shaw. Granite just replied. They’ve agreed to a meeting. But it’s urgent—it’s in half an hour. I brought all the necessary documents.” “Half an hour?!” Lillian was stunned. “Why so sudden? Was the email from Susan Shen herself?” The assistant nodded frantically. “Yes, it was.” “Don’t worry, Ms. Shaw. I’ve double-checked everything. The files are all in order.” Lillian’s face lit up with triumph. As the room filled with congratulations, she threw her arms around Ron and planted a hard kiss on his lips. He turned his head away, his expression unreadable. With only thirty minutes to spare, a frantic flurry of activity erupted as the women surrounded Lillian, fussing over her hair and makeup. I was the only one still sitting calmly, nursing my drink. Lillian shot me an irritated look. “I’m still offering you that assistant job, for Ron’s sake. The department head is on her way here, and her mother is home alone. Mia, I’m sending you the address. You should go now.” I was genuinely confused. “I believe I already told you I don’t need a job. Please don’t make arrangements on my behalf, Ms. Shaw.” The onlookers watched, hungry for drama. The assistant just smiled awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Lillian’s face flushed with embarrassment. She looked to Ron for support. He frowned, his expression darkening as he opened his mouth to speak. But before he could utter a word, his assistant let out a piercing shriek. “The address! The meeting location! Susan Shen hasn’t told us where to meet!” Livid, Lillian slapped her assistant across the face. “It’s too late to wait for another email!” She snatched her phone and dialed the number from the email signature. “I’ll call her directly.” At that exact moment, my phone began to ring.

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The day after I secured my spot in the university’s doctoral program, a delivery guy showed up at the campus gates with a wailing infant. He swore the child was mine. I was horrified. I begged my boyfriend, Sebastian, a brilliant medical student himself, to clear my name. He glanced at the paternity test I frantically shoved at him, then turned to the gathering crowd with a look of gentle resignation. “Gabrielle,” he said, his voice soft and forgiving. “Let the past be the past. I’m sure you didn’t mean for this to happen.” He sighed, a picture of benevolence. “I’ll raise this child as if he were my own.” In the aftermath, my acceptance into the doctoral program was revoked. The guys on campus started calling me “the campus bike” behind my back. That very night, my father’s illegitimate daughter, Hannah, posted on her Instagram story, celebrating her own acceptance into the program. The caption read: “A real man gives you everything you ask for.” The photo featured a collection of brand-new baby supplies. And there, just at the edge of the frame, was the unmistakable back of Sebastian’s hand. It turned out I was just a pawn in their twisted game. 1 I stood on the blistering pavement, the sun beating down on me as the baby in my arms screamed relentlessly. Inside the house, a party was in full swing, celebrating Hannah’s acceptance. And Sebastian was right there with them. He had always cultivated an air of gentle warmth, his handsome eyes always crinkling into a smile. Only I knew the cold indifference that lay beneath the surface. But now, looking through the window, I could see his joy was genuine. I called his phone. I saw him frown slightly before decisively rejecting the call. The second I posted a screenshot of Hannah’s story to the university message board, my phone rang. “Gabrielle, where are you?” He emerged from the house, his face a dark cloud, clearly not wanting to spoil Hannah’s mood. He saw me standing there, clutching the infant. In less than a minute, the link to the message board post was a dead “404 Not Found.” Sebastian strode over, snatched the phone from my hand, and then his gaze fell on the baby. A flicker of annoyance crossed his otherwise gentle features. “You’re just going to let him bake in the sun like this? What kind of mother are you?” “Sebastian,” I began, my voice choking despite the lecture I’d given myself the whole way here. “I told you. If you ever stopped loving me, just tell me. I would have walked away on my own.” Everyone at Blackwood University knew I was crazy about Sebastian. When he studied at the library, I’d get there at dawn to save us the best table by the window. When he was targeted by a vindictive professor who tried to steal his research, I leaked screenshots of the professor’s sleazy DMs with another student to the campus forum. The university fired him immediately. When Sebastian needed funding for his project, I was the one who pulled strings, connecting him with investors, pouring my own money and resources into his work. His star had risen, and eventually, he’d agreed to be my boyfriend. I never cared if his love for me was a quiet, smoldering thing, as long as it was real and lasting. But it had to be love. Not guilt, not obligation, and certainly not reluctant acceptance. It had to be a love that was mine and mine alone. “You know perfectly well,” I said, my voice trembling with rage, “that Hannah and her mother are the reason my own mother is dead. And you still let them pin this baby on me. For her, you were willing to watch my reputation, my entire future, be destroyed!” He looked at me, raising a hand as if to touch my face. I flinched away. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Gabrielle, why are you still holding onto this? Hannah is your sister, after all. Her child is practically your child.” “Blood is thicker than water,” he continued, his tone patient and condescending. “I don’t want you two to be estranged over something so small.” “Gabrielle, don’t make this difficult. Don’t make everyone uncomfortable, okay?” I stared at him, at his calm, handsome face, and the coldness of his words felt like a physical blow. Something small? The women who drove my mother to her grave. In Sebastian’s eyes, that was just a small inconvenience to him. “Enough! She’s an illegitimate child. She has no right to call me her sister!” I ignored the way his expression instantly hardened. “You and I both know this baby isn’t mine. I’m giving you twenty-four hours to clear my name. If you don’t, you’ll see a side of me you won’t like.” With that, I thrust the crying baby into his arms and turned, walking away so fast he wouldn’t see the tears finally streaming down my face. 2 I had been alive for twenty-four years, and I had only ever loved one person with every fiber of my being. And he had just handed me the most crushing defeat of my life. I waited all the next day. By evening, there was still no apology, no clarification. Instead, when I logged onto the campus forum, I saw a new post, marked with a blazing “VIRAL” tag. It was a video. Sebastian stood there in a tailored suit, Hannah beside him in a gown that I recognized as one of my own. They looked like a perfect couple. Sebastian adjusted his collar, holding the baby, and then faced Hannah with a grave expression, bowing deeply. “I am so sorry,” he said, his voice ringing with sincerity for the camera. “Gabrielle’s selfish and impulsive actions have caused you so much pain. On her behalf, I want to apologize.” My post from yesterday had only been up for a few seconds before it was taken down, but in the world of the internet, a few seconds was all it took. The screenshots were everywhere. This video wasn’t just an apology. It was a public execution of my character. After all, a doctoral candidate in medicine wouldn’t misread a paternity test. My social media accounts became a war zone. I was flooded with messages from anonymous accounts asking “how much for a night.” My old posts were littered with insults and slurs. I had no choice but to make all my accounts private. But none of that was what broke me. It was the necklace around Hannah’s neck. It had belonged to my mother. I kept all of her jewelry locked away in my private apartment. Only one other person had a key: Sebastian. I was on my way to confront him when I cut through a secluded, wooded part of the campus. As I walked deeper into the trees, a pair of strong hands suddenly shoved me to the ground. The stench of alcohol filled the air. “You’re that bitch who had a baby, right?” a slurred voice growled. “Act all innocent but you’re a real freak, huh?” I screamed, struggling against him, but then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw them. Sebastian, who always carried himself with a cool, intellectual arrogance, was crouched down on the path, smiling as he tied Hannah’s shoelace. My attacker followed my gaze and then slapped me hard across the face. “What are you looking at? You think a sweet, innocent girl like that is anything like a used-up slut like you?” The sight of them must have sobered him up, because he scrambled to his feet, cursed, and stumbled away. I clutched my burning cheek, shakily getting up. A wave of profound shame washed over me. All I wanted was to disappear, to get away before they could see me like this. “…Gabrielle?” The hesitant voice was like a thunderclap in my silent, shattered world. “It really is you.” Sebastian walked around to face me, his brow furrowing as he took in my disheveled clothes. “I know the things people are saying at school are cruel, but you can’t just give up on yourself like this. Have some self-respect.” “Maybe she’s just heartbroken,” Hannah said, linking her arm through Sebastian’s, a smug smile playing on her lips. “That’s why she’s out here in a place like this, looking for a cheap thrill.” She tsked. “At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if she actually did get pregnant for real.” Sebastian held out a bag of baby supplies. “I had the baby sent back to your place. Hannah bought you these. Make sure you take proper care of him.” He paused, then held up his phone. “Or else… you wouldn’t want anyone to see you looking like this, would you?” I stared at him, a cold dread creeping into my veins. I couldn’t believe this was the man I had chased for five years. “If you understand, nod your head,” he commanded. “There’s a disciplinary hearing tomorrow morning. You know what to say and what not to say.” He wrapped his arm around Hannah and they walked away, heading in the direction of the lab’s victory party for their latest successful experiment. My face was a mask of cold fury as I pulled out my phone and made a call. If I was going to be miserable, then everyone was going to be miserable. 3 Almost no one knew that I was the largest private donor to this university. Ever since my mother died, while my father was off with his mistress, I had cut myself off from him emotionally. I left the Sinclair estate and struck out on my own. Fortunately, I had a gift for it. Under the pseudonym “Aura,” I founded AuraGen Labs in record time, specializing in biotechnology and advanced medical materials. We were already big enough to compete with the established legacy corporations. In fact, the only reason Sebastian’s latest medical experiment had been successful was because I was the one secretly funding it, supplying him with state-of-the-art equipment. “Terminate the contract,” I said into the phone. “And I want every cent of funding and every piece of equipment I provided to Sebastian’s lab recalled. Immediately.” Let’s see how long the poor boy from a small town can survive in this world of old money without my resources propping him up. Suddenly, my front door was kicked open. Sebastian stormed in, his face contorted with rage. Hannah followed meekly behind him, looking distressed. Before they could speak, I pointed to the maid who had let them in. “You’re fired.” To let someone in without my permission was to render the new high-security lock I’d just had installed completely useless. “You—” Sebastian sputtered, but Hannah was already comforting the maid in a soft voice. “Don’t worry, you can come work for us at the Sinclair estate.” Sebastian looked at me, his expression a mixture of anger and disappointment. “Look at Hannah, how gracious she is. And then look at you, petty and vindictive over every little thing. It’s hard to tell who the real illegitimate one is here.” A small smile touched Hannah’s lips at his words before she quickly schooled her features into a look of timid concern. Seeing his precious darling look so vulnerable only fueled Sebastian’s anger. “Tell me,” he demanded, “why was the disciplinary hearing cancelled?” I didn’t even bother to look up. “Because the administration bowed to the power of capital, obviously.” The university president had nearly had a heart attack when he received my call. Terrified I would pull my funding, he had cancelled the ridiculous hearing without a second thought. But Sebastian and Hannah didn’t know that. They assumed I had used my father’s influence again. “You go back on your word, you manipulate everything… Gabrielle, you are such a disappointment!” Sebastian, who was always so calm and composed, was practically shouting. I’d never seen him this angry, not even when his junior researchers made critical errors in the lab. Suddenly, Hannah cried out and fell to the floor. The necklace—my mother’s necklace—snapped, and the pearls scattered across the marble with a series of sharp clicks. The last tangible piece of my mother I had, now utterly destroyed. As I scrambled to pick up the pearls, Hannah leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper. “If you had just cooperated, sister, I would have made sure the rest of her things remained untouched. But now, I can’t make any promises.” “Threatening me with a dead woman’s possessions. That’s all the power you have,” I shot back, my voice dripping with contempt. Our family placed a high value on ancestry. Most of my mother’s belongings were kept in the family mausoleum. I had already sent someone to retrieve them. Hannah’s jaw tightened, but when she saw Sebastian looking, her face immediately melted back into a mask of sweet vulnerability. “Sister, I’ve been here for a while. Where’s little Ben?” She looked around the apartment. “Auntie Hannah brought lots of presents for him.” Without lifting my head, I pointed out the window. “The orphanage.” 4 It was the first time I had ever seen Hannah truly lose her composure. She let out a piercing shriek, grabbing my collar and shaking me violently, a wild fury in her eyes. “How could you! How could you throw my… my nephew… in an orphanage! That’s abandonment, do you know that?” I shoved her away, and she stumbled backward, collapsing onto the floor. Just then, the front door, which hadn’t been properly closed, was thrown open again. A crowd of my classmates stormed in, rushing to help the sobbing Hannah. They glared at me with disgust. “I have never seen someone so shameless! You’d rather throw your own flesh and blood into an orphanage than take responsibility!” “That’s right! We have to expose her for the monster she is!” someone shouted, pulling out their phone and starting a livestream, shoving the camera in my face. Before they could get a clear shot, a pair of bodyguards roughly pushed the phone away. “This is a private Sinclair family matter. It doesn’t concern any of you.” A stern-faced, middle-aged man strode into the room. My father. He swung his arm and slapped me hard across the face. “Having a daughter like you is the greatest shame of my life!” he roared. “Take this disgrace back to the family estate. I want to see how she dares to face her dead mother now!” At the family mausoleum, the elders were gathered. I stood before the marble crypts, my spine straight. “I have done nothing wrong. I will not kneel.” My father was apoplectic. “You got pregnant out of wedlock, had a secret child, and made a spectacle of yourself for the whole world to see! You’ve dragged the company’s name and my name through the mud, and you still claim you’ve done nothing wrong?” He gestured wildly. “Hannah adores you, Sebastian is a medical doctor! Do you think they would both lie and conspire against you?” As we stood in a standoff, Hannah’s eyes darted around. She picked up a thin, braided leather whip that was kept for “disciplinary purposes” and handed it to Sebastian. “Sebastian,” she purred. “You’re the only one who can make my sister see her error.” She kicked the back of my knees, forcing me to the ground. Sebastian hesitated for a second, but under my father’s furious glare, he raised the whip and brought it down across my back. A line of fire tore across my skin. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, refusing to cry out. Hannah shot me a dissatisfied look and whispered something to my father. A terrible premonition washed over me. “Gabrielle,” my father bellowed, “for the disgraceful things you have done, I will overlook them out of paternal affection. But your mother can no longer be buried here, in the family’s hallowed ground!” He waved his hand. “Dig her up!” I stared in disbelief. They were going to desecrate her grave? They were going to deny her peace even in death. Hannah knew I had retrieved my mother’s heirlooms, so now she was going for the one thing I couldn’t protect. “Don’t you dare!” I fought with every ounce of strength I had, trying to break free from the two guards holding me down. The whip fell on my back again and again, a storm of pain. I struggled to my feet, only to be knocked down again. “Gabrielle, just admit it was you,” Sebastian panted, his forehead beaded with sweat. I could see a flicker of pity in his eyes as he looked at my wounds. His hand was shaking so badly he could barely hold the whip. “Just say you’re sorry, and I’ll talk to your father for you.” “I said,” I screamed through the agony, “I did nothing wrong!” I watched in horror as Hannah picked up my mother’s portrait and smashed it on the stone floor. The groundskeepers had already dug a gaping hole in the earth. They pulled out the small, velvet box containing her ashes and tossed it between them like a piece of trash. My vision turned red. I slammed my body into Sebastian, knocking him aside, and lunged for Hannah just as she was about to throw the box. We collided, and in the struggle, the lid came off. A fine grey dust scattered in the wind, sweeping over me in a soft, final arc. Like one last embrace from my mother. “Oops, my hand slipped,” Hannah said with a smirk. The box shattered on the ground. The ashes were gone. As I knelt there, broken and covered in dirt, a group of police officers entered the grounds. “Who called the police?” my father demanded. Hannah glanced at me triumphantly. “I did, officer,” she said, walking toward them. “This woman abandoned her newborn child!” An officer with a grim face approached me. “Ma’am, is this true?” A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. I pushed myself up, my body screaming in protest, and pulled a folded, blood-stained paper from my pocket. “That would be difficult,” I said, my voice shaking. “Seeing as I don’t have a uterus.”

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After I was brought back from the family farm, I found myself in an arranged marriage with Eric Kensington, the CEO of Kensington Corp. And I inherited a son. An isolated, supposedly violent one. The first time I tried to show him a little kindness, I heard his inner thoughts: [She’s just like all the other women. She’ll talk trash about me to my dad, and I’ll get an even worse beating.] So I decided to be direct. I took his small hand in mine. “Sweetheart, I’m here now. No one will ever be able to falsely accuse you again.” Later, when the marriage contract was up, Eric and I went our separate ways. But the little guy packed his suitcase and chased after me. “Mom,” he said, his eyes wide. “Can I come home with you and raise pigs?” 1 I hadn’t been back from the farm for long before my family married me off to Eric Kensington, the CEO of Kensington Corp. On my first night in his mansion, I couldn’t sleep. The bed was too soft. I went downstairs for a walk. And I stumbled upon Tim being punished. He was such a tiny thing, kneeling all alone in the courtyard. He was wearing a light green short-sleeved shirt with a dark brown tie. It was an adorable, formal little outfit. But I’d heard the stories. Eric’s son was isolated, violent, and utterly incorrigible. Everyone in our circle knew the Kensingtons had more or less given up on him. Still, it was a chilly autumn night, with a light rain misting the air. My heart ached for him. I grabbed a blanket and headed outside. Mr. Harrison, the butler, intercepted me, his voice as cold as the evening air. “Miss Thorne, the young master has a volatile temperament. It would be wise to keep your distance, lest you get hurt.” In the shadows, the light in Tim’s eyes dimmed. I saw his chubby little fists clench and unclench at his sides. His lips were pale, and he looked like he was about to pass out. He didn’t look like he could hurt a fly. I went upstairs to find Eric. He had just stepped out of the shower, a single white towel knotted low around his waist. Above it, his torso was a landscape of taut muscles, the clean lines of his V-cut abs disappearing beneath the towel. With the addition of the gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, he was a potent mix of discipline and raw appeal. I’d never seen a man that handsome back on the farm. But no amount of good looks could excuse his neglectful parenting. “Mr. Kensington,” I began, my voice trembling slightly, “Tim is only five years old. Whatever he did, it’s no excuse to make him kneel for hours in the cold rain.” Eric’s brow furrowed, clearly annoyed by my interference. “Do you know him? Do you have any idea what he’s done? Miss Thorne, I’d advise you not to meddle in things you don’t understand.” “But his health…” “Harrison,” Eric called out, his voice flat. “Bring him up.” The butler was back in moments with the boy. “For tonight, out of respect for Miss Thorne, the punishment is suspended. Go to bed.” Tim shot me a surprised look, then mumbled a listless, “Okay.” He turned and walked back to his room. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Maybe Eric wasn’t as heartless as the rumors claimed. He could be reasoned with. “Mr. Kensington, I…” “I didn’t do anything wrong!” A black shadow darted past me. Tim had returned, charging at Eric like a miniature bull. Eric was prepared, scooping him up with one arm. But he wasn’t prepared for Tim’s other hand, which shot out and grabbed the one thing holding his dignity in place. His towel. It went flying through the air. The cool night breeze whistled a cheerful tune. Shocking! Thrilling! Magnificent. And… CRASH. The sound of a cup shattering on the floor. Mrs. Gable, the housekeeper, had come up with coffee and was now frozen in place, gasping. The butler’s eyes were wide as saucers. Two staff members, two statues of pure shock. “We saw nothing! We absolutely, positively saw nothing!” they stammered in unison. What was the big deal? I blinked, then took another good look. A low, menacing voice rumbled from above me. “Have you seen enough?” I had never seen so many colors on a person’s face. A kaleidoscope of emotions—shock, rage, and pure mortification—warred on his face. I cleared my throat. “Don’t be shy. I’ve seen them neuter boars back home. It’s pretty much the same thing…” “Shut up.” The bedroom door slammed shut with a resounding BANG. I could hear Eric’s voice, laced with warning. “Tim, you’ve gone too far. If you ever bite me again, I’ll pull out all your teeth.” 2 I remembered the smug looks on my step-sister and her mother’s faces before the wedding. “Eric Kensington is completely uninterested in women, and his son is a little monster. So many women have tried to marry into that family and run away screaming. I bet you anything Thea won’t last three months before they drive her insane.” “Your boss… he doesn’t hit people, does he?” I asked the housekeeper. Mrs. Gable shot me a disapproving look. “Is it really ‘hitting’ when a parent disciplines their child?” From inside the room, I could hear Tim’s shrieks as he was being spanked. “So, why was he being punished in the first place?” “The young master pushed Miss Victoria down the stairs. She’s still in the hospital, unconscious.” Victoria. I’d heard the name. Eric’s “white moonlight”—the one that got away. “If it weren’t for the young master constantly getting in the way, Miss Victoria would be the one married to him now.” Still. One thing had nothing to do with the other. I kicked the bedroom door open. Father and son both snapped their heads toward me. Tim’s pale, soft cheeks were stained with tears. He looked utterly pitiful. “Mr. Kensington, so I saw you naked. What’s the big deal? You’re perfectly average-sized. Is it really necessary to take out your embarrassment on a child?” Eric’s face was a thundercloud. When I was Tim’s age, someone once held an umbrella over my head in a storm, and that simple act of kindness lit up my entire childhood. Now, I wanted to be that umbrella for him. I crouched down. “How about some tomato and egg noodle soup? I’m a great cook.” I reached out and ruffled his hair like he was a puppy. It was thick and soft, wonderfully fluffy. Before I could get another pat in, he squirmed out of Eric’s arms, leaned down, and bit my hand. “Get away from me, you ugly monster,” he snarled, then bolted downstairs. I looked at the perfect set of teeth marks on my skin. He was strong. It was bleeding. Beside me, Eric’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “So, Miss Thorne, still feel like making him that soup?” “Yes,” I said. “I do.” 3 After bandaging my hand, I went to the kitchen to make the soup. Mrs. Gable came in on her way downstairs, her voice cool and distant. “Miss Thorne, if you think you can win the master’s affection by sucking up to his son, you’re mistaken.” “The master loves Miss Victoria. He won’t eat your soup. And the young master is a picky eater. He won’t touch it either.” She was trying to put me in my place. I gave her a bright smile. “Is that so? Well, until your Miss Victoria marries into this family, I’m the lady of this house. And whether I make soup or not isn’t your decision to make. It’s mine.” Mrs. Gable was stunned, clearly not expecting me to have a spine. “Now, get out.” “Right away, ma’am.” As soon as she left, I saw Tim in the living room with a toy car. He was pretending to play, but he was watching my every move. Suddenly, I heard it. A voice, clear as day, inside my head. [Wow, she told Mrs. Gable, the tattletale, to get lost. That was awesome. But she looks so… country. She has a part in her hair like a little road.] Huh? The high-tech, screen-equipped refrigerator reflected my image back at me. And yes, there it was, a very distinct part in my hair. I’d have to start taking better care of myself now that I was a lady of leisure. No more farm work. From now on, it was all about cultivating elegance and enjoying the good life. [I just bit her. Why would she be nice and make me soup? Is she like the other women? Is she going to pretend to trip and spill it, then blame me so Dad hits me again?] [But I’m so hungry…] Grrrrumble. I was shocked. My instincts had been right. This child wasn’t isolated and violent. He was just a poor, lonely little soul. [Forget it. I’m not eating. She’s probably just like the rest of them. She’ll go tell Dad all sorts of bad things about me and make him hate me even more.] My heart broke for him. I changed my strategy. Time to be direct. I ladled the soup into a child’s bowl shaped like a kitten’s head. Then I walked over and took his hand. My voice was soft. “Sweetheart, from now on, I’m here. No one will ever be able to falsely accuse you again.” 4 Tim froze, completely stunned. A second later, he sniffed dismissively. [That’s what Victoria said, too. And then she started blaming me for everything.] [The prettier the woman, the bigger the liar. I don’t believe her.] With that, he scurried away. I had made an extra bowl for Eric, so I carried both of them upstairs. The tomato broth was rich and thick, the eggs fluffy and soaked in flavor. A sprinkle of bright green scallions on top made it look irresistible. The light was on in his study. I knocked once and pushed the door open. “I made soup.” Eric looked at me, his expression unreadable, his tone distant and laced with a warning. “Miss Thorne, there’s no one else here. You know perfectly well why we’re married. Don’t start aspiring to things that don’t belong to you. When our three years are up, we go our separate ways. There’s no need to put on a show of being the perfect wife and mother.” He never would have had to marry me if my father hadn’t set him up, making sure he woke up in my bed. It was only natural that he disliked me. Still, I rolled my eyes at him. “I made it for Tim. I just brought you a bowl as an afterthought.” I tried to hold my tongue, but I couldn’t. I may be good-natured, but I have a temper. “Mr. Kensington, you may be a rich and powerful CEO, but not every woman who sees you is going to fall for you. Don’t be so conceited.” He stared at me, speechless. “Tim is just a little boy. If he goes hungry, it could cause stomach problems later in life. He’s your son. The least you could do is be grateful that I’m kind enough to feed him, but instead you’re being sarcastic and accusatory. Are you even sure he’s yours?” My words seemed to deepen the storm clouds on his face. He was clearly not pleased with a woman who dared to talk back to him. But his upbringing won out. He didn’t say anything to me, just turned and told Mrs. Gable to bring Tim in. Tim entered cautiously, his eyes darting between me and his father. “Dad,” he whispered. Eric gestured with his chin toward the soup on the desk. “Eat it.” It was a cold command, not a fatherly invitation. “Okay.” Tim carefully picked up his chopsticks and began to slurp the noodles. [Dad actually noticed I haven’t eaten. Does that mean… he doesn’t hate me as much today?] At his core, he was just a little boy starved for affection. “Slow down, you’ll choke.” Tim’s head snapped up, his face a mask of astonishment. [She… she really didn’t try to trick me? She just made me soup? Is it poisoned?] But he was a child, and his memory was short. Soon, his feet were swinging happily under the chair. [This is so good!] Who said he was difficult? He was actually quite easy to please. He finished the bowl quickly, licked his lips, and stared longingly at Eric’s portion. He wanted more but didn’t dare ask. It was a pretty big bowl. I wasn’t sure if a child should eat that much so late at night. Then Eric spoke. “It’s late. No more. Go brush your teeth and get ready for bed.” Tim mumbled an “okay” and left. Once he was gone, I started to clear the bowls, including Eric’s untouched one. “Mr. Kensington, I overstepped tonight. I won’t make food for Tim without your permission again.” I was about to leave when he stopped me. His eyes were deep, intense. “If you can remember your place, you may do as you wish in this house without asking for my permission.” Oh-ho. A classic move. Feign retreat to advance. Was he giving me power? The hearts of men. So complicated. I smiled and placed his soup back in front of him. “Don’t worry, Mr. Kensington. I know you have someone else in mind for the role of Mrs. Kensington. I’m only in this for the money.” He tossed a black card onto the desk. “See that you remember that.” 5 Eric was a busy man. So busy that, despite living under the same roof, we barely saw each other. One afternoon, I discovered a whole row of motorcycles in his garage. I immediately went to find Mrs. Gable, who pointed me to a room where the keys were kept. Rich people’s car keys lived in their own separate room, apparently. I picked the most impressive-looking one. But before I could even get it out of the driveway, Tim was brought home by the butler, Mr. Harrison. Harrison was on the phone with Eric. “Yes, sir. The young master got into another fight.” “He’s home now. The damages have been paid.” “Very good, sir. Goodbye.” After hanging up, the butler fixed Tim with a grim stare, looking for all the world like my bald, terrifying middle school principal. “Young master, you remember the Kensington family rules, do you not? Kneel. Mrs. Gable, bring the ruler.” Tim’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “Mr. Harrison, I really didn’t hit him! Please, just tell Dad…” “Mr. Harrison, perhaps we should wait for Mr. Kensington…” Mrs. Gable began. “Mrs. Gable, the master has entrusted the young master’s discipline to me, and I will see it done.” He turned back to the boy. “Young master, the security footage is quite clear. You hit him.” When Mrs. Gable returned with the ruler, Tim transformed into an enraged lion cub. He shoved her aside and scrambled under a table, his eyes red and brimming with unshed tears. [He started it! He hit me first! Why doesn’t anyone ever believe me?] He swept a crystal fruit bowl off the coffee table, sending it crashing to the floor. He kicked over an antique vase. “Fine! I did it!” he screamed, his voice raw. “I hit him, and I wanted to kill him!” “And I’m going to kill you, too! Get away from me!” “I’ll kill all of you!” “Mrs. Gable, call for backup!” A team of security guards in sharp suits entered, surrounding the small boy. “Lock the young master in his room for now. We’ll wait for the master to return for the full punishment.” Sheer terror flashed in Tim’s eyes. He began to struggle violently. “No! I won’t go! Get off me! All of you, get off me!” He screamed. He bit. Several guards quickly pinned him down. No matter how much he thrashed, he couldn’t break free. He was locked in a room. A dark room. There was nothing inside. When the door closed, his hysterical screams echoed through the hall. “I hate you! I’m going to kill all of you!” So it really wasn’t him. But for some reason, no one ever believed him. And in his anger, he would just lash out with threats, which only made things worse. This kind of violent suppression was only going to backfire. “Give him to me.” Mr. Harrison frowned. “Miss Thorne, this is a family matter. I must insist you stay out of it.” “To hell with your ‘family matter,’” I spat, losing my temper completely. “If you’ve forgotten, go take a look at my marriage certificate! I’m taking Tim with me.” The butler didn’t budge. “Without a direct order from the master, no one is to go near the young master.” With that, he and the guards departed. Mrs. Gable hesitated. “Miss Thorne, when the master is away, Mr. Harrison is in charge of discipline. You can’t take him without an order. Besides… the young master really can be violent. He’s only trying to protect you.” After her warning, she left too. A heavy weight settled in my chest. I’ve never had children, but I knew this kind of treatment would lead to disaster. The sounds from the room grew fainter. The door was locked. The window… I slipped out of the house, avoiding the staff, and started climbing. Hand over hand, I scaled the wall to the second floor, inching my way along the window ledge. I smashed the glass. When I tumbled inside, the first thing I saw was a small, trembling ball curled up in the corner, whimpering softly. “Tim.” The figure in the corner flinched. His voice was small and fragile, like a wounded kitten’s. “Mommy? Is that you?” “Mommy, it’s so dark in here. I’m scared.” 6 The tiny bundle launched himself into my arms. As soon as he saw it was me, Tim’s expression stiffened, and he instinctively tried to push me away. “You…” “Shh!” I held him tight. “I’m getting you out of here. Don’t make a sound, or we’ll get caught.” His face was a mask of suspicion. “You scheming, wicked woman. What are you planning to do to me?” “Hold on tight. We’re on the second floor, and it’s a long way down. And my name isn’t ‘wicked woman.’ It’s Thea.” “Aren’t you afraid of Mr. Harrison? If he finds out, he’ll have the guards lock you up, too.” Despite his muttering, he clung to my neck like a little octopus. It had been a while since I’d climbed anything. I was out of practice. We finally made it down to the ground. I led him to the garage and found a tiny helmet for him. “Where are you taking me?” “I’m kidnapping you. Then I’m going to sell you.” The motorcycle roared to life. Mrs. Gable heard the noise and came out to investigate. Her eyes widened in horror. “Oh no! The young master has escaped… wait! You can’t ride that one! That’s the master’s favorite…!” I took Tim to a KFC and ordered him a mountain of food. He didn’t eat. He just stared at me, his eyes full of suspicion. “What do you really want?” “I told you, I’m going to sell you. The only son of the CEO of Kensington Corp must be worth a lot of money, right?” “I’m not worth anything.” Tim lowered his head, his long eyelashes hiding his expression. “Dad doesn’t like me. It’s no use selling me.” I placed my hand over his. “But I like you very much.” He looked up at me, shocked. A moment later, a blush spread across his soft cheeks. He looked flustered and shy, fidgeting with his chubby fingers. I covered his hands with mine. “You’re adorable, and I like you. But for now, let’s just eat, okay?” “Well… if you insist, I guess I can do you a favor and eat a little.” The little guy was starving. He devoured the food. Once he was finished, I could see his defenses were down. I seized the opportunity. “You ate my food, so now you have to tell me what happened at preschool. Why did you hit him?” “Because I felt like it.” “Use your words.” “I didn’t like the look of him, so I hit him.” [It doesn’t matter. No one will believe the truth anyway. They’ll just say I’m making excuses.] Poor baby. I ruffled his hair. “I’m guessing… he started it.” Tim’s head snapped up. He quickly looked down again, but the way he was wringing his hands betrayed his excitement. [How did she know Tiger was the one who started it?] “It was Tiger, wasn’t it? He hit you first.” Tim’s eyes went wide. He looked absolutely stunned. [She knows that, too? Does she also know he was bullying Daisy, and that’s why I hit him?] “Tiger was picking on Daisy, and you were defending her.” The little guy was so excited he nearly slid off his chair, a tuft of his hair sticking straight up. [She knows! She knows! She knows everything!] “Tiger is a bully, isn’t he? He picks on Daisy and the other kids, too.” [Aaaaaah! She’s an angel! She has little stars in her eyes!] I smiled and took his hand. When he didn’t pull away, I lifted him onto my lap. “I was right about everything, wasn’t I?” “I guess you’re pretty smart,” he mumbled, trying his best to look nonchalant despite being thrilled. He was a lot like Eric in that way. “Should we call your dad and tell him the truth?” Tim’s expression immediately turned anxious. After a long pause, he asked uncertainly, “But what if…” “There are no what-ifs. But you have to tell him exactly what I tell you to say. I promise, he’ll listen.” “Fine. I’ll give you one chance.” “Deal.” Just as I was about to dial, my phone rang. It was Eric. Time to face the music. The moment I answered, his cold voice came through the line. “Did you take Tim?” “About that fight at preschool, I think you need to hear the truth. I’ll let him tell you himself.” “Dad.” “Are you ready to admit you were wrong?” “I… I am…” I gave Tim’s ear a gentle squeeze, and he perked up. “Dad, Tiger started it. I didn’t mean to hit him.” Eric had probably heard that line a hundred times. He had zero patience left. “The teacher and the security cameras both say it was you, Tim. Are you really going to lie to my face?” Tim’s confidence wavered. He looked at me, his eyes filling with tears. I gave him a firm nod. Bolstered, he recounted the entire story, exactly as it happened. There was a long silence on the other end of the line. “Are you sure you’re not lying this time?” “I’m not, Dad.” “I see. I’ll look into it.” I hung up the phone and wiped Tim’s tears. “Feeling a little better?” He nodded enthusiastically, then looked a bit embarrassed. “But will Dad really investigate?” “Let’s give him a chance.” Even as I said it, my fingers were flying across my phone’s screen. I sent Eric a friend request with the note: Urgent. He accepted almost immediately. “To the busiest CEO in the world: Do your job. Investigate properly. Find out just how many times you and that teacher have wronged your son because of your own biases.” His reply was swift. “Where are you?” “Don’t worry. I may be the step-mom, but I won’t falsely accuse him, I won’t make him cry, and I certainly won’t sell him. I’ll bring him home tonight.”

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The moment the sweet, girl-next-door heroine broke up with the main hero and ran to my man, sobbing, I just popped in my earplugs. “Your son is crying,” I said, my voice ice. “If you don’t comfort him, I’m throwing him out.” Without a word, he gently pushed the heroine away and scooped up our child. “Shh, baby, it’s okay. Daddy’s here.” But no matter what I did, my progress in winning him over was stuck at 99%. In a fit of rage, I abandoned him and our son, returning to my own world. Three years later, my System exploded in my ear. [THE VILLAIN HAS GONE INSANE! HE’S IMPRISONED THE HERO AND CLAIMED THE HEROINE FOR HIMSELF! THE ENTIRE PLOT IS IN SHAMBLES!] [You’re the only one who can fix this! You have to stop him from marrying her!] 1 The System’s frantic voice was a relentless buzz in my head, detailing how the villain, Vincent, had systematically dismantled its carefully crafted world. [Stella, I’m begging you! We’re both just cogs in the machine here, have a little sympathy! Please, just stop the wedding.] [Succeed, and that five-million-dollar reward we promised you? I’ll double it. Ten million. Cash.] My eyes lit up. “The money’s not important,” I said, with all the sincerity I could muster. “I just want to help a friend in need. Send me back.” A wave of dizziness washed over me, and the world dissolved into a blur. When I opened my eyes again, the familiar scent of rain-slicked pavement filled the air. [Your son, Ross, gets out of school any minute now,] the System chirped. [A touching mother-child reunion should be enough to soften Vincent’s heart, at least a little.] School wasn’t out just yet. I scanned the crowd of parents, and my eyes landed on him instantly. Vincent. He was leaning against a sleek black sedan, hands shoved into the pockets of his custom-tailored suit. His dark eyes were as cold and distant as I remembered, carving out a space of icy solitude around him. Three years, and he hadn’t changed a bit. Still the same walking storm cloud, daring anyone to get close. Suddenly, a tidal wave of children burst through the school gates. I searched the sea of tiny faces for Ross, my son with Vincent. But the last time I saw him, he was barely a year old. Now, trying to pick him out from a crowd of nearly identical toddlers felt like an impossible task. What am I supposed to do? Steeling myself, I scanned the crowd again. My gaze locked onto a little boy with a stubborn set to his jaw that looked vaguely familiar. He had my eyes. It had to be him. Making sure Vincent was watching, I put on my best performance. I knelt, reaching out to gently stroke the boy’s hair. “Ross,” I cooed, my voice thick with emotion. “It’s Mommy. Do you remember me?” The boy flinched, his eyes wide with alarm. Before I could react, a woman snatched him up, her voice screeching through the quiet afternoon. “KIDNAPPER! SOMEONE’S TRYING TO TAKE MY SON! HELP!” Panic seized me. I’d gotten the wrong kid. My head whipped around just in time to see Vincent, holding a small, silent boy in the crook of one arm. Ross. They were both just staring at me. Father and son. 2 Vincent’s gaze was terrifying. A chilling frost emanated from his dark eyes, a look that promised to skin me alive. Ross, on the other hand, just stared with wide, curious eyes, as if I were some strange creature at the zoo. If a hole could have opened up in the ground right then, I would have gladly jumped in. A circle of angry parents closed in around me. “She looks so normal, too. Disgusting, preying on children.” “Don’t let her get away! Somebody call the cops!” Through a gap in the crowd, I shot Vincent a desperate, pleading look. He just gave me one last, glacial stare before turning, strapping Ross into the car, and shutting the door. He was leaving me here. My heart sank. “It was a mistake!” I tried to explain to the mob. “I just recognized the wrong child! I’m not a kidnapper!” They weren’t buying it. Then, silence fell. The chattering crowd went quiet, their angry faces turning to ones of fear as they looked past me. I turned. Vincent was standing there, his expression unreadable. A path had been cleared through the crowd by two imposing men in dark suits. So, he hadn’t left. My voice was a sheepish whisper. “I was just trying to pick up Ross.” A humorless smile touched his lips. “You can’t even recognize your own son,” he said, his voice a low, cold thing laced with fury. He spun on his heel and strode back to the car. I scrambled to follow. Inside the car, the silence was suffocating. He sat beside me, while Ross was buckled into his car seat in the back. A small head popped up between our seats. “Mommy doesn’t remember Ross,” our son mumbled, his lower lip trembling. “You thought that other boy was Ross.” I was surprised he even knew who I was. “Ross, sweetie, how did you know I was your mommy?” “Daddy told me…” Vincent’s hand shot out, pulling me back against the seat. He turned to our son. “Ross, play with your toys. No more talking.” Ross’s lip jutted out. “But why can’t I talk?” “Because I said so,” Vincent snapped, his voice sharp. Ross huffed. “Bad Daddy!” “Yeah,” I muttered under my breath, “bad Daddy.” Vincent’s eyes, burning with an emotion I couldn’t decipher, flickered to me. I immediately shut my mouth. “You abandoned him without a word,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “You think you’re in any position to call someone a bad parent, Stella?” I lowered my head, the silence my only answer. 3 The ringing of Vincent’s phone shattered the tension. He answered, and a woman’s melodic voice floated through the car’s speakers. I knew that voice. It was Shailene, the heroine of this world. “Vincent, darling,” she chirped, “I’ve picked out a few wedding dresses. I’m sending you the pictures now. Tell me which one you like best.” “Okay,” Vincent’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “Send them over.” A wave of bitter memories washed over me. He and Shailene were childhood sweethearts, inseparable until she chose the story’s hero, Aiden, instead. It was that rejection, that unrequited love, that twisted Vincent into the brooding, shadowy villain he became. When I was first sent here to win him over, Shailene and Aiden were already a couple. I tried everything—flirting, grand romantic gestures, you name it. He remained a block of ice. Finally, out of sheer desperation, I spiked his drink. It was the only way I managed to get through to him. After that one night, I clung to him, insisting he had to take responsibility. He did, reluctantly at first. But then… it was like he’d awakened a hunger he never knew he had. Once he got a taste, he couldn’t get enough. His stamina was unreal. But I endured it all, for the mission. And still, the progress bar stalled at 99%. It wouldn’t budge, no matter what I did. I felt like I was losing my mind, my body, everything. Just as I was about to give up, I found out I was pregnant. I cashed in all my points with the System for a painless childbirth package. A baby, I thought. A baby will surely get me that final 1%. The day Vincent found out I was pregnant, he was so ecstatic he didn’t sleep a wink. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Is the pillow comfortable? Do you think it’ll be a boy or a girl? We should start buying clothes. If it’s a girl…” The relentless stream of questions, combined with a surge of pregnancy hormones, made something in me snap. I slapped him. Hard. The second my palm made contact, regret flooded me. This was the volatile, unpredictable villain of the story. No one crossed him. He’d ruined men for lesser offenses. A baby might not be enough to save me if I’d pushed him too far. As I opened my mouth to apologize, he did something I never expected. He slapped himself. “I’m sorry, Stella,” he whispered, his voice raw. “I shouldn’t have bothered you. You and the baby need to rest. I was just… so happy. Please, forgive me?” I just stared, speechless. From that day on, I took full advantage. I used the baby as a shield and a weapon, ordering him around like a king. This continued until three months after Ross was born. The progress bar was still stuck. 99%. I summoned the System. “Is this thing bugged? It hasn’t moved an inch!” [The progress bar is functioning perfectly, Host.] I’d given him a child. A whole human being. And it still wasn’t enough. The truth hit me with sickening certainty. That last 1%… it was for Shailene. It was the space in his heart he would always keep for her. Rage, pure and blinding, consumed me. “I’m done!” I screamed. “Get me out of here! Send me back to my world. Now!” 4 Ross was asleep by the time we reached the mansion. Vincent carried him upstairs, his movements gentle. I stood in the foyer, looking around. The house was exactly as I’d left it three years ago, a perfect, sterile time capsule. That’s when I heard it. A faint, muffled scream. It came from the basement. As I crept towards the door, the System popped into my head. [My poor hero is locked in there! Aiden! Vincent’s been starving him for three days. He’s going to lose his mind! If this continues, it’s game over for this whole world!] [You have to do something. The key to the basement is in Vincent’s study. Find a way to get it and let Aiden out.] I froze. Aiden, the hero of this world, was a man who could move mountains. How had he ended up imprisoned in Vincent’s basement? Footsteps echoed from the staircase. I darted back into the living room, pretending to casually admire a painting. Vincent appeared, having changed into a simple grey sweatshirt and sweatpants. He walked towards me, his familiar scent of sandalwood and old books wrapping around me. He stopped, towering over me. “Why did you come back, Stella?” I looked up into his unreadable eyes. “I missed you,” I lied. “And Ross.” A ghost of a smile played on his lips, but it never reached his eyes. “You really think I’d believe that?” His gaze was so intense it felt like a physical weight. “It’s true,” I insisted, my voice sounding weak even to my own ears. “I was wrong to leave. I regret it. I came back for you. Please… don’t marry Shailene.” Instinctively, I reached out and clutched the sleeve of his sweatshirt, looking up at him with the most pathetic expression I could manage, just like I used to. He said nothing, just continued to stare, dissecting me with his eyes. The silence was unnerving. “I… I have to use the restroom,” I stammered, pulling away and fleeing. I hid in the bathroom for what felt like an eternity. When I finally emerged, the living room was empty. Tiptoeing upstairs, I peeked into the master bedroom. The door was ajar. Vincent was lying on the bed, the collar of his sleep shirt open, revealing the hard planes of his chest. One arm was flung over his eyes, as if shielding them from the light. He seemed to be asleep. My mind flashed back to Aiden, starving in the basement. Now was my chance. I slipped into the study across the hall and began searching the desk drawers. In the bottom one, beneath a stack of old files, I found it: a single, black, ornate key. Just as I stood up, key in hand, I heard footsteps in the hall. Panicked, I dove under the massive mahogany desk. Through the gap, I saw Vincent walk in and sink into the leather armchair opposite the desk. His voice, lazy yet laced with steel, echoed in the quiet room. “Come out.” 5 My heart stopped. For a second, I was paralyzed, hidden in the shadows. “I’m not going to say it again,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. Slowly, I crawled out from under the desk. He gestured to the chair opposite him. I sat, my hand clenching the key in my pocket, trying to look as innocent as possible. His face was a handsome, emotionless mask. “What were you looking for?” he asked, his dark eyes boring into me. “I… got lost,” I said, the lie tasting like ash in my mouth. “I thought this was the bathroom.” A dry, humorless laugh escaped his lips. “Do you take me for a fool, Stella? Is this some kind of game to you?” “It’s not a game! I just took a wrong turn!” I insisted, my voice a little too loud. His smile vanished. “What did you take? Give it to me now, and we can pretend this never happened.” My pulse hammered against my ribs. “Take what? I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you don’t believe me, search me.” I’d already slipped the key between the sofa cushions. It was a risky move, but my only one. He rose from his chair and advanced on me, his large frame casting a long shadow over me. He leaned in, planting one hand on the back of the sofa, trapping me. With his other hand, he tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. “A search, you say?” he murmured, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I don’t even have pockets,” I shot back. “Where could I possibly hide anything?” His gaze drifted downwards, his eyes darkening with a raw, undisguised hunger as they settled on the neckline of my t-shirt. I glanced down. The soft cotton dipped low, revealing the swell of my chest. I instinctively crossed my arms. “It’s not in there.” “You never know.” “You’re just looking for an excuse to touch me, you pervert!” I snapped. He raised an eyebrow. “Call it what you want. Either you take it off and let me look, or I’ll reach in and check for myself.” Shoving him back, I gave in. He’s seen it all before, anyway. I pulled the shirt over my head in one swift, angry motion. “Satisfied?” I spat, standing before him in just my bra. He paused, his eyes lingering for a beat too long. “They’ve gotten bigger.” I nearly choked on my indignation, quickly turning my back to pull my shirt back on. 6 “Stella,” Vincent’s voice was low and steady, cutting through my anger. “I don’t like being lied to. Do you have any idea how many times you’ve lied to me? How many of the things you said were actually true?” I froze, my back still to him. “Maybe one or two things were… embellished,” I mumbled, my voice thin with guilt. “But most of it was real.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “Only one or two? Tell me which ones. I’m curious.” I couldn’t speak. “Can’t think of any?” he pressed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Should I help you remember? Do you recall what you told me, three years ago?” He paused, letting the silence hang heavy in the air. “You said you would never leave me and Ross.” He let out a dry, broken sound that was almost a sob. “And the stupid thing is… I actually believed you.” He stood and walked towards the door, stopping in the doorway. “I hope you’re not lying this time,” he said without turning around. “I hope you really did come back because you missed us.” I sat there, stunned, long after he was gone. [Host,] the System’s voice broke the silence. [Don’t forget about Aiden. You have to get him out tonight.] I hesitated for a moment before whispering, “Okay.” In the dead of night, I crept back to the study, retrieved the key, and made my way to the basement. The lock clicked open with a heavy thud. The air inside was thick with the smell of mildew and something metallic, like old blood. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw a single chair in the center of the room. A man sat on it, his head bowed, idly turning a wedding band on his finger. Even slumped in defeat, his broad shoulders spoke of a power that was now contained. He looked lonely. Desolate. “Aiden?” I whispered into the gloom. The man chuckled softly, a low, familiar sound that made the hair on my arms stand up. It wasn’t Aiden. He lifted his head, his eyes a pair of black holes in the dim light, utterly devoid of hope. It was Vincent. His voice was a ragged, heartbroken whisper, each word a shard of glass. “You lied to me. Again.”

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For the second time that night, Adam brought Victoria Thorne to my birthday party, introducing her as my “dearest friend” and Shen Corporation’s newest partner—the same woman who stole my three-year project last week. Leaning close, he whispered, “You should thank me. I’m helping you preserve your friendship.” Soon she was wearing my jewelry, using my stylist, and even representing his company. Then at the family hunt, Adam gave her my horse. “Your riding is subpar,” he said, not looking at me. “Don’t slow us down.” I watched them gallop off as someone commented, “What a handsome couple.” When rain poured down later, everyone left. Adam texted, “Figure it out yourself. Don’t ruin the mood.” I slid off my engagement ring and replied, “Fine.” Then another message appeared—from Damien Blackwood: “Seraphina, did you ever get that letter I wrote you?” 1 The rain was streaming down my face, clinging to my eyelashes as I stared at the screen. Damien’s text felt like a ghost from another lifetime. That letter I wrote you back then… did you ever get it? I wiped the water from my face, my thumb smearing across the soaked screen several times before it finally unlocked. In the distance, the roar of a sports car cut through the storm. The taillights of Adam’s black Lamborghini were a vicious, bleeding red in the curtain of rain. The passenger window slid down. A black umbrella was tossed out, landing and rolling in the muddy water. “Don’t get sick,” Adam’s voice, muffled by the downpour, drifted back to me. “You’ll miss the gala next week.” Victoria Thorne leaned out from the passenger seat, her freshly styled curls perfectly dry. “Seraphina, do you want us to wait for you?” she asked, her voice dripping with false concern. But even as she spoke, her fingers were already pressing the button to raise the window. The engine roared to life again. I bent down and picked up the umbrella. As I opened it, one of the ribs snapped with a pathetic crack. The wind instantly caught the canopy, flipping it inside out and sending a fresh cascade of icy water down my head and back. My phone vibrated again. A new text from Damien. “Call me when you see this.” I stared at his name for a long moment, and then a bitter laugh escaped my lips. How ironic. The one person I could never stand back in school was now the only one checking in on me. Meanwhile, my fiancé was speeding away with my best friend. “Miss Shen!” The estate’s security guard came jogging toward me, holding a large umbrella over his head. “Mr. Vance said you would be calling your own car.” I shook the water from the broken umbrella. “Are there any cars left at the stables?” “Well…” the guard began, wringing his hands. “Miss Thorne took the last of the golf carts. She said Mr. Vance gave her permission.” Rainwater was now streaming down my spine, my formal gown clinging to my legs like a second skin. I fumbled for my wallet, only to find the cash inside was soaked through, and my credit card had, at some point, snapped in two. “Could I possibly use your phone?” Just as I asked, the walkie-talkie on his belt crackled to life. “Hey, Frank, Mr. Vance just called. Said to lock the East Gate. Something about preventing thieves.” My hand tightened on the handle of the broken umbrella. Thieves? I had just paid off Victoria’s gambling debts last week. The voice on the radio continued, oblivious. “He said Miss Shen knows her way around. Tell her to use the West Gate.” The West Gate was on the other side of the hunting grounds. At least five kilometers away. Seeing the look of pity and helplessness on the guard’s face, I didn’t press him. The rain fell harder. I started the long walk in my heels, the hem of my gown dragging through the mud, each step feeling like I was pulling my foot out of thick clay. Half an hour later, my phone began vibrating uncontrollably. A series of messages from the Vance family’s butler: “Mr. Vance is asking where you are.” “Miss Thorne says you’re deliberately dragging your feet. Please hurry.” “Mr. Vance, Sr. requires you to return immediately for a dress fitting.” The last message included a photo. It was Victoria, twirling in my custom-made gown while Adam adjusted the waistline for her. I stopped walking. I shoved the wet phone back into my purse, turned, and threw the broken umbrella into a ditch. The gold-leaf logo on the canopy was quickly washed away by the muddy water. Headlights cut through the darkness. I instinctively raised a hand to shield my eyes. A taxi slowed to a stop beside me. The driver rolled down his window. “You need a ride, miss?” As I pulled the door open, I glanced one last time at my phone. Damien’s message was still on the screen. I swiped the notification away. “Take me to the nearest hotel,” I told the driver, not caring as my soaked dress left a dark stain on the leather seat. 2 I ran a fever for three days. The Vance family doctor had just left when a maid delivered the gown for the upcoming gala. It wasn’t the style I had chosen. The neckline was cut far too low, the waist taken in. “Mr. Vance said you’d lost weight and had the size altered,” the maid explained, keeping her eyes on the floor. “Miss Thorne helped choose the new style.” My hand trembled as I touched the delicate embroidery on the skirt. This was supposed to be my engagement dress, now tainted by Victoria’s touch. My phone lit up with a message from Adam. “Seven o’clock. Don’t be late.” I stared at the screen for a long time, typing and deleting a reply before finally just sending back a single, empty “K.” The gala was held at the Vance family mansion. When my car pulled up, Victoria was at the entrance, clinging to Adam’s arm as they greeted guests. She was wearing a breathtaking champagne-gold gown, and around her neck was the Vance family heirloom—a string of emeralds that should have been around my neck. “Seraphina!” she chirped, rushing over to take my hand in a display of familiar affection. “Are you feeling better? Adam was so worried about you.” I pulled my hand away. My fingertips were ice-cold. Across the foyer, Adam’s gaze swept over me, cool and dismissive, like a father looking at a misbehaving child. “Let’s go inside,” he said, his voice flat. “It’s about to start.” The ballroom was a glittering spectacle of chandeliers and diamonds. I found a quiet corner and watched as Adam led Victoria to the center of the dance floor. The master of ceremonies’ voice boomed through the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us. Tonight, Miss Thorne will be taking Miss Shen’s place for the opening dance.” As applause filled the room, my nails dug into my palms. Victoria’s smile was radiant. Adam’s hand rested possessively on her waist as they moved to the music. The emeralds around her neck caught the light, each flash a sharp sting in my eyes. When the music ended, Adam walked toward me. The crowd parted for him as if he were royalty, and every eye in the room followed him. “Are you angry?” he asked, his voice low. He reached out, his fingers brushing against my collarbone. “You were sick. You couldn’t dance.” I didn’t answer. His touch was cold, detached, like he was examining an object. He produced a diamond necklace as if from thin air. “Don’t be difficult. I’ll make it up to you when we get home.” The cold metal pressed against my skin. I could smell Victoria’s perfume on him. After the gala, I went straight to one of the guest rooms. As I took off the necklace, I noticed a tiny inscription on the inside of the clasp: V.T. Victoria Thorne. I stood on the balcony overlooking the pool. The water shimmered under the moonlight, a shattered mirror. I held the necklace up, letting it catch the light one last time before I flung it into the air. It made a small plunk as it hit the water and sank. “Fetch it.” Adam’s voice came from behind me. I hadn’t heard him enter. He had his suit jacket draped over his arm, his tie loosened. “That’s Victoria’s necklace,” he said, stepping closer and gripping my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You’ve worn it. Now it’s time to return it to its rightful owner.” I jerked my head away. “And the family heirloom? Is that hers now, too?” “She’s borrowing it,” Adam snapped, his brow furrowing. “Why do you have to be so petty about everything?” A splash came from the pool below. Victoria, still in her gown, was in the water. She held up the diamond necklace, waving it at us with a triumphant smile. “I found it!” 3 Water dripped from her hair, plastering the silk of her gown to her body. Adam’s gaze darkened. “I’ll get her a towel,” he said, his voice suddenly rough. I stood frozen as I watched him hurry to the edge of the pool. He shrugged off his own jacket and wrapped it around Victoria, his movements gentle, as if he were handling something precious. Victoria leaned into his embrace, her eyes meeting mine over his shoulder. Her smile was pure victory. The emeralds glowed against her skin, while the diamond necklace I had just thrown away rested in her palm. Adam glanced back at me. “What are you standing there for? Go get her a blanket.” He said it so naturally, as if ordering me around was the most normal thing in the world. Just as he had taken my place in the dance, taken my family’s heirloom, and taken my dignity. I turned and walked back toward the guest room, tears burning behind my eyes. I bit my lip, hard. Don’t cry, I told myself. Not in front of her. I caught my reflection in a hallway mirror—my face pale, my eyes red, a faint red mark on my neck where the necklace had been. A brand of shame. Outside, I could hear Victoria’s laughter and Adam’s low, rumbling voice. They were playing by the pool, the sound of splashing water echoing in the night. I pulled the curtains shut, but I couldn’t block out the sound. On the nightstand was the next day’s itinerary. Victoria’s name was written where mine should have been, with Adam’s bold signature and the word “Approved” scrawled beside it. A wave of nausea washed over me, and I stumbled into the bathroom, collapsing in front of the toilet as my stomach heaved. The cool tiles did little to soothe me. I was still on my knees, weak and shaking, when Victoria’s voice, sickly sweet, came from the doorway. “Seraphina, are you okay?” I pushed myself up and splashed cold water on my face. “Oh, my!” Victoria gasped with mock surprise. “You didn’t lock the door!” She was holding up her phone, the camera pointed directly at me. I threw a hand up to cover my face, but it was too late. I heard the distinct click of the shutter. A sly smile played on her lips. “What are you doing?” I rasped. “Adam asked me to check on you,” she said, waving her phone. “He said you haven’t been feeling well lately.” I lunged for the phone, but she danced away. The heel of her shoe came down hard on a piece of paper that had fallen from my purse. It was the report I’d brought back from the hospital, already crumpled from being clenched in my fist. Now, it was torn. “Pregnancy, eight weeks?” she said, bending down to pick it up. Her eyes went wide. “Oh my god!” I snatched the report back, my chest heaving. Victoria was already tapping furiously on her phone. “Don’t—” The sharp, crisp sound of a message being sent cut me off. She winked at me. “Oops. Accidentally sent it to the socialites’ group chat.” My own phone exploded with notifications. The messages were scrolling too fast to read. [Congratulations!] [The Vance family is getting an heir!] [When’s the wedding?] The last message was from Victoria. [Seraphina wanted to wait until the first trimester to announce it.] I was trembling, the room spinning. In the mirror, Victoria hummed a little tune as she reapplied her lipstick, her smile dazzlingly cruel. “Victoria.” Adam’s voice echoed from the hallway. “What’s taking so long?” She ran to him, throwing her arms around his. “Adam, Seraphina has wonderful news!” He frowned, his eyes finding me in the bathroom doorway. I clutched the torn paper, my throat closing up. “Is it true?” he asked, striding toward me, his hand outstretched for the report. I took a step back, my body hitting the cold marble of the sink. His expression hardened. He snatched the paper from my hand, the fragile sheet tearing further. “Eight weeks,” he murmured, his face a storm of unreadable emotions. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Victoria pressed herself against his side. “Adam, I didn’t mean to tell everyone, I swear.” “Get out,” Adam said, his voice low. She froze. He didn’t look up from the report. “Victoria, leave us.” After the door clicked shut, he stepped toward me. His hand came to rest on my stomach, his palm surprisingly warm, his touch impossibly gentle. “We’ll keep it,” he said, his voice raw. “I’ll marry you.” My eyes stung with unshed tears. For a single, fragile moment, he was the old Adam again, the boy who used to stay up all night making me porridge when I was sick. “Really?” I whispered. “Yes.” He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Let’s go home and talk.” That night, for the first time in years, Adam cooked. He made me porridge. I sat at the dining table, watching his back as he moved around the kitchen, my heart aching with a confusing mix of pain and hope. “Careful, it’s hot,” he said, placing the bowl in front of me. “And no more high heels for a while.” I looked down and began to eat. A tear splashed into the warm porridge. He reached out and gently wiped it from my cheek, his thumb warm against my skin. “What are you crying for?” he said, his voice soft with something that sounded like exasperation. “You’re going to be a mother.” I nodded, choking back a sob. The steam from the bowl blurred my vision. In that moment, I almost forgave him for everything. 4 The next morning, I was jolted awake by the incessant buzzing of my phone. The Vance family group chat had exploded with over 99 new messages. At the very top was a video posted by Victoria. In the shaky footage, she was helping me walk, my head lolling to the side in a deep, unnatural sleep. Suddenly, she “tripped,” sending both of us tumbling to the floor. The video froze on my pale, unconscious face. The caption read: [So sorry! It was a total accident! I feel awful!] The last few seconds of the video showed a dark stain spreading on the floor beneath me. Blood. I felt a dull ache in my abdomen. Beneath the video was a reply from Adam: [She’s always been weak. The baby probably wouldn’t have survived anyway.] I stared at the screen, my fingers numb. The bedroom door opened, and Adam walked in, fastening his tie. “You’re awake?” He glanced at my phone and frowned. “Stop looking at that.” I looked up at him, my voice hollow. “You knew, didn’t you?” “Knew what?” he asked, his tone flat. “It was an accident. Victoria didn’t mean for it to happen.” “The porridge,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “You drugged it. There’s no way I would have fallen asleep at the dinner table like that.” I threw back the covers. My legs were weak, and the pain in my stomach intensified. Adam caught me as I stumbled. “Stop throwing a tantrum.” “I’m going to the hospital.” “Fine. I’ve already had the family doctor look at you,” he said, letting go of me. “The child is gone. There will be others.” I somehow made it to the hospital on my own. The doctor confirmed it: I’d had a miscarriage. He said I needed rest, that my emotional state was fragile. While I was at the payment counter, I saw Adam and Victoria walking into the VIP wing. They didn’t see me. Victoria was leaning against his shoulder, and Adam was listening to her, a small smile on his face. I clutched the bag of prescription pills, my palm slick with sweat. My phone buzzed. A new message from Victoria. [Adam brought me for a pregnancy checkup!] [He said he wants only the best for me.] Attached was a photo of her holding up an ultrasound picture, her hand resting on her flat stomach. Adam stood beside her, his hand on her shoulder. My vision blurred. The bag of pills slipped from my grasp, scattering across the floor. A janitor rushed over to help, but I just shook my head and walked toward the elevator. Just before the doors closed, I heard Victoria’s bright, tinkling laughter. It was like a knife twisting in my heart. The elevator opened on the ground floor. I stumbled out and almost collided with a nurse pushing a bassinet. The tiny baby inside grinned at me, its face pink and perfect. “Isn’t he adorable?” the nurse asked with a smile. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. On a television in the corner, a financial news program was playing. Adam and Victoria were at another charity gala. She was deliberately cradling her flat stomach, and he was leaning in to whisper something in her ear, his expression tender—a stark contrast to the cold man who had fastened his tie in my bedroom that morning. I touched my own empty belly and started to laugh. A hollow, broken sound. How ironic. My child was a pool of blood on the floor, and its father was at a prenatal appointment with another woman. So, Adam, I thought, it wasn’t that you didn’t want a child. You just didn’t want a child with me. My trembling fingers found my phone. Damien’s message was still there, waiting. I took a deep breath and slowly typed my reply. [I didn’t get it. But I want to see you now.]

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When I finally got my laptop back from my roommate, Jenna, the C-drive was a solid block of red. The desktop was littered with icons for three massive online games and at least a dozen different media players I’d never seen before. I spent an entire afternoon purging the junk, reinstalling the OS, and then I changed the login password. That evening, Jenna came back and found she was locked out. She stormed over to my desk, her face flushed with anger. “Leah, what the hell is this? My thesis is on there! Are you trying to screw me over?” “It’s my laptop,” I said calmly. “You’ve ‘borrowed’ it for a month.” Suddenly, she lunged. She snatched the laptop off my desk and, with a furious scream, smashed it onto the floor. 1 The crash echoed through the room with a sickening finality. My silver MacBook lay shattered on the linoleum, its case split open like a clamshell. The guts were exposed, emitting a faint, fizzing electrical sound. Absolute silence fell over the dorm room. My other two roommates, Maya and Becca, froze, staring at the carnage in disbelief. I just stood there, stunned. My dad had bought me that laptop as a graduation present when I got into college. I’d used it for three years, and I’d treated it like a precious thing. Jenna’s chest was heaving. For a split second after the impact, she looked as shocked as we were, but that shock was instantly consumed by an even hotter rage. She pointed a trembling finger at the wreckage. “Leah! Are you happy now? What about my thesis? What about my graduation? You want to ruin my life, is that it?” Her logic was, as always, breathtaking. I didn’t scream or break down like she probably expected. I didn’t even shed a tear. I just slowly knelt, took out my phone, and began taking pictures of the destroyed laptop from multiple angles, the flash cutting sharply through the dim room. My calculated calm seemed to unnerve her. “What… what are you doing?” A flicker of panic entered her voice. I stood up, slid my phone back into my pocket, and met her furious gaze. “You’re going to pay for it, Jenna,” I said, my voice perfectly even. “Full price, what it costs on the Apple store right now. Not a penny less.” Jenna let out a high, incredulous laugh. “Pay for it? Are you insane, Leah? Your family sends you enough to buy a new one like it’s a head of lettuce. Me? I’m on financial aid! My work-study check is barely enough for groceries! What am I supposed to pay you with? My life?” She was already slipping into her well-worn victim narrative, trying to seize the moral high ground. “Besides,” she added, her voice rising, “if you hadn’t changed the password, I wouldn’t have gotten so stressed out! And if I wasn’t stressed, my hands wouldn’t have slipped! When you really think about it, this is your fault!” Maya spoke up timidly from her corner. “Jenna, calm down… I mean, it is Leah’s laptop. She paid good money for it. It’s only fair that you replace it.” “You shut up!” Jenna snapped, whirling on her. “You’ve got money, just like her. It’s easy for you to stand there and judge! Have you ever had to worry about making next semester’s tuition? Have you ever lived on ramen for a week straight? No! You have no idea!” I looked at her, so self-righteously indignant, and almost laughed. She lived on ramen but somehow always had money for the latest in-game character skins. She couldn’t make tuition, but she’d managed to haul in a mountain of cheap, discounted makeup during the Black Friday sales. Her poverty was a performance. It was a weapon she used to justify taking whatever she wanted, to excuse any harm she caused. I was done arguing. I just repeated my terms. “Pay for it. Or we call the police.” “The police?” Jenna’s voice shot up an octave. She stared at me, her teeth gritted. “Go on! Call them! Let’s see what the cops think when a rich girl tries to ruin a poor student’s life over a piece of metal! I can’t finish my thesis, I won’t graduate, and my entire future will be destroyed! It will all be your fault! If I go down, I’m taking you with me!” The venom in her eyes, the raw and unhinged look on her face, sent a genuine chill down my spine. It reminded me of the stories you see on the news, the ones that end in tragedy. I said nothing. Seeing her advantage, Becca rushed in to play peacemaker. “Come on, Leah, don’t take it so seriously. Jenna didn’t mean it, she’s just under a lot of pressure. Why don’t you… just let it go? It’s an old laptop anyway. I’m sure your dad can just get you a new one. We’re all roommates here, getting the police involved would be so ugly.” Jenna immediately latched on, a triumphant smirk touching her lips. “See? Becca gets it. Don’t be so petty, Leah.” Watching them, a team of two against me, I felt the last bit of warmth in my chest evaporate. I didn’t say another word. I just knelt again, carefully gathering the pieces of my broken laptop and placing them back in their original box. Jenna thought she’d won. The victorious smile spread across her face. She even offered a magnanimous olive branch. “There, see? If you’d just been reasonable from the start, none of this would have happened. I’ll buy you a coffee tomorrow.” I ignored her. Cradling the box like a coffin, I turned and walked out of the room. 2 I didn’t go to the library or a friend’s dorm. I went straight to my academic advisor’s office. His name was Mr. Evans. He was a man in his late thirties with glasses and a perpetually gentle, understanding demeanor. He listened to my story, his brow furrowing as he peered into the box at the mangled remains of my MacBook. “I understand the situation, Leah,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “However, Jenna’s case is… unique. She is one of the university’s most prominent scholarship students. We have a certain duty of care for students in her position.” I listened, holding my tongue. “Look, she was clearly under immense pressure with her thesis deadline. It was an impulsive act. And realistically, given her financial situation, she simply can’t afford to replace it. If you file a police report, it will create a record, and that could follow her for the rest of her life.” Mr. Evans’s tone was that of a patient father explaining a hard truth. “For you, a laptop is a replaceable object. For her, a blemish on her record could be a life sentence.” “So, what are you suggesting, Mr. Evans?” I asked. “What I’m suggesting is, for the sake of fellowship, and as a favor to me, we let this go.” He offered a placating smile. “Let’s not make this a bigger issue than it needs to be. I’ll have a serious talk with Jenna. I’ll have her write you a formal letter of apology, and she can even deliver it in front of the whole department if you’d like. How does that sound?” A letter of apology. To compensate for a thousand-dollar piece of hardware and intentional property destruction. I shook my head. “Mr. Evans, this isn’t about being petty. It’s about the principle of the thing. When you do something wrong, you have to take responsibility. She wasn’t thinking about ‘fellowship’ when she smashed my computer.” His face hardened. “Leah, you need to see the bigger picture. Is it really worth jeopardizing a fellow student’s future, and tarnishing the reputation of our department, over something so trivial?” The undertone was no longer gentle. It was a threat. Just then, as if on cue, Jenna herself appeared in the doorway, having realized where I’d gone. The moment she saw Mr. Evans, her eyes welled up. She rushed to his desk, tears streaming down her face. “Mr. Evans, you have to help me! I didn’t mean to do it! I was just so dizzy from staring at my research, and my hand slipped… Leah’s blowing this all out of proportion! She said she’s going to call the cops and get me expelled… I don’t know what to do…” She was a master of turning reality inside out. Mr. Evans immediately slipped into the role of the protective father figure, handing her a tissue and murmuring, “There, there, it’s alright. I’m here. I won’t let anyone bully you.” He then turned back to me, his expression now openly hostile. “Leah! Look what you’ve done to her! Jenna already told you it was an accident, so why do you insist on persecuting her? Where is your compassion? Your empathy? Is it because you come from a more privileged background that you feel you can look down on students who are less fortunate?” And there it was. In one swift move, I had been recast as the privileged bully. I stood there, watching this touching display of mentorship, and I could feel my entire body trembling with rage. “Mr. Evans, there are other witnesses in the room. They can confirm it was deliberate. The difference between dropping something and throwing it is obvious. Just look at the damage in the box.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Enough. I’ve heard enough. This matter is closed. Jenna, you go back and focus on your thesis. And Leah, you will go back to your room and write a one-thousand-word statement reflecting on your failure to foster a supportive environment among your peers. I want it on my desk by Friday.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You want me, the victim, to write a letter of apology?” “Yes!” he snapped, slapping his desk for emphasis. “Your decision to change the password was the catalyst for this whole incident! You lit the fuse! Are you telling me you bear no responsibility at all? My decision is final! If you continue to pursue this, it could have serious consequences for your own academic standing.” Without giving me another glance, he turned to Jenna with a warm smile. “Don’t you worry about a thing. If you have any trouble with the thesis, you come straight to me. I have a spare laptop in my office you can use. Come on, let’s go get it.” He led her out, leaving me alone in the office with the box of my computer’s remains. A tidal wave of humiliation and fury washed over me, so powerful it almost knocked me off my feet. 3 Back in the dorm room, the atmosphere was thick enough to choke on. Jenna wasn’t there, probably off receiving further ‘care and support’ from Mr. Evans. Becca saw me and immediately looked away, muttering, “Leah, don’t be mad. Mr. Evans was just trying to do what’s best for everyone…” I ignored her and walked to my desk. My other roommate, Maya, came over. She hesitated for a moment, then handed me a bottle of water. “Leah, don’t let them get to you,” she whispered. “I saw what happened. I can be your witness.” I looked up at her. Maya’s eyes were filled with sympathy and a hint of guilt. She was quiet by nature and usually stayed out of our dorm disputes. “Thanks,” I said, taking the water. She sat on the edge of my bed, her voice sinking lower. “Honestly… Jenna has always been like this. Last semester, I bought a new tube of lipstick. I only used it twice before it went missing. A week later, I saw her using it. When I confronted her, she claimed she’d bought the exact same shade and then accused me of bullying her. She cried in the common room for an hour, making it look like I was the bad guy.” I nodded. I’d heard similar stories. Jenna’s ‘borrowing’ was a one-way street. It started with small things, like pens and tissues, and escalated to clothes and skincare products. Most people, intimidated by her scholarship-student status and her hair-trigger temper, just let it go. I had been one of them. I’d felt sorry for her when she said she didn’t have a reliable computer for her thesis, which is why I’d lent her mine in the first place. And my reward was a smashed laptop and a reprimand from my own advisor. It suddenly clicked. I remembered hearing that Mr. Evans had also come from a low-income background, attending this very university on a full ride before being hired after graduation. Of course. I should never have gone to him. The thought of his demand—that I write a self-criticism essay—sparked a cold fire in my gut. I took out my phone. If he was so determined to protect his star scholarship student, to sacrifice fairness for his own biased narrative, then I would give him a gift he wouldn’t forget. Maya leaned over curiously. “What are you doing?” “Writing my statement,” I said. I started typing. I documented everything that had happened today, starting with Jenna’s long-term monopolization of my laptop, her violent destruction of it, and culminating in Mr. Evans’s ‘mediation’—his blatant favoritism, his threats, and his demand that I, the victim, be the one to apologize. I scrubbed the names, using aliases: ‘Scholarship Student J’ and ‘Advisor E.’ The tone was cool and factual, a simple statement of events without any emotional flourishes. When I was done, I proofread it, then attached the photos of the wreckage and a screenshot of the official estimate from the repair shop, which declared the laptop ‘unrepairable and recommended for disposal.’ Then, I logged onto the university’s online forum. It was the digital heart of the campus, a place where thousands of students shared news, traded gossip, and debated everything under the sun. I took a deep breath and created a new post. The title was: ‘My Scholarship Roommate Smashed My Laptop, and My Advisor Told Me to Apologize.’ After hitting ‘submit,’ I closed my phone. A strange sense of peace settled over me. I had no idea what would happen next, but I knew one thing for sure. I would not be silent. Silence is how you let the rot spread. The next morning, I was woken by Maya’s gasp. “Oh my God! Leah! You need to see the forum!” I grabbed my phone. My post had exploded. Overnight, it had racked up over a hundred thousand views and three thousand replies. It was pinned to the top of the homepage, the title glowing in bold red.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384422”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

For twelve years, we were the perfect couple. Then my wife, with her seven-figure income, fell in love with the new guy at the front desk. He was nearly forty, not as handsome as me, not in as good of shape. But in the space of six short months, he had apparently given her something I no longer could. Claire’s voice was hollowed out by exhaustion when she finally said it. “You can have the house, the cars. Everything. Leo… can you just let me go?” I looked down, my gaze falling on the polished floorboards we’d picked out together. “Okay,” I said, my voice even. The next day, I bought a desk calendar and circled that date in red ink. The divorce countdown: 30 days. 1 I slid the divorce agreement across the polished mahogany table toward Claire exactly forty minutes after she’d asked for it. As she’d offered, everything went to me: the house, the cars, and primary custody of our daughter, Chloe. She would pay a one-time settlement of two million dollars, covering alimony and child support. After that, we were done. Chloe and I would never bother her again. Claire was on a conference call, her head bowed. When she saw the words “Divorce Agreement” at the top of the page, there was a flicker, a barely perceptible tightening in her jaw. She gave a short, sharp nod, acknowledging it without breaking the flow of her meeting. I left her office and went back to our bedroom. To save us both the trouble later, I packed everything that was hers. It filled three large suitcases. I was meticulous, afraid to miss anything. I even climbed into the attic to retrieve a dusty box of her childhood photos. The last thing I saw was our wedding picture on the nightstand. Claire, her eyes bright and clear. Me, with a wide, easy grin, holding her in the afternoon sun. That was from the time when she would curl up against me at night and whisper, “I love you so much, Leo. I’m so lucky I married you.” We met in college. She was the girl in washed-out canvas sneakers, brilliant and driven, but with a quiet poverty clinging to her. Plenty of women were interested in me back then, but from the moment I saw Claire, I was done for. She was poised, kind, beautiful—a list of virtues I could spend a lifetime counting. We married right after graduation. She and a friend started a tech company from their garage. After Chloe was born, I made the decision to step back from my own career. I became the stay-at-home dad, the supportive husband. I took care of our home, our daughter, and Claire. I created the stable foundation upon which she could build her empire. And she did. As the company grew, so did the late-night meetings, the business dinners, the conferences. Through it all, I kept myself in shape. I learned about fashion, stayed current, made sure I was a man she’d be proud to have on her arm. To her credit, no matter how exhausted she was, she always came home and made time for Chloe, helped with chores, and played her part. To the outside world, we were the dream. The power couple who had it all figured out. I don’t know when it started to crack. The meetings began running later, sometimes stretching through the night. Friends would joke, “You better keep an eye on her, man.” I’d laugh it off, tell them I trusted her completely, but a cold knot of anxiety would tighten in my stomach. I started bringing late-night snacks to the office. Coffee and pastries. A morale boost for the team. There was never anything out of the ordinary. Just a group of people huddled in a conference room, and him—the new guy—waiting patiently at the front desk. His name was Mark. Early forties, average height, thin build, with a generic haircut. He was utterly unremarkable until he spoke; his voice was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to his plain appearance. He’d always smile and greet me warmly. For years, I’d braced myself for this possibility. I’d pictured a handsome, sharp-witted colleague. A brilliant young intern, hungry and ambitious. Maybe even a powerful, charismatic CEO she was partnering with. I never, not once, considered the guy at the front desk. I’d heard his story. A messy divorce—his ex-wife had cheated on him. This was his first job since the split, and he was grateful for it. He’d show up early, memorize everyone’s coffee order, and occasionally bring in homemade baked goods. Some of her employees even paid him to make their lunches, just to help him out. I remember telling Claire he seemed like a good guy going through a tough time, that she should look out for him. Her response was always cool and professional. “The office isn’t the place for charity, Leo. I’ve already told the staff to stop placing personal orders with him.” I teased her then, calling her a heartless CEO. Looking back, I realize it wasn’t a lack of compassion. She was probably just jealous that he was spending his evenings cooking for other people instead of for her. As for why she chose today to tell me? It was simple. This morning, she’d woken up with a crushing hangover. I’d made her my special hangover-cure omelet, just as I always did. She stared at the plate, sighed, and pushed it slightly away. After a long silence, she looked up at me, her eyes clouded with a fatigue that went bone-deep, and asked if we could get a divorce. She confessed everything. The affair had been going on for six months. On the nights she claimed to be working late, they were slipping away to hotel rooms. My heart felt like it was shattering inside a birdcage. I fought to keep my voice steady. I asked who it was. When she said his name—Mark—I was sure I’d misheard. A wave of helplessness, cold and absolute, washed over me. It felt like defeat. 2 By the time Claire finished her meeting, I had already eaten, cleaned the kitchen, and was sitting on the couch, watching a show on Netflix. Acting as if the world hadn’t just ended. She went to take a shower. A few minutes later, her voice, stripped of its corporate authority and instinctively familiar, called out. “Leo, honey? Where are my towels?” I didn’t turn around. “They’re in one of the suitcases,” I said, my eyes fixed on the screen. “You can use mine if you want. I’ll just throw it out after.” The silence that followed was long and heavy. When she came out, wrapped in my oversized towel, she finally noticed the three suitcases standing like sentinels by the front door. She sat down on the armchair across from me and pushed the signed agreement back with her fingertips. “About the settlement,” she began, her voice regaining its composure. “I can give you one-point-five million now, and the rest in monthly install—” “No,” I cut her off. “A clean break is better. I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to maintain contact with me.” A flicker of confusion crossed her face. “Chloe isn’t just your daughter, Leo. I have a right to be part of her life. I know this is my fault, and I’m willing to compensate you for it, but you don’t get to use our daughter as a weapon.” I paused the show and turned to face her fully. “You cheated. That’s on you. The settlement is fair compensation, and frankly, compared to your assets, it’s a bargain. As for Chloe, I’ve been her primary caregiver since she was born. She’s a highly sensitive kid who needs consistency. How much energy will you have for that while you’re in the honeymoon phase of a new relationship? Being part of her life is about more than money. It’s about time. It’s about being present.” She was speechless. After a moment, she managed, “Regardless, I’m not signing away my relationship with my daughter for two million dollars.” I reached over and tapped the document. “The two million is for alimony and child support. If you wish to provide additional ‘emotional support,’ you can wire it directly to Chloe’s trust fund. I’ll set one up for her.” A bitter, humorless laugh escaped her. “Leo, I never knew you were so obsessed with money. It’s all you can talk about.” “What else is there?” I shot back. “Is loving you worth anything anymore?” That silenced her for good. Her face hardened. She snatched a pen from the coffee table and signed her name with a sharp, angry stroke. We agreed to file the petition at the courthouse tomorrow. Then, she called her driver. I finished my show and went to bed. When I woke up, she was already gone. Chloe came running out of her room and threw her arms around my waist, babbling excitedly about a wonderful dream she’d had. As I listened, I gently tested the waters. I told her that Mommy’s company was really busy, and she might have to go on a long business trip. Usually, this would be met with a cascade of questions and demands to call her. “Mommy, when are you coming home?” But this time, Chloe just went quiet. She pursed her little lips. “Oh,” she said. “That’s okay. I have you to keep me company.” That broke me. A raw, ragged sob tore through my chest. I pretended I had to use the bathroom, locking the door behind me as the tears came, hot and fast. Agreeing to the divorce was one thing, but the guilt of breaking my daughter’s world in two was a different kind of pain. And yet, I knew this wasn’t my fault. After dropping Chloe at school, I met Claire at the county courthouse. We filed the initial petition. A mandatory 30-day cooling-off period. After that, the divorce would be final. Back in my car, I took out the new calendar and drew a circle around the day’s date. Divorce countdown: 30 days. 3 I wasn’t sure when to tell my parents. I grew up here; all our family and friends were local. My parents were retired teachers, and I was their only son. They were open-minded, but my father’s health had been fragile lately. I thought about waiting. Two days later, Claire called. It was unusual; she always texted. She preferred it because I was always available, always quick to respond. I’d deleted her number the night before. I answered. Her voice was steady, normal. “Leo, your mom just called. She’s making a big dinner tonight and wants us to come over. I was thinking, with your dad’s health… maybe we can wait to tell them about the divorce until he’s feeling stronger. What time should we head over? And his birthday is next Sunday. I should probably still go with you.” Her words solidified my decision. The hesitation vanished. “That won’t be necessary,” I said. “You don’t have to be stubborn about this, Leo. Your father’s health is what’s important.” My voice was flat. “If you really cared, you wouldn’t have chosen now to have an affair and blow up our family. My dad’s body might be weak, but his mind is sharp. And I guarantee he wouldn’t want me to stay in a marriage built on infidelity.” “Claire.” “Yes?” “Don’t call me again. If you want to see Chloe, follow the agreement. Once a week.” Her tone instantly shifted from conciliatory to combative. “Leo, I’ll say it again. Chloe is my daughter, too. My family—” “But you’re the one who gave up her family, aren’t you?” I heard a sharp thud on her end, like she’d slammed something down on her desk. I hung up and took a moment to pull myself together. Then, instead of going home, I drove to the mall. I bought new bedding, new towels, a new sofa—anything and everything Claire had picked out, I was replacing. And I wanted it all delivered today. By the time I was done, the house felt different. I cleaned it from top to bottom, then drove to my parents’ place. My mom was surprised to see me alone. “Claire busy with work?” I fell silent, my throat tight. “Mom,” I managed to say. She saw it immediately. The look on my face. She stopped what she was doing, her gaze softening with a deep, maternal understanding. She just stared at me for a second, then pulled me into her arms. I didn’t have to say a word. She could feel the hurt radiating off of me. I told her everything, my voice as calm as I could make it. She handed me a tissue. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “Divorce is common these days. If she was dishonest, if she did something like this, it’s better to know now. It’s over. Let it be over.” She paused, her eyes growing misty as she took my hand. “Leo, I only ask one thing of you.” I looked at her. “Since you’ve made this decision,” she said, her grip tightening, “no matter what happens, don’t ever go back to her.” “I won’t,” I sobbed, nodding. “I promise.” After dinner, my parents talked in their room for a long time. When my dad came out, he handed me a thick envelope. Inside was a check. “Today is a new beginning,” he said, his voice firm. “That’s something worth celebrating. I just want my son to be happy.” Leaving their house, I sat in the car and wept for what felt like an eternity. I had been so afraid of disappointing them. They’d had one of those quiet, steady marriages, a lifetime of mutual respect. When I’d decided to marry Claire, a girl with nothing to her name, they’d respected my choice against everyone else’s advice. Now, with Claire at the height of her success, when everyone envied me, they supported my decision to walk away without a moment’s hesitation. I wiped my eyes and glanced at the calendar on my dashboard. Divorce countdown: 28 days. 4 When I picked Chloe up from school, she told me her grandpa had called and invited her to stay for a week. She was bouncing with excitement. “He promised we could fly his new drone, Daddy! Can we go? Please?” I hesitated for only a second before taking her home to pack a small suitcase. Her joy was infectious. After I dropped her off, my mom walked me to the car. “Leo,” she said gently, “go do something for yourself. Get out of town.” As I drove away, I saw her in the rearview mirror, standing on the porch, watching until I was out of sight. I glanced at myself in the car’s vanity mirror. I looked pale, drawn, my eyes shadowed with grief. I took a deep breath, splashed some water on my face from a bottle, and sprayed a little cologne. Then I went home, packed a bag, and just started driving. I spent a week on the road. A blur of new faces and changing landscapes, of stories overheard in roadside diners. By the time I returned, I felt lighter. More like myself. I looked at the calendar. Divorce countdown: 21 days. 5 I got back just in time for my dad’s birthday party. They’d decided to host it at a hotel this year, a small gathering of close friends and family, about five tables in total. Naturally, everyone was asking about Claire. Chloe was at a weekend art class, thankfully. My parents gracefully deflected the questions. Just before the meal started, my dad went on stage to say a few words. That’s when Claire arrived. She was wearing a stunning designer dress, carrying several expensive-looking gift bags and a large, congratulatory card. Our relatives immediately swarmed her with greetings. She waited for my dad to step down from the stage, then approached him with a practiced smile, holding out the card. “Happy birthday, Dad.” My father’s expression was polite but distant. He glanced at the card but didn’t take it. “That’s very kind of you, Ms. He,” he said, his voice carrying in the sudden quiet of the room. “But that won’t be necessary. As you and Leo are divorcing, we couldn’t possibly accept such a generous gift.” Claire’s smile froze on her face. A collective gasp rippled through the room, followed by dead silence. “We’ve only filed the petition…” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. My dad shook his head slightly. “It amounts to the same thing.” With that, he turned and gestured for everyone to start eating. Claire was left standing alone, clutching the gifts. My mother quietly and politely took them from her, indicating she would have them sent back to her office. Claire didn’t linger. She turned and walked out. After she left, no one mentioned her name again. It was an unspoken agreement. She was no longer part of our lives. It was a relief. Slowly, I was healing. I was shedding the identity of ‘Claire’s husband’ and becoming just Leo again. Even the property manager in our building, who had always called me “Mr. Hayes” with a certain deference, started calling me “Leo.” I threw myself into a new project: opening a coffee shop. I found a perfect spot for lease, already built out and in a great location. I signed the papers immediately. The staff was willing to stay on, which meant I could open quickly, but I wanted to tweak the menu, upgrade the equipment, and rebrand the space. I put up a “Soft Opening” sign and got to work. After a long day of planning at the shop, I headed home, exhausted but fulfilled. I glanced at the car calendar. Divorce countdown: 15 days. 6 As I pulled into my garage, my phone rang. It was Alex, a young, cheerful guy from Claire’s company. He was one of the few people there I considered a friend. He launched right in. “Leo, man, are you busy? I gotta ask. Are you and Claire really getting a divorce?” I didn’t deny it. “Is it because of Mark?” he pressed. I stayed silent, assuming Claire had made their relationship public. “Bro, I knew it!” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of frustration and sympathy. “That’s why you haven’t been bringing us your amazing snacks! We miss you, man!” For years, I’d brought in treats for the team almost weekly as a thank-you for their hard work. It had become a running joke that they’d never quit as long as I kept the supply chain of pastries and coffee coming. “I’m actually opening my own coffee shop,” I told him. “Come by when it’s open, everything’s on the house.” Alex let out a whoop of joy and asked for the address. I promised to send it to him. “You have no idea what it’s been like with that guy, Mark,” he continued, his voice dropping. “The second you stopped coming around, he got promoted from the front desk to head of office administration. He’s a different person. He used to smile at everyone, total suck-up. Now he’s on a power trip, finding fault with everything. The smug look on his face is infuriating. And get this—he bought a suit and shoes that are almost identical to yours. It’s creepy. Everyone sees it. I don’t know what Claire is thinking.” He finished with a sigh, saying if it weren’t for his mortgage, he’d quit tomorrow. I was already at my front door. After calming him down, I said goodbye. It occurred to me that I no longer cared to understand Mark’s appeal. That initial, desperate need to know why had faded. I unlocked the door and froze. Claire’s shoes were in the entryway. She was in the living room, playing a video game with Chloe. “Daddy!” Chloe squealed, her face lighting up. “Come on, let’s team up and beat Mommy!” In the past, Claire would have laughed, scooped Chloe into her arms, and started a playful wrestling match. Now, she just coughed softly and stroked Chloe’s hair. “Daddy’s had a long day, sweetie. He’s tired. Maybe next time, okay?” “Okay,” Chloe said, her voice small. “Mommy, when are you going to be done with your business trip?” Claire paused. “Soon,” she said gently, then told Chloe it was time for bed. After a full day at the new shop, I had no energy left for pleasantries. As I walked past her toward my room, I just said, “Make sure you lock the door on your way out.” “I promised Chloe I’d sleep here tonight,” she replied. I didn’t argue. I just closed my bedroom door. A moment later, I heard her phone ring in the living room. Her voice was a low murmur, but I could hear the irritation creeping in. “I told you, I’m just here for Chloe. What are you so afraid of? We’ve already signed the papers!” A pause. “For the last time, we are not sleeping in the same room!” I heard the sharp click as she ended the call. Then, footsteps, and a soft knock on my door. “Leo? Something came up at the office. I have to go back. I’ll come see Chloe again tomorrow.” I didn’t open the door. “Okay,” I said, my voice just loud enough for her to hear. Before she was even out of the building, a notification popped up on my phone. A $5,000 transfer to Chloe’s account. The memo read: Take her out for something nice tomorrow. I ignored it and opened my laptop to work on the coffee shop plans. Just then, a message from an unknown number appeared on my screen. It was just a single smiling emoji. The profile picture was a generic photo of the ocean. The account was bare, no posts, no information. I scrolled back through our message history and my blood ran cold. The first message was from two years ago. I didn’t remember adding this person at all. As I was trying to place it, a new message came through. 【You must feel pretty smug, huh?】 It hit me in an instant. It had to be Mark. But he’d only been at Claire’s company for six months. Why was he in my contacts from two years ago? Had he been watching me, a silent observer in my digital life, for all that time? A chill went down my spine. I sent back a single question mark. The reply was immediate. 【Whatever tricks you’re using to make her stay, it won’t work. I can have her here in a heartbeat.】 It was him. And his message implied something far worse. He didn’t just meet Claire six months ago. Their affair was much, much older than that. He sent a picture. I clicked on it, my stomach churning. It was Claire, sleeping in a hotel bed, bare from the waist up. A man’s hand rested on her chest. In the bottom right corner, a red digital timestamp read: 02.16.2023. I stared at the date, a wave of nausea washing over me so violently I had to lurch for the trash can, my body convulsing as I threw up. February 16th, 2023. That was the day of my father’s first major surgery. Claire had been buried in work that entire month, constantly on business trips. She had moved heaven and earth, canceling meetings just to be back in time to be with me. She had spent the entire night before on a video call, comforting me, telling me to be strong, that everything would be okay. I hadn’t been able to sleep, and she had stayed on the line with me until dawn. She had fought to get a flight that landed at dawn on the 16th, just so she could be by my side at the hospital. And now I knew. In the middle of that frantic, impossible schedule, she had found the time to sleep with Mark.

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1 The car with my wife’s illegitimate son exploded. My firefighter wife Isabelle was on scene—but only to teach her lover Richard how to fight the fire. As the child screamed inside the burning wreck, Richard whined: “This extinguisher is too big and scary! I need a baby one!” Isabelle smiled fondly, ignored the inferno, and sent someone to buy a child-sized extinguisher. Its weak spray only angered the flames, singeing Richard’s hair. He cried and demanded to go home. To comfort him, Isabelle ordered everyone to stop fighting the fire. “He tried his best!” she crooned, stroking his hair. “Naughty fire, I’ll punish it for you later.” As she led him away, she whispered coldly to me: “I came to confirm that bastard son of yours is dead. Did you really think I didn’t know you swapped Leo into our family to inherit the Vance fortune? His death saves me the trouble.” “Clean up. Have a plaque made for Richard. And you, keep those ashes as a reminder.” I froze, then smiled coldly. She thought the burning child was mine. Too bad, it was actually her bastard son with Richard. … Watching the two of them walk away, practically intertwined, I let out a bitter laugh. “And what should the plaque say? ‘For Outstanding Moral Depravity’?” At my words, Richard lifted his head from Isabelle’s shoulder, his eyes red-rimmed. His voice trembled, thick with a wounded, nasal tone. “Adrian… how could you say that about Isabelle and me? We tried so hard to save him, but… but it was like Leo didn’t want to be saved.” The sheer absurdity of the statement made me frown. He flinched as if I’d struck him and hid behind Isabelle, tugging at the hem of her uniform. “I think… I think I heard him crying ‘just leave me alone.’ That’s why Isabelle and I… we were too scared to get any closer.” The words were a poison dart, sinking deep into Isabelle’s heart. Her already sour expression turned venomous. “Did you hear that?” she snapped. “Richard said it himself. The little bastard wanted to die!” “Richard got hurt trying to save that thing! What right do you have to judge us?” I looked at the back of Richard’s head, nestled in the crook of her neck. The sliver of exposed skin was perfectly clean, without a speck of soot you’d expect from fighting a fire. I had no doubt they’d arrived hoping that both Leo and I would perish in the flames. After all, it was my primary car that had been targeted. Unfortunately for them, I already knew what was coming. The child who was supposed to be in that car with me was nowhere near here. A mocking smile touched my lips. “Isabelle, you halted a rescue operation to comfort this ‘hero’ because of some nonsense he claims he heard?” Isabelle’s brow furrowed. She pulled Richard closer, her voice sharp with impatience. “Stop your pathetic games, Adrian. Richard was trying to help. You, on the other hand, your son is dead and all you can think about is stirring up trouble.” “Clean this up, and get that plaque made. Don’t make me tell you twice.” “Tell me?” My gaze swept over them, cold and sharp. The air crackled with the pressure of a man long accustomed to command, and a palpable chill ran down the spines of everyone present. “Isabelle, have you forgotten who gave you the name ‘Mrs. Vance’?” “Have you forgotten who pulled strings to secure your position as Fire Captain? You think you’re in any position to tell me anything?” The color drained from her face as if I’d hit a nerve. Her voice rose to a shriek. “Don’t you push me, Adrian! This was an arranged marriage between our families! You can’t hold that over my head!” She gritted her teeth, her eyes burning with a hatred I usually reserved for my worst enemies. “Besides, don’t think for a second I don’t know what you’ve done. Leo is not my son! He’s just some bastard you brought home after one of your affairs!” As they walked away, my nails dug into my palms. I’d been holding onto some shred of decency, some lingering memory of our marriage. But her words—bastard, affair—had obliterated my last ounce of compassion. My assistant’s usually calm voice was tinged with anger. “Mr. Vance, should I stop her? We need to know what the Thorne family is planning.” I turned slowly, my eyes scanning the wreckage. “Where is Leo?” He glanced at the retreating pair and lowered his voice. “The boy’s security detail reports he is safe, sir. To be certain, I’ve already had him taken to the main estate. He should be there by now.” I nodded and got into my car. “Secure all surveillance footage from the scene. Every word Isabelle said, especially the order to halt the rescue. And I want to know why she was so convinced Leo wasn’t her son. Start with Richard. I want a complete, unbroken chain of evidence.” He nodded respectfully. Sensing my exhaustion, he quietly told the driver to go. I was rubbing my temples when a thought struck me, and my eyes snapped open. “And send a plaque to the hospital. A big one. Make sure it’s addressed specifically to Dr. Richard Croft.” I saw the barely concealed frustration on my assistant’s face. I murmured a few more words, and his expression instantly brightened. “Sir, I will see to it with the utmost diligence.” Just then, his phone rang. His face changed as he listened. “Mr. Vance, there’s a problem with the Apex contract. They’re trying to pull out.” “Turn around. We’re going to the office.” I took one last look at the smoldering carcass of the car, and the last flicker of warmth in my eyes died. I gave you a chance, Isabelle. It was two hours later when the crisis was finally averted. I took my phone, and it immediately lit up with a flood of missed calls, vibrating violently in my hand. I glanced at the name, dismissed my team with a wave, and answered. A furious roar erupted from the other end. “Adrian, are you insane?! Why did you send that plaque to the hospital? Do you want Richard to become a laughingstock?” I leaned back in my chair, my voice deceptively calm. “A laughingstock? You’re the one who wanted a plaque made for him. I was simply following your orders. Or is Dr. Croft’s ‘heroic’ firefighting something to be ashamed of?” “You—!” She was speechless, sputtering with rage. “I’m warning you, Adrian, take that plaque down and get those pictures offline! Or I’ll make your life a living hell!” “Whether my life is hell or not is not for you to decide,” I said with a cold, undisguised laugh. “Isabelle, you should be more concerned with how you’re going to explain to your colleagues, and the entire internet, why you abandoned a rescue to coddle your little pet.” “Oh, and by the way,” I added, “I have the surveillance footage. All of it.” The breathing on the other end became ragged, followed by the sharp click of her hanging up. I tossed the phone onto my desk, a smirk on my face. That was Isabelle. All threats, no substance. A few moments later, there was a knock on my office door. My assistant, Marcus, entered, his face grim. “Sir. We found it.” I looked up, my suspicions solidifying into fact. “First,” he began, “Mrs. Vance believes Leo isn’t her son because Richard gave her a forged paternity test.” He handed me a file with photos of the document. “We’ve confirmed it’s a fake. The real test was done three years ago. Leo is, without a doubt, your biological son.” My fingers rested on the image of the fake report, the cold seeping into my skin. Three years ago, right after Leo was born, Isabelle had been called away for a classified mission. I had begged her to stay, to recover, but she was pathologically ambitious. I had no choice but to let her go. I hired the best childcare specialists and stepped back from the company to raise our son, sending her photos and videos every day so she wouldn’t worry. When she returned, she was… different. Colder. So that’s when Richard had made his move. “Furthermore,” Marcus continued, “the illegitimate child… was never hers to begin with.” I raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. Not that she’d cheat—I knew everything about her before our families arranged the marriage, including her childhood sweetheart. She had been smart enough to send Richard abroad and play the part of a devoted wife. I just hadn’t expected them to rekindle things so quickly. Their son was born only six months after Leo. I remember the disgust I felt when I found out. That was the day our marriage truly died. That was the day my plan began. No one crosses me and walks away unscathed. But now, I almost had to laugh. Isabelle was so desperate to install her lover’s son as the heir, she never even bothered to confirm if the child was actually hers. “Finally, today’s explosion.” Marcus’s voice dropped. “We have footage of one of Richard’s distant cousins loitering near the vehicle just before the incident. We’ve also traced the explosive materials back to a source connected to Richard.” “Our preliminary conclusion is that Richard orchestrated the entire event. The goal was to eliminate you and your son in what would look like an accident, allowing him to move in with his own child. Even if one of you survived, he knew Mrs. Vance’s suspicion and animosity would do the rest. The Thorne family has been waiting for an opportunity like this for years.” The office was silent except for the hum of the air conditioner. “I see,” I said finally, my voice like ice. “He played his hand well.” I tapped my fingers on the desk, gazing out at the city skyline. From the sixty-eighth floor, Vance Tower stood as a monument to a century of power. But this city was a jungle of old money and ambition. No single family could reach the summit without being pulled down by the others. But the time had come for a shift in the balance. This was a game of chess I had been setting up for ten years. I looked at Marcus. We both knew what came next. “It’s time. The Thorne family enterprises, Richard’s backers at the hospital… leave nothing standing. He dared to touch my son. He dared to try and destroy my family. He will not walk away from this.” “Yes, sir,” Marcus said, his voice firm. “I’ll make the arrangements immediately.” It was late when I finally left the office. The moment I reached my gated community, I knew something was wrong. The regular security guards were gone, replaced by strangers who demanded I get out of the car for an identity check. A knot of unease tightened in my stomach. When one of them reached for my door handle, I ordered my driver to ram the gate. Ignoring the shouts and curses behind us, I strode toward my house. A pungent, acrid smell of smoke hit me before I even reached the door. Inside, it was a scene of desecration. Blue wallpaper, silk curtains, Leo’s Transformers—all of it was piled in trash bags. In their place were black funeral banners, white chrysanthemums, and a portrait. Everything that belonged to me and my son had been erased. In the center of the living room, Isabelle sat on the sofa, smoking a cigarette. Richard was curled up against her, fiddling with a new, child-sized fire extinguisher. He waggled it at me when I entered. “Oh, Adrian, you’re back! Isabelle and I thought the decor was a bit dated, so we gave it a little refresh. What do you think? Much more suitable, isn’t it?” My eyes drifted to a pile of smoldering ashes in the corner. I could just make out the melted plastic of Leo’s toy cars, the charred remains of our photos, and the scorched wood of a family heirloom. I turned to her, a storm gathering in my eyes. “Isabelle,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet, “did you burn my things?” “I did,” she said, a cruel smile playing on her lips. “And we held a lovely little funeral for your son, too. Do you like it?” The beautiful, airy room had been turned into a mausoleum. A photo of Leo had been blown up and crudely edited into a funeral portrait. Richard giggled, snuggling closer to her. “Tsk, tsk, Adrian. So careless. Couldn’t even save your own son from a little fire. Now there’s not even a body to bury.” “Don’t worry,” Isabelle added, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “We’ve set up a memorial for him. And now, my darling Richard and our son will inherit the Vance fortune.” I looked at his smug, triumphant face and let out a cold laugh. He was so pleased with himself, and he still had no idea whose son had actually died in that car. I strode forward and smashed the funeral portrait on the floor. “You’ve done a wonderful job with this memorial, Richard. Who knows, maybe your own son will get to use it one day.” Isabelle stubbed out her cigarette, looking down her nose at me. “Don’t be ungrateful, Adrian. Richard went to all this trouble for you. Besides, he’s been getting death threats online because of you. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll apologize to him and stay out of my way. Be a good little house husband, and maybe, in time, I’ll consider giving you another child. We are still married, after all.” “Married?” The word was so absurd I had to savor it. There was no humor in my eyes. “Isabelle, I was going to give you a shred of dignity, for old times’ sake. But I see now that would be a waste.” I took out my phone and dialed my assistant. “Change the divorce agreement. All assets revert to me. Isabelle Thorne leaves with nothing. Bring it here. Now.” Isabelle’s face contorted. “Adrian! You wouldn’t dare! This was an arranged marriage! If you divorce me, you’ll be the laughingstock of the Vance family!” “An arranged marriage?” I arched an eyebrow, looking down at her from my full height. “Have you forgotten, Isabelle? Three years ago, when the Thorne family was on the brink of collapse, who bailed you out with a billion-dollar investment? That was my family. An arrangement implies a partnership between equals. Do you really think the Thorne family is our equal anymore?” Her face flushed, but before she could retort, I signed the papers and slid them across the table. Along with them, I tossed down the paternity test results for Richard’s son. A little divorce present. “Sign it, Isabelle. Or in a few minutes, you won’t even have the option of leaving with the clothes on your back.” “Oh, and one more thing. Your crown is crooked.” “What are you talking about?” she whispered, her hand trembling over the pen. Just then, her phone rang. The caller ID read ‘Mom.’ She snatched it up like a lifeline. “Mom! Adrian is trying to divorce me! He’s trying to cut me off without a penny! You have to talk to him!” There was a moment of silence, then a choked, hysterical sob from the other end. “Isabelle! Forget the divorce! The Thorne family is ruined! And the child in that car… it was Richard’s son, Felix! The police just called me to identify the body!”

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I was thirty-two when I picked up my first broke college boy. I was driving past the university when I saw him, Leo, holding a girl in his arms. His eyes were red-rimmed, a portrait of wounded pride. “Please,” he choked out, “don’t think I’m dirty…” It was a straightforward arrangement. A business transaction. So why did he make it sound like I was the one corrupting him? If he felt so dirty, there were plenty of others who wouldn’t. I took a long drag from my cigarette and blew the smoke out the window. My eyes landed on a blond kid swaggering down the sidewalk, decked out in head-to-toe knockoffs. I nodded towards him. “Ask that one,” I told my driver, “if he’s interested in a sugar momma.” 1 Eason was in my office by the afternoon. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the thirty-second floor, glinting off his Balenciaga t-shirt, his Yohji Yamamoto pants, and his Louis Vuitton sneakers. Fake. Fake. And fake. But damn, if he didn’t have a pretty face. He was nothing like Leo, who had that cold, clean-cut look, an air of untouchable pride. Eason was more like something manufactured, a walking plastic surgery template. Exquisite, cheap, and with a hustler’s glint in his eye. But I’d had my fill of fine dining. Tonight, I was in the mood for some greasy takeout. They were both selling themselves, so why bother with the one who acted like he was above it all? The moment he opened his mouth, I knew I’d made the right choice. “Heard you were looking to adopt?” He grinned. “Should I call you Mom right now?” He caught on fast. A little too fast. But I wasn’t into that kind of roleplay. I could already see the entire trajectory of our relationship flashing before my eyes. Today, he’d have me launch his career. Tomorrow, he’d be begging for a leading role. The day after, our arrangement would leak, and he’d be on his knees, pleading for me to bury the scandal. Perfect. This was exactly what I wanted. I ignored him, flipping through the file my assistant, Ms. Evans, had prepared. He was from some forgotten town in the middle of nowhere. Family wasn’t poor, certainly better off than Leo’s alcoholic father and gambling-addict mother. His grades were average, a far cry from Leo’s scholarships. But he was a good two inches taller than Leo. I glanced up at him. He beamed at me, a perfect eight-tooth smile. He was handsome, no doubt, but the fawning was a little much. I pursed my lips, a flicker of distaste crossing my features. “How many? Men or women?” Eason’s expression didn’t change. Not a hint of shame or offense. “Just you, boss!” Bullshit. “Ms. Evans will take you to a clinic for a full check-up,” I said flatly. “If you’re clean, be here in a week.” “You got it, boss.” He practically skipped out of my office. As he turned, I caught a glimpse of his perfectly sculpted ass. I wondered for a moment if he was wearing pads. 2 A week later, Eason hadn’t shown up yet, but Leo did. He was wearing his usual uniform: a shirt washed to a faded gray, worn-out jeans, and canvas sneakers. Clean-cut and handsome, the very picture of the noble, struggling student. He’d gotten off the bus. Couldn’t even be bothered to splurge on a cab. It really made me wonder where the thirty thousand dollars I gave him every month went. Don’t get me wrong. He wasn’t here to see me. I was usually the one who went to him. He was working his part-time job at the coffee shop on the ground floor of my building. As usual, his looks were already attracting a giggling girl asking for his number. Leo turned her down, saying he already had someone he liked. Back in the day, I might have been arrogant enough to think he meant me. I was beautiful, rich, and generous—emphasis on the last one. Not liking me was like not liking money. It wasn’t like I was asking him to love me ’til death do us part. We were adults. After everything I’d given him, a little display of affection wasn’t too much to ask. Anything less was just having his cake and eating it too. I walked in and found a seat, but Leo didn’t notice me. Just then, a meticulously dressed girl walked in. The moment Leo saw her, he froze. She wore a chic tweed suit and a Miu Miu clip in her hair, projecting an unmistakable old-money vibe. I hadn’t gotten a good look at her that day at the university. Now, I saw her face clearly. I mentally scrolled through the city’s upper crust but couldn’t place her. While my mind was wandering, Leo’s face had turned a deep shade of crimson. I heard him ask, his voice barely a whisper, “Are you here… for me?” The girl lifted her chin. “No. I just heard the coffee here was good.” If Leo had a tail, it would have been drooping on the floor. “Well, recommend something,” she said. He immediately launched into a detailed explanation of every coffee on the menu, describing the origin of the beans and the flavor profiles with painstaking care. The people in line behind her grew impatient and left. The girl, however, seemed to be listening to none of it, finally pointing to the house special. Leo, ever attentive, explained how to drink it, warning her it was a bit bitter. He was a completely different person from the man I knew—so humble he was practically bowing. I wasn’t angry. Just… confused. Why wasn’t he like this with me? I was the one signing his checks. A moment later, it hit me, and I let out a soft laugh. He seemed to believe that his youth and my thirty grand a month—plus the condo and countless gifts—was an equal exchange. The men in my family have a tradition of keeping lovers. I’d seen it all: college girls, starlets, professionals. Just last month, my uncle nearly had a baby scare and paid three hundred thousand in severance. A sponsor as generous and easy on the eyes as me was a rare find. A willing exchange didn’t mean he wasn’t getting the better end of the deal. I used to spoil Leo, so I never sweated the small stuff. But he’d taken my money and stood me up multiple times, claiming he had to tutor, work his part-time job, or deal with student council or lab projects. I never got mad. I even had my housekeeper deliver homemade soup to him. Once, my father saw me arranging it and warned me, “Don’t get in too deep.” My indulgence seemed to have convinced everyone—including, at times, myself—that my feelings for him were something special. Ridiculous. Before I kicked my brother out of the country to take over as CEO, I’d never even been in a real relationship. Not that I ever wanted one. This was getting boring. I stood up and left the coffee shop. As I pushed the door open, the little bell above it chimed. From behind the counter, I thought I felt a pair of eyes on me. 3 That night, Eason arrived at my villa. To my surprise, his medical report was spotless. Clean, healthy, not a single issue. Unlike last time, he wasn’t covered in flashy, fake logos. He was dressed simply: a white t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. His hair, previously shellacked with gel, fell softly over his eyes. Ms. Evans had probably told him to copy Leo’s style. I frowned, but before I could say anything, he’d pulled his shirt off. A chiseled eight-pack, perfectly defined. I wondered if it was real. He chuckled. “Boss, you don’t like this look, do you?” he asked. “Me neither.” With a surprising familiarity, he stepped closer and plucked the hair tie from my wrist. I flinched, feeling for a second like I was being hit on by some street punk. But he just used it to pull his semi-long hair back into a small bun at the nape of his neck. I breathed a sigh of relief. Then he added, “You hungry, boss? I can go down… and whip something up for you.” The breath I’d just released hitched in my throat. He saw my housekeeper leaving the kitchen with a trash bag and sighed dramatically. “Looks like you’ve already eaten.” I caught his meaning and hesitated. “You haven’t eaten, have you? Do you want…” Before I could finish, he chirped, “Thanks!” He even came up with an excuse. “Gotta fuel up so I can serve you better later.” “…” He proceeded to make and devour three bowls of noodles like a man starved. I glanced at his file again; he couldn’t be that broke, could he? “There’s steak in the fridge,” I offered. Eason shook his head. “No steak. I have to earn my keep before I get paid.” I understood. And for a moment, I felt a strange sense of satisfaction. I’d definitely made the right call. I needed someone who was hungry for this, in every sense of the word. Thirty minutes later, I regretted everything. The clean scent of his body wash enveloped me. The initial awkwardness melted into a searing heat that left no room for thought. And Eason, ever the professional, made sure to provide emotional support. “Damn, boss, you’re gorgeous. I’m the one getting lucky here.” “Claudia… this is incredible.” I felt myself cheapen, like I’d just hired a farmhand for the night. The feeling lasted until the next morning. “Did you take something?” I asked, my voice hoarse with exhaustion. “What?” Eason blinked. “Oh! Yeah, I took ten. Just for you.” Right. He hadn’t taken anything. He was just bullshitting me to show what a diligent employee he was. Finally, at two in the afternoon, I dragged my aching body out of bed. I had a meeting I couldn’t postpone; I’d have to crawl to the office if necessary. As I was getting dressed, I heard Eason speak from the bed. “Boss,” he said, his voice soft. “Can you get me into acting?” 4 My fingers froze on the button of my blouse. I rolled my eyes, a practiced motion. “You’ve been here one night, and you’re already making demands…” “Ten times,” he corrected. “…That’s not the point.” My refusal seemed to deflate him. His doll-like face crumpled. He wrinkled his nose. “But, boss, you were the one who told me to stop.” His reading comprehension was astounding. If I hadn’t scouted him near the university, I’d have sworn he was illiterate. Wait. That didn’t mean he actually went there. “Are you a student at A.U.?” I asked. Eason shook his head honestly. “Nope.” I knew it. “In a couple of years, I’ll send you abroad to get a degree,” I said, dangling a vague, distant carrot. Eason looked like he wanted to say something but held back. “Boss… I don’t want to study.” I know, I know. You just want to be a star. I waved a dismissive hand, telling him to drop it. I had a meeting to get to. I slipped into the back of the car where Ms. Evans was waiting. Glancing back, I saw Eason leaning over the balcony, waving goodbye. A mess of blond hair, a face that was both pure and sinfully tempting. The sunlight caught him just right, making him look like some Grecian cupid. He also wasn’t wearing any pants. Bold. “Come back soon, boss!” he yelled. I pressed my fingers to my temples. I could never let anyone know I was keeping… this. “Ms. Evans,” I said, scanning a document, “send over some pieces from the spring collection for him.” He didn’t suit Leo’s clean-cut, boy-next-door look. And parading around in those fakes was an embarrassment to me. Ms. Evans hesitated for a beat before agreeing. After the meeting, after dealing with a pack of old corporate wolves, I collapsed into my office chair, utterly drained. Usually, it wasn’t this exhausting, but last night had taken its toll. The Rockefeller family was like most wealthy dynasties. My father and mother had a marriage of convenience; they had their own lives. They got along well enough, I suppose. Well enough to produce the three of us: my idiot older brother, my love-struck younger sister, and me, the perfect one. From birth, my life was a pre-written script. If I wanted more, I had to fight for it. I fought, and I won. But was this really what I wanted… “Boss.” A sudden chill ran up my spine. My moment of existential dread was interrupted by a blond head popping up from under my desk. “…What are you doing?” Eason planted a kiss on my thigh. I stared at him, my face a blank mask. For the first time, a faint blush colored his sculpted cheeks. He looked almost shy, but his next words were anything but. “I learned a new trick this afternoon. Heard it’s a favorite for CEOs and their assistants.” Such a dedicated, ambitious boy toy. Eason took my silence as consent. Outside, the clouds drifted lazily by, momentarily speechless. Was I keeping him, or was he keeping me? He was really, really serious about breaking into Hollywood. Three hours later, the intercom buzzed. It was Ms. Evans. “Ms. Rockefeller, Mr. Leo is here to see you.” 5 Well, I’ll be damned. Today was supposed to be my weekly meeting with Leo. His showing up wasn’t entirely unexpected, but he’d flaked on me so often, and besides, it was already eleven at night. I lit a cigarette. “I’m not available,” I told Ms. Evans. “Send him home.” There was a pause. “I told him that, Ms. Rockefeller. He insists on waiting until you’re finished with your work.” “He’s in the conference room next to your office now.” I frowned, about to say more, when a face leaned in and took a drag from the cigarette between my fingers. He immediately started choking, coughing like his lungs were trying to escape his chest. I hung up the phone. “Boss, you should quit smoking.” Just as I thought Eason was switching tactics to the caring, sensitive type, he added, “You should smoke cigars. You’d look way cooler.” The ash trembled and fell onto the marble floor. “Go home,” I said. “I have to deal with something.” Eason didn’t ask questions. He just got up and left. A moment later, Leo was shown in. Still in the white shirt and jeans. I was getting tired of the look. He stood before me, his tone accusatory. “Claudia, I was fired.” He seemed to assume I was the one who’d had the manager fire him. The coffee shop was mine, after all. He’d been “interning” there, a work-study gig that paid him fifty thousand a year. I raised an eyebrow. “And?” Leo’s face soured. He stood ramrod straight, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “Did someone at the shop say something to you?” he snapped. “Hannah is just a classmate from my department! I was just doing my job! You can’t just fire me for no reason!” “You rich people are always so high and mighty—” “Then I’ll have them rehire you,” I cut in. Leo’s tirade stopped short. He clearly hadn’t expected me to be so agreeable. “Oh. Well, then… that’s fine.” I smiled sweetly. “Same as the other interns. Fifteen bucks an hour. Interested?” Leo’s eyes widened as if I’d just slapped him. He was silent for a few seconds. “Claudia, stop messing around.” “I told you, there’s nothing going on between Hannah and me!” Frustration crept into his voice. I studied him, and for the first time, he seemed… coarse. Unrefined. His skin wasn’t as smooth as Eason’s, his eyes weren’t as bright, his lips weren’t as pink, his nose wasn’t as straight, his legs weren’t as long, his abs weren’t as hard… and his technique was terrible. Not that Eason was some master, but at least he was eager to learn. “Hannah?” The name was cute. I said it aloud, and Leo reacted as if I’d declared war. “Whatever you have planned, you direct it at me! She has nothing to do with this!” I found the whole thing hilarious. “And what, exactly, do you think I’m going to do to her?” I asked, my voice dripping with amusement. Suddenly, Leo’s gaze locked onto something over my shoulder. His expression went blank, all the fight draining out of him, my question completely forgotten. I followed his line of sight. There, on the plush designer sofa, lay a pair of Calvin Klein briefs. They had been lying there quietly, listening to our entire conversation. 6 It’s a well-known fact that when you’re utterly speechless, you laugh. Leo finally turned his gaze back to me, just in time to see the smile spreading across my face. A moment ago, he’d been keeping his distance as if I were contagious. Now, he stormed over to my desk. “Are you that desperate, Claudia?” he snarled. “Just because I didn’t see you for a month, you go and find that kind of man?” I wanted to say that Eason wasn’t that kind of man. But I couldn’t. He was exactly that kind of man. And then, Leo—the proud, struggling student who scorned the wealthy—actually had tears welling up in his eyes. “Do you have any idea how filthy guys like that are?” he shouted, his voice cracking. He reached for my wrist, more agitated than I had ever seen him. He seemed genuinely afraid I’d catch some disease. A glass on my desk toppled over, shattering on the floor. A knock came from the door. “Ms. Rockefeller?” Ms. Evans called out. “Do you need me to come in?” Leo was still ranting. “Claudia, you don’t have to debase yourself like this just to make me jealous…” “Come in,” I called out, my voice clear and steady. Ms. Evans entered, flanked by two bodyguards, each standing at a solid six-foot-three. They moved swiftly, positioning themselves between me and Leo, ready to intervene if he got violent. Leo stared at me in disbelief. I met his gaze with a half-smile. “Who gave you permission to speak to me like that?” Maybe I’d been too lenient as a sponsor. He seemed to have forgotten the nature of our relationship. The color drained from Leo’s face. He never imagined I would use such a tone with him. He pressed his lips together. “We’re equals…” I couldn’t be bothered to listen to that nonsense. “If we’re so equal, how come you’re not paying me thirty thousand dollars a month?” Leo was rendered speechless. I arched an eyebrow. “You took the money, now do the work. You failed on that front.” He looked at me as if he’d never heard me speak so bluntly, his eyes wide with shock. I had no more time for him. I stood up and walked away. Leo tried to follow, but the bodyguards blocked his path. As I left, I heard Ms. Evans behind me, calmly taking back the key card for my private elevator from him. “Mr. Leo,” she said, her voice professionally cool, “next time you wish to see Ms. Rockefeller, please make an appointment.”

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Five years. That’s how long I chased Aiden. It’s also how long his brother, Jimmy, chased Bree. Then, on New Year’s Eve, I waited at the movie theater for an Aiden who never came. And at the amusement park, Jimmy waited for a Bree who never showed. Instead, at the stroke of midnight, we both saw their social media posts, announcing to the world that they were a couple. Later, we found ourselves commiserating. He was the one who said it first. “How about we just make a go of it? We both know what we’re getting into.” I was silent for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.” And just like that, we were a whirlwind of activity—trying on wedding dresses, scouting venues, picking a date, writing invitations. The goal was simple: get married before they did. Weeks later, as I was drowning in a sea of venue brochures, a sharp knock echoed through my apartment. I opened the door to find Aiden standing there, his jaw clenched, the rims of his eyes red. “Are you serious?” he bit out. “Are you really going to marry Jimmy? Have you even thought this through?” 1 On New Year’s Eve, I stood in the plaza just off Central Square, watching the helium balloons float into the snowy sky, a sea of embracing couples all around me. I clutched a pair of movie tickets in my hand, the falling flakes melting on my skin. I couldn’t quite name the feeling, only that after loving Aiden for so many years, this was not the ending I had hoped for. My phone buzzed. It was Jimmy, Aiden’s younger brother. She didn’t show. The three of us—Aiden, Jimmy, and I—had grown up together. I fell for Aiden, and Jimmy fell for my roommate, Bree. We’d made a pact: he’d help me, and I’d help him. A spectacular failure. On the biggest night of the year, he was stood up by Bree, and I by Aiden. I let out a long, slow breath, a white cloud in the frigid air, and was about to leave when my phone rang. It was Jimmy. The background was a cacophony of noise, but his voice came through, clear and a little raspy. “Did you see their posts?” A cold dread washed over me. My hand hovered over the screen, my thumb refusing to tap open the app. It felt like if I did, everything would change forever. But I did it anyway. My feed was flooded with couples celebrating the new year. I only had to scroll a little before I saw it. And when I saw the photo, my numbness overshadowed the pain. It was a picture of them in their old school uniforms, standing on the athletic field, grinning and flashing peace signs at the camera. They both looked so genuinely happy. Aiden so rarely smiled in pictures with me. And Bree had always refused to take any photos with Jimmy. Bree and I were classmates in high school. I’d moved into the dorms for a while after a fight with my parents. They’d asked Aiden and Jimmy to bring me things, and through those visits, Bree got to know them both. But when had this happened? When had they fallen for each other? Jimmy and I had been such fools, moths drawn to a flame. I couldn’t speak, a lump lodged in my throat, choking me. Jimmy was still on the line, silent. Finally, he spoke. “Are you still at the theater?” “Yeah,” I managed. “Wait for me there. I’ll buy new tickets. We can still go.” “Okay,” I whispered. It was a pathetic situation, but at least I had someone to be pathetic with. That made it a little less unbearable. As I waited, I didn’t try to piece together the clues I must have missed. My mind was just… empty. I didn’t cry. It all just felt so sudden. I don’t know how long I waited, crouched by the entrance until my legs went numb. Finally, I saw him coming down the escalator. A few days ago, he’d dyed his hair a fiery red. “For a prosperous new year,” he’d said, convinced it was a sign of good things to come. I had wanted to dye mine red too, but since he beat me to it, I’d settled for a milky brown. He saw me and quickened his pace. I waved a weak hand. “Help me up. My legs are asleep.” Jimmy pulled me to my feet and studied my face. “Not bad,” he said with a half-smile. “No tears.” I punched my numb thighs, a pins-and-needles sensation shooting through them. “You either.” “Eh,” he waved a dismissive hand. “Come on, the movie’s about to start.” By unspoken agreement, we didn’t mention it again. After the movie, he drove me home. It was only after I’d showered and crawled into bed that I saw the text from Bree. Stella, Aiden and I are together. I hope you’re not mad? I closed my eyes, a wave of irritation washing over me. Lying in the dark, I typed back a single, emotionless word: No. Who she was with was her business, even if it was Aiden. But I had considered her my friend. I had giddily shared every single moment of my teenage crush on Aiden with her. And not once did she say a word. All these years I spent chasing him, only for them to end up together. Anger and heartbreak swelled in my chest. I wasn’t angry that she was with him. I was angry that she never told me she liked him too. What was she thinking all those times I confided in her? Was she laughing at me, at my pathetic, unrequited love? Suddenly, she felt like a stranger, a terrifying one. The moment my text went through, she replied, as if she’d been waiting for it. Oh, Stella, I’m so glad you’re not mad! I’m so sorry. I wanted to tell you, I just… I didn’t know how… It was a wall of text. I exited the chat and unpinned her from the top of my contacts. A moment later, another message came through. Stella, do you want to get barbecue at that place on Central tomorrow? I knew what this was. A test. To see if I was really angry. But we weren’t friends anymore. Whether I was angry or not didn’t matter. No, I’m tired. Going to sleep. She didn’t reply. Instead, a new message popped up. It was from Aiden. I was the one who went after Bree. I liked her first. Stella, I hope you won’t blame her or take your anger out on her. How could I even describe it? I used to love Aiden so much it felt like my heart would overflow. Now, in the space of a single night, the thought of him just made my stomach turn. This couldn’t have been a sudden thing. They didn’t just suddenly fall in love. All this time, they must have looked at me and Jimmy like we were a couple of clowns, enjoying the attention we showered on them, only to turn around and say, “Thanks for liking me, but I don’t like you back.” I could have accepted any outcome. What I couldn’t accept was that the person I had loved for so long was, in reality, a total piece of shit. I didn’t reply to him. I just took a screenshot of both their messages and sent it to Jimmy. You get one of these? A minute later, he sent one back. It was from Bree. A long, rambling text about how grateful she was for his years of affection… Jimmy: You’d think in five years she could have mentioned she liked my brother. Stella, we’re not that pathetic, are we? We wouldn’t have kept chasing them if we knew. I had chased him for five years, but I’d liked him for much longer. Me: I was just unlucky to meet them. But I don’t want to see them again. I bet I’ll have to tomorrow, though. And then I’ll have to say ‘It’s fine, no big deal.’ I’ll feel like such a fake, but they won’t be happy until they hear it, so they can feel better about themselves. As I typed, a surge of frustration hit me. I just wanted to delete and block them both. Jimmy: Same. My brother just knocked on my door asking if I was asleep. I didn’t answer. It’s just so exhausting. It’s not even that sad, really. I chased her for so long, I can accept it. But it just sucks. Why did it have to be those two? How could they do this to us? Suddenly, an idea sparked in my mind. A second later, my phone was ringing. It was Jimmy. We’d been a chaotic, imaginative pair since we were kids, our crazy ideas often syncing up perfectly. “What if we…” I started. “What if we…” he said at the exact same time. I pursed my lips. “You first.” He cleared his throat. “How about we just make a go of it? We both know what we’re getting into.” I was silent for only a second. I knew he couldn’t see me, but I nodded anyway. “Okay.” “And we have to get married before they do.” “Don’t worry,” I said. “Leave it to me.” 2 I never knew Jimmy could be so efficient. Last night, I couldn’t squeeze out a single tear to mourn my wasted years. I just kept wondering, numbly, if my feelings for Aiden had already died out long ago, in all those years of hopeless pursuit. Then this morning—early, like, crack-of-dawn early—my mom started banging on my bedroom door. Each knock was louder than the last, like a death march. “Mom, what is it? It’s the midd—” I threw the door open, my hair a mess, but before I could finish my complaint, she clapped a hand over my mouth. “Honey, you… you need to get washed up and come downstairs. Now.” I blinked, my eyes heavy with sleep. “What’s going on?” “Your boyfriend is here to ask for your hand!” she whispered excitedly in my ear. My mom was always nagging me to date and get married, even threatening to set me up on blind dates. Seeing Jimmy here, making a formal proposal, must have been her dream come true. “Huh?” The words shocked me fully awake. No way. I crept to the top of the stairs and peered down. The living room was filled with familiar faces, and a pile of gold bars gleamed under the crystal chandelier. I showered, did my makeup, and changed in record time. When I came downstairs, Jimmy’s mom, a warm smile on her face, beckoned me over. “Stella, come have some breakfast first. Your uncle and I picked it up from the dim sum place on our way.” Then she turned to my mom, her expression apologetic. “Sarah, I’m so sorry for showing up so unannounced. We must have startled you.” “Oh, don’t be silly!” my mom laughed. “We’ve watched these two grow up. If they want to join our families, I couldn’t be happier.” “Exactly,” my dad chimed in. “We’re practically family already. Who needs all those formalities?” Jimmy was sitting ramrod straight in a formal suit, his red hair slicked back. “You work fast,” I whispered, sitting down next to him and popping a shrimp dumpling in my mouth. He leaned in. “Well, I saw my brother was out of town. I figured if he came with us to propose, it might make you uncomfortable.” I just raised an eyebrow and said nothing. Our parents were already enthusiastically planning the wedding. “I think the fifth of next month is a great day,” Jimmy’s mom said. “The almanac says it’s auspicious for marriage.” “Yes, yes, a lucky day!” my mom agreed. “Great, then it’s settled…” Jimmy and I stared at each other, stunned. “Why are they in a bigger hurry than we are?” I mouthed. He whispered back, “They’re probably both terrified we’ll bolt.” That actually made a lot of sense. My mom was constantly sighing about how “young people these days just don’t want to get married.” 3 The following weeks were a blur of wedding prep. Jimmy and I were busy with dress fittings, venue tours, and writing invitations. Meanwhile, Aiden and Bree had gone on a trip to Seabrook, a coastal city. They posted a new photo every day, looking blissful. While waiting for Jimmy to change into another suit, I found myself staring at a picture of them with the ocean sparkling in the background. A pang of something hit me. I had actually planned a trip to Seabrook with Aiden a long time ago. I’d even told Bree about it. I’d seen a travel blogger’s video of the city and sent it to her, gushing about how I wanted to go there with him for my birthday. But then Bree sprained her ankle a few days before, and I stayed to take care of her, so the trip was postponed. I never imagined they would be the ones to go together. “What are you looking at?” Jimmy emerged in a sleek black suit, a faint smile playing on his lips. I didn’t hide it, just turned my phone so he could see. He was fastening the buttons on his jacket. As he looked up, I said, “Let me help.” Once the buttons were done, he’d seen the photo. He handed my phone back. “Do you want to go?” I shook my head, then nodded. “Yes.” Even though Jimmy and Aiden were twins, once you got to know them, they were easy to tell apart. Aiden had this air of effortless disdain, always impatient and aloof. But Jimmy had his mother’s eyes—they crinkled when he smiled, bright and warm. He was sunny and emotionally stable. “It’s not because they went,” I said, my gaze firm. “I’ve wanted to go for a long time.” Jimmy gently guided me towards the full-length mirror. “Okay,” he said softly. “I know.” In the mirror, we looked like a perfect match, a striking couple. “You two make such a handsome couple,” the sales associate offered at the perfect moment. “What do you think of this one? Do you like it?” he asked, leaning down slightly. I thought for a moment, chewing on my lip. “I don’t know… it just doesn’t feel… breathtaking.” I held my fingers up, a tiny space between them. “It’s missing that little something.” Jimmy chuckled, his eyes sparkling like diamonds under the crystal lights. The store manager approached us. “Sir, Madam, have you found a suit and gown that you like?” She noticed our hesitation and added tactfully, “We actually have a new collection of gowns arriving from Europe in a few days. Would you be able to wait? I promise you, they are absolutely exquisite. We have the designer’s sketches, and I can walk you through the concepts.” She gestured towards a private viewing area. “If you have a moment?” I looked at Jimmy, and he nodded. I smiled at the manager. “Yes, that would be wonderful.”

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