Category: English

My life was a fairytale woven from silk and silver spoons. As a child, I was my father and brother’s cherished doll; as a woman, I became Rich Blackwood’s treasured possession. I was a beautiful ornament drifting through my twenties without a care, surrounded by couture and curated perfection. Nothing more was expected of me. I never questioned this life—until my estranged mother returned from Europe with my sister, Aurora. Aurora was everything I wasn’t: brilliant, poised, a force of nature. She dove into the family business, planning its future with Rich in conversations full of ambition I couldn’t grasp. One evening, drawn by a painful curiosity, I crept into the corporate headquarters and overheard them. A woman’s sharp voice asked, “Still here, Mr. Blackwood? Won’t the little lady at home get jealous?” Rich’s reply was cold and dismissive: “Jealous? What could she do? Without me, Katie is nothing—a pretty canary in the gilded cage I built. A broken, useless thing.” My world shattered. Then I saw my brother, Ethan, standing beside him, his expression cold and detached. “Katie has always been spoiled,” he said without warmth. “A little hardship will do her good.” 1 The morning sun filtered through my silk curtains, but it was Mrs. Gable, our housekeeper, who gently woke me. I drifted into the master bathroom where a steaming bath already awaited, the water infused with lavender oils. Even my toothbrush was prepared, a perfect ribbon of mint paste squeezed onto the bristles. “Call if you need anything, Miss Katie,” Mrs. Gable’s voice came softly from outside the door. After my bath, I sat at my vanity, applying a light, dewy makeup. Mrs. Gable then escorted me to the breakfast solarium. Rich was already there, impeccably dressed, his eyes fixed on a tablet. He didn’t even look up as I sat down. “I won’t be back tonight,” he announced to the air. “Things are busy at the office.” I bit my lip, a familiar knot of resentment tightening in my chest. “Busy at the office, or busy with Aurora? You’re with her constantly these days.” His fingers stilled on the screen. Rich finally lifted his gaze, his gray eyes cold and sharp. “She is your sister, Katie. And a brilliant business partner. Aurora is not someone whose name you get to drag through the mud with petty gossip.” The rebuke stung like a slap. Tears pricked my eyes. “Am I wrong? She’s been back for two months, and you’ve spent more time with her than with me. Have you been home on time even once in those two months?” A flash of pure annoyance crossed his face. He dabbed his lips with a linen napkin, the gesture precise and final. “This is childish.” He rose, slipped on his tailored coat, and left without another word. My appetite vanished. I fled back to my room and let the tears come, a storm of frustration that ruined my carefully applied makeup. “Am I not beautiful anymore, Mrs. Gable?” I asked her later, my voice thick with misery. “Why does he treat me like this?” She hesitated, her kind eyes filled with a pity I hated. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, Miss Katie.” And she was right. How could I not be? Beauty was my life’s work. Skincare regimens, cosmetic artists, personal stylists, photographers—every waking moment was dedicated to crafting an image of flawless perfection. I was exquisite, a living work of art. Rich used to love this part of me. He used to adore his perfect doll. But since Aurora arrived, everything had changed. Aurora was my half-sister. When my parents’ bitter divorce tore our family apart years ago, my mother chose her. She took Aurora to Europe, and I was left with my father. I had screamed and cried, but my father and my brother, Ethan, smothered my grief with affection. They built a world for me where no shadow could touch me, a gilded cage I never knew I was in. I never had to lift a finger for anything. Private cars whisked me from one high-end boutique to another, my passport stamped with luxury destinations before I was twenty. Then came the arranged marriage. I was introduced to Rich Blackwood, and after a year of meticulously orchestrated courtship, we wed. Our marriage had been a merger, a contract sealing the Sterling and Blackwood empires. Rich continued where my father and brother left off. He sheltered me, pampered me, and never burdened me with the details of his world. All he asked was for me to be his beautiful, cheerful wife, waiting for him at home. I’d fill the silence of our massive house with my chatter about a new dress I’d bought, a disastrous makeup attempt, or which photo filter made me look best. He would listen, or at least pretend to, his patience a form of condescension I was too naive to recognize. Everyone envied me. At twenty-eight, I was still a princess, insulated from reality. First by my family, then by my husband. The truth was, I was useless. I had no skills, no ambitions. Without a team of staff, I couldn’t even manage a day on my own. I never thought this was a problem. Not until Aurora came back. When my mother and Aurora walked through the arrivals gate at the airport, they were a vision of power. My mother, elegant in a camel trench coat, was a force of nature, already taking calls, her voice crisp with authority. Aurora stood by her side, a younger, sharper reflection—poised, vibrant, exuding a confidence that was utterly foreign to me. They were a power duo, straight out of a business magazine. My father, there to greet them, was as stunned as I was. My mother’s eyes landed on me, and a small frown creased her brow. For the first time in my life, I looked down at my frilly princess dress and felt a hot wave of shame. I felt childish and flimsy. That was the moment the panic set in. A deep, primal sense of crisis. From that day on, everything shifted. Aurora’s brilliance captivated everyone. My father, Ethan, and even Rich looked at her with an admiration they never showed me. Suddenly, my carefully constructed world of beauty and leisure seemed shallow and pathetic. I, the pampered daughter, was a footnote in my own family’s story. Jealousy, sharp and ugly, took root in my heart. And it bloomed into a raging inferno the moment I realized Rich was just as captivated by her as everyone else. 2 After Rich left, a gray mood settled over me for the rest of the day. By evening, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to see him. I had to know. The driver dropped me at the gleaming Blackwood Corp tower. I rode the private elevator up, my heels clicking ominously on the marble floor. The main offices were dark and silent, but a sliver of light escaped from under Rich’s office door. I slipped out of my shoes and crept closer, my heart pounding. Through the narrow gap where the door was slightly ajar, I could see them. Rich and Aurora, sitting across from each other, smiling, their rapport easy and intimate. A sharp pain lanced through my chest. Then I heard Aurora’s voice, smooth as silk. “Still here, Mr. Blackwood? Won’t the little lady at home get jealous?” Rich’s brow furrowed slightly. “Don’t worry about her.” Aurora laughed, a light, musical sound. “I heard from Mrs. Gable that Katie’s been quite upset lately. Maybe you should head home.” Rich let out a short, cold huff of air. His voice was a low, dismissive drawl laced with a scorn that cut me to the bone. “Jealous? What could she possibly do? Without me, Katie is nothing. Just a pretty canary in a gilded cage I built for her. A broken, useless thing.” My blood ran cold. Rich… did he really see me that way? Just as a surge of furious tears burned my eyes, another voice chimed in, calm and familiar. “Katie’s always been spoiled. A little hardship will do her good.” My head snapped up. Through the crack in the door, I saw him. My brother. Ethan. Standing right there, his expression placid, as if discussing the weather. “She’s not a child anymore,” he continued. “If she throws a tantrum over something this small, who could stand it? It’s time her rough edges were smoothed out.” My hand flew to my mouth to stifle a gasp, my body trembling so violently I thought I would collapse. My movement must have made a sound, because Rich’s head shot up, his eyes narrowing on the door. “Who’s there?” Panic seized me. I scrambled backward, grabbing my shoes and running. Pride, the only thing I had left, wouldn’t let me stay. I couldn’t bear the thought of Aurora seeing me like this, her eyes filled with the same pity I saw in everyone else’s. I fled, tears streaming down my face. In the back of the car, I sobbed uncontrollably. Rich despised me. And Ethan, my protector, my beloved brother, had betrayed me. He’d thrown me to the wolves. They didn’t love me anymore. It was nearly midnight when Rich finally came home. I was waiting for him in the dark, sitting ramrod straight on the living room sofa. He entered silently, shrugging off his coat and hanging it with detached precision. My eyes were swollen and red. Before I could even speak, he broke the silence. “You came to the office today.” It wasn’t a question. His voice was cold. I gritted my teeth. “Yes. I did.” He sighed, a sound of profound weariness, rubbing his temples. “That was you at the door, wasn’t it?” “What if it was, Rich?” My voice shook with rage. “If I hadn’t gone, I never would have known what you really think of me! If you despise me so much, why did you marry me? You never loved me, did you?” The tears started again, hot trails of humiliation and anger. He looked at me with open frustration. “Katie, I’m exhausted. I don’t have the energy for this drama. Things are incredibly stressful right now, and I can’t deal with these petty games. Can you please just stop?” The air left my lungs. “Petty games…” I whispered, incredulous. “This is a ‘petty game’ to you? The fact that my husband thinks I’m worthless is a petty game? Do you even care about me at all?” He just stared at me as if I were a hysterical child. “I’m going to bed. If you’re still in a mood, go shopping tomorrow. Book a spa day. I’ll have my assistant arrange it.” He turned to leave. “Rich,” I called out, my voice dangerously quiet. “I want a divorce. Is that also a petty game?” He froze, his back rigid. Slowly, he turned around. A cold, humorless smile touched his lips. “Divorce me? Are you sure about that?” He took a step closer. “Was anything I said untrue? You’ve lived off my money, off your father’s money, your entire life. Tell me, Katie, without me, what are you? What could you possibly do?” I stood there, speechless and shattered. He softened his voice then, but his eyes were devoid of warmth. It was the tone one uses to soothe a frightened pet. “Katie. Be a good girl. Once this project is over, I’ll take you on a trip. Anywhere you want to go.” He disappeared into the bedroom. I remained on the sofa, sitting in the darkness all night long, as the last remnants of my love for him turned to ash. 3 The next day, I drove to my father’s house. When I walked into his study, my mother was there, deep in conversation with him. Dad looked up, surprised. “Katie, honey. What brings you here?” I glanced at my mother, suddenly unsure of how to begin. Sensing my hesitation, she stood up gracefully. “You two talk. I’ll go rest for a bit.” My father watched her leave, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. As soon as the door closed, the words tumbled out of me. “I want to divorce Rich.” His expression shifted from surprise to weary disbelief. I told him everything, my voice breaking as I recounted the previous night, the tears I’d tried so hard to suppress finally falling. My father had always been helpless against my tears. When I finished, his jaw was tight with anger. “I know, honey, I know. I’ll have a serious talk with Rich. He went way too far this time.” I shook my head fiercely. “No. I don’t want you to talk to him. I want a divorce. He despises me, Dad.” He fell silent. Under my pleading gaze, he finally sighed, the fight draining out of him. “Katie, don’t be dramatic. It’s a small argument. It’s not worth ending a marriage over. Rich is under a lot of pressure with this new project. A scene like this will only distract him.” A chill went through me. “You think I’m being dramatic, too?” “Katie,” he said, his voice taking on a patronizing tone. “You’re a grown woman now, not a little girl. You may not be able to help run a company like your sister, but you can be a supportive partner to your husband. This kind of behavior will only push him away.” My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. Why was no one on my side? “Ever since Aurora came back, all of you have changed! In your eyes, she’s the perfect daughter, and I’m just the stupid, useless one. You look down on me just like he does, don’t you?” His eyes were filled with a weary helplessness. “Don’t be difficult, Katie. Of course I don’t look down on you. But this is reality. You’re an adult now. You can’t expect everyone to cater to your moods like when you were a child.” “But you promised!” I cried out. “You and Ethan promised you would protect me forever, that you’d never let me be unhappy!” He had no answer for that. He just changed the subject. “I’ll have Rich over for dinner tonight. I’ll make sure he apologizes. We’ll put this whole thing behind us.” I stood up, trembling. “Whether you approve or not, I’m getting this divorce. I don’t need your permission.” As I stormed out, I saw my mother coming down the stairs. I heard my father’s voice, heavy with disappointment, drift from the study. “You were right. I ruined her. She’s spoiled, selfish, thinks only of herself…” The floor fell out from beneath me. They were the ones who had made me this way. They were the ones who told me my only job was to be happy. And now, they despised me for it. If they felt that way, why did they ever make those promises? I went back to the house and started packing, but after a lifetime of being waited on, I didn’t even know where most of my things were. Mrs. Gable watched me with a pained expression. “Miss Katie, Mr. Blackwood gave orders that you are not to leave. And that we are not to assist you.” Gritting my teeth, I wrestled my clothes into a suitcase. Just as I was about to drag it out the door, Ethan’s car pulled into the driveway. His face darkened the moment he saw the luggage. He strode over, snatched the suitcase from my hand, and threw it to the ground. The clasps burst open, spilling my dresses across the pristine floor. “Katie, have you lost your mind? Stop this ridiculous tantrum!” My eyes burned, but I held his gaze. “I’m not throwing a tantrum. You’re the ones who are wrong! I am divorcing Rich.” A mocking sneer twisted his lips. “You’re twenty-eight, Katie, not eighteen. Do you really think these histrionics are helping? We spoiled you so badly you can’t even see how pathetic you look. This behavior is just… repulsive.” His words hit me like a physical blow. I dropped to my knees and began stuffing my clothes back into the broken suitcase, my voice a stubborn whisper. “Fine. Then you can all hate me. I don’t need any of you.” I managed to close the lid. Ethan laughed coldly. “And where will you go? Dad won’t welcome you home, and he certainly won’t be giving you any more money. Let’s see how long your little rebellion lasts when you’re cut off.” I froze. He was right. I had no money of my own. I didn’t even know how to rent an apartment. The world outside my gilded cage was a terrifying mystery. Just then, Rich arrived. He saw me on the floor, clutching my suitcase. He strode over and pulled me to my feet, his grip like iron. His voice was cold as he addressed the staff. “Take my wife back to her room. Watch her. Don’t let her cause any more trouble.” “Yes, sir.” I was being dragged away, a prisoner in my own home. My mind reeled. “Ethan…” I pleaded, looking back at my brother. He just stared at me, his face a mask of indifference. “It’s time you grew up, Katie. If you were half as sensible as Aurora, my life would be so much easier.” Tears streamed down my face. “Ethan, please! Don’t let them lock me up! Please!” My cries echoed in the hall as the bedroom door clicked shut behind me. For three days, they kept me there. No one came. My father and brother had handed me over to another man, letting him do as he pleased, condoning this… imprisonment. It was in that silent room that I finally understood. If I wanted to be free, I had to rely on myself. On the third day, when Rich finally opened the door, the tears were gone. I looked at him, my voice steady and clear. “Rich, I want to start a business.”

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I have liver cancer. For three years, I waited for the man I loved to bring back the only woman in the world who could save me. He finally returned to my deathbed today. But he stood in front of her, shielding her from my gaze, and pleaded with me, “She’s scared of the pain. Can we just… not have her do it?” 1 Seven years. I’ve been living with liver cancer for seven years. And, of course, I have the kind of rare, Rh-negative blood that makes a transplant a statistical nightmare. A ghost orchid in a field of daisies. So when they found a match, a one-in-a-million shot, Leo booked a flight. He went to chase her down himself, wherever she was. He swore to me, one hand on his heart, the other clutching his passport. “One week, Anna. I’ll bring her back in one week.” But one week bled into a year. Then two. Then three. I didn’t see Leo again until the hospital had issued my ninth critical condition notice. He finally stood before me, but he wasn’t alone. He was shielding a girl behind him, his voice rough with a feeling I couldn’t place. “Anna,” he said, his throat tight. “She’s scared of the pain. Can we… can we just not have her do it?” “What the hell, Leo? Are you even human?” The voice was Mia’s, my best friend, sharp enough to cut glass. She looked ready to launch herself across the room and tear him apart. But Leo’s eyes were locked on me. “Anna. Please?” I blinked, pulling the cashmere blanket tighter around my shoulders, a frail shield against his words. So this was it. This was the result I’d been waiting for. It was, I decided with a sudden, hollow clarity, a bit anticlimactic. “It’s okay, Leo,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “I forgot to tell you. My family found another donor. The surgery was a little while ago.” I gestured vaguely around the pristine, white room. “See? I’m here now. Recovering in Switzerland.” Mia’s eyes went wide. “Anna, what are you talking ab—” Her words were swallowed by the sudden, racking cough that seized my body. She was at my side in an instant, her hand patting my back, her eyes turning red with unshed tears. From behind Leo’s shoulder, the girl, the donor, finally peeked out. A smile bloomed on her face, revealing two slightly pointed canines that were, I had to admit, quite charming. This was her. Chloe. The girl who held my life in her hands, and who had apparently captured Leo’s soul on the way to delivering it. Leo thought I was in the dark. But I knew. Of course, I knew. The boy I’d grown up with, the one who was an extension of my own heart, had changed. He’d fallen in love on the road to saving my life. In the beginning, he’d been ruthless in his mission. He’d thrown money at her, leveraged every resource the family name could offer, everything. When she’d refused, he’d gotten ugly. He’d threatened to have her deported, to ruin the new life she was so proud of. But even when backed into a corner, Chloe had been defiant, her chin held high. “In your dreams,” she’d spat at him. “I’m not selling off parts of my body for your money. I’d rather we both go down in flames.” After that, their dynamic shifted. They became infamous rivals in their small corner of the world. Then, somehow, that fire had turned into a different kind of heat. They’d ended up in the same bed and hadn’t left for three days. And now, here they were. Three years later. Their hands were tightly clasped in front of me. He seemed to have forgotten the time we played dress-up as kids, how he’d stolen his mother’s wedding veil and placed it on my head, whispering that one day, he would marry me for real. The man in front of me now just stared, his brow furrowed in suspicion. “Then why didn’t you tell me?” Mia let out a short, bitter laugh. “Tell you? We figured you wouldn’t bother coming back until Anna was already in the ground.” Three years had curdled all the love Mia ever had for Leo into pure hatred. His face darkened instantly. “Chloe has a life of her own. She worked her ass off to get where she is in the States. You think she should just drop everything, her entire future, because you call and say you’re not feeling well?” He pulled Chloe forward slightly, a protective gesture. “She gave up a major research conference to come here for you. And for what? To find out you’re already fine? That you’ve been lying to me, wasting our time.” He took a step closer, his voice dropping. “Don’t you think you owe us an apology, Anna?” My head snapped up. There wasn’t a trace of guilt in his eyes. Only a deep, chilling annoyance. I was too tired for this. Too tired to fight. “Okay,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. Leo. Miss… Chloe. I’m sorry for the trouble.” I tried to dip my head, a pathetic attempt at a bow, but Mia’s hand shot out, her grip trembling with rage as she stopped me. “Are you insane?” she hissed under her breath. “What are you apologizing for?” Leo froze, and the anger in his eyes intensified. “You two,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “After all these years, you’re both still so goddamn selfish.” “Unbelievable.” He turned, pulling Chloe with him, and slammed the door shut with a deafening crack. The sound broke something in Mia. She finally let out a choked sob. “Anna, there is no other liver! You’re dying!” she cried, her voice ragged. “Why are you still protecting that bastard?” I had made my peace with death long ago. But hearing the word spoken so brutally, so final, sent a sharp, echoing pain through my chest. It woke the deeper, gnawing ache of the cancer that had, for a brief moment, been dormant. “Leo’s not an idiot, Mia. He can see it.” Look at me. I was practically a skeleton in a blanket, a breath away from the grave. A ghost haunting her own life. “…He just doesn’t want to save me anymore,” I finished quietly. “Besides, there’s no point. It’s too late for a transplant. Another surgery would just be… more pain. More torture.” I sighed. “Just let it go.” Mia stopped, her sobs growing louder. She knew I was right. Seven years of liver cancer had become ten. I’d slipped from early stage to terminal while I waited. I was living in a hell of constant, grinding pain, where every breath felt like a punishment. One more day was just one more day in hell. My hand, thin and brittle as a dried leaf, reached up to touch her tear-streaked face. “Hey,” I whispered. “Mia, remember what you promised me before we came to Switzerland?” “We were going to be happy. We were going to laugh. What’s with all the crying?” She turned her head away, her shoulders shaking. “I’ll cry if I want to,” she mumbled petulantly. “Maybe you’ll get so annoyed you’ll come back to life just to shut me up.” The door creaked open again. Leo stood there, back from wherever he’d stormed off to. He glanced at Mia’s red nose with a strange look, then his eyes landed on me, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. He took a few deep breaths, as if steeling himself. “Anna, there’s something I forgot to tell you.” He paused. “Chloe is my girlfriend now. I have to… I have a responsibility to her.” Another pause, this one heavier. “So… all that stuff from when we were kids, the promises… we have to just call it what it was. A joke. I’m sorry.” I tried to process the words. A joke. His confession of love, all those years ago, had been a joke. A signed, blank check appeared in front of my face. He reached out and ruffled my hair, just like he used to when we were kids. “Fill in any number you want,” he said, his voice trying for kindness and failing. “I hope you feel better soon.” I stared blankly for a long moment, until a dull ache in the back of my hand brought me back. I must have blacked out. Cool fluid was dripping into my veins from an IV. This drug was a miracle. For a little while, nothing hurt. Not my body, and not my heart. When I was fully lucid again, the only people left in the room were a grim-faced doctor and Mia, who was tearing a lab report into tiny, furious pieces. She was still trying to hide it from me. But I’d already seen the numbers. I always snuck a look. They were getting worse. Sharply worse. It was really over. The end stages are ugly for patients like me. You lose control of everything. There’s no dignity. I didn’t want that. Not while Leo was here. A bitter sting filled my eyes, but I forced a smile onto my face. “Mia,” I said softly. “I kind of miss Mom and Dad. And I don’t think I can hold on much longer.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “My birthday is in two days. Let me go then, okay? As a birthday present.”

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After blazing through three power-fantasy stories, the hardest thing I’d ever faced was an overly bitter iced Americano. So when I woke up reborn as the tragic heroine of an angst-filled novel, my first instinct was to find the nearest wall and ram my head into it for a reset. But just as I was about to, memories from the original character flooded in. A mafia Don father. A billionaire CEO mother. A handsome, rich, devoted childhood sweetheart. With a setup this overpowered, how did the original girl waste her life chasing a scumbag? She let him and his mistress destroy her—right up to her bones being fed to wild dogs. It was an insult to badass heroines everywhere. I pulled back from the wall. Just then, my phone buzzed. A text from the other woman, Seraphina, with a photo of her and my fiancé, Jerry, tangled in bedsheets. [Sera Reed]: Jerry had too much to drink. Staying at my place tonight. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of him.] Time, place, culprits—all served on a silver platter. I forwarded the message and photo to every major gossip outlet I knew. My caption: “BREAKING: C-list actress and billionaire heir caught ‘rehearsing a script’ late at night. Wait for slide #2!” 1 While the paparazzi swarmed Seraphina’s apartment complex, I was soaking in a ridiculously large bathtub, scrolling through a sitcom on my tablet. The hashtag #JerrydSera was dominating the trending charts. I lazily reposted the provocative photo Seraphina had so thoughtfully sent me, adding a simple, questioning emoji. Meanwhile, Jerry Vance was trying to hunt me down, blowing up my phone with a string of furious calls. I ignored them, happily nursing a cocktail in a neon-lit nightclub, shamelessly checking out the DJ. Of course, a billionaire heir has his resources. It only took an hour for his bodyguards to find me and unceremoniously drag me back to his villa. Jerry’s eyes were blazing with a fury so intense it felt like he wanted to devour me whole. “Aurora Blackwood! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he roared. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to Sera? Is this your pathetic attempt to get my attention? By ruining her?” I shook my head, sinking languidly into the plush sofa. “Get your attention? Please. Your ego is taking up all the air in the room. I’m not trying to get your attention. I’m just trying to ruin you and that cheap knock-off you’re sleeping with.” As a heroine from a power-fantasy world, I had a particular set of skills. Pissing people off was my specialty. It worked. Jerry stared at me, his brow furrowed in confusion, clearly thrown off by my departure from the usual script of tearful accusations. But his confusion quickly morphed back into rage. “Sera is just a friend from high school, Aurora! Stop projecting your own filthy thoughts onto us!” he snarled. “If you want to stay with me, if you want your father’s little company to stay afloat with my support, you will get online right now and issue a public apology to Sera. You will tell everyone that you faked that photo and the texts.” Hold on. My father’s company needs his support? I’d almost forgotten. The original Aurora, terrified that her background would scare Jerry off, had told a little white lie. Her father, the feared Don Marcus Blackwood, and her mother, the ruthless billionaire CEO Isabella Lin, were painted as simple small-business owners struggling to make ends meet. Little did Jerry know, the ‘Vance empire’ he was so proud of was only standing because my parents had been propping it up for years, a little charity project for their daughter’s fiancé. And he had the audacity to posture like this. I crossed my legs, leaning back into the sofa with a smirk. “And if I don’t? What are you gonna do about it?” He trembled with rage, his hand raising as if to strike me. Before his palm could connect, I whipped out my phone and hit ‘record.’ “Go on, do it,” I taunted, holding the camera up to my face. “Hit me right here. I guarantee if you lay a single finger on me, I’ll sue you for everything you have, right down to your last pair of boxer shorts.” His hand froze mid-air, caught in an awkward limbo between striking me and losing face by backing down. Just then, the frantic click-clack of high heels echoed from the foyer. A second later, a figure flew into the room and threw herself into Jerry’s arms. “Jerry, darling, please don’t fight with Aurora because of me,” Seraphina sobbed. “It’s all my fault. I just wanted to let her know you were safe. I never thought she would misunderstand so badly and cause such a scene.” She heaved with dramatic, breathless sobs—all the sound, none of the tears. Jerry clutched her as if she were a precious, fragile doll, practically trying to absorb her into his own body. My phone was still recording. Perfect. The B-roll was delivering itself. I moved around them, getting all the angles. A full 360-degree, high-definition shot of their touching reunion. “Yes, just like that!” I encouraged them. “A little louder on the crying, Sera. You can do better. And you, Jerry, hold her tighter! Did you skip lunch? Put some feeling into it! Don’t you think this moment calls for a passionate kiss to seal the deal?” Jerry finally remembered I was there. He hastily let go of Seraphina’s waist. “Aurora, are you insane?” he seethed. “Delete that video. Now!” I scoffed, tucking the phone safely into my pocket. “Not a chance. I think I’ll let the internet be the judge. We’ll see who’s really the one with the filthy mind, and who’s just rotten to the core.” He opened his mouth, but the only threat he could muster was a weak, “You’ll regret this, Aurora.” Please. I’ve stared down intergalactic warlords. A flimsy threat from a cheating fiancé was hardly going to make me lose sleep. This was just the beginning. Now that I was here, this story was no longer a tragedy. It was a revenge fantasy. And I was writing the script. 2 I had assumed the cheating duo would lay low for a while. I was wrong. At three in the morning, my phone erupted with a storm of notifications, shattering my peaceful sleep. I groggily unlocked it, and a flood of pop-up links funneled me directly into Seraphina’s livestream. There she was, perched precariously on a rooftop ledge, tears streaming down her face as she told the world how I was driving her to her death. “Jerry and I are innocent,” she cried. “Why won’t anyone believe me? Why do you have to slander me… why are you trying to ruin my life, to take everything from me! What’s the point of me even being alive anymore…” Her performance sent the comment section into a frenzy of vitriol directed at me. [Sera is too pure for this world. She doesn’t understand how evil people can be. Not like that gold-digging witch trying to marry into a rich family.] [Sera and the CEO are the perfect couple. Why won’t that other bitch just die already?] [Sera shouldn’t have to jump for someone like that! SHE should be the one on that ledge!] [Exactly! And that Jerry guy is blind. How could he be engaged to such a monster?] I rolled my eyes. Keyboard warriors. Predictably brainless. Just then, another figure burst onto the screen. It was Jerry, his face a mask of panic, his voice choked with emotion. “Sera, get down from there! It’s my fault! I didn’t protect you!” he pleaded. “I swear, I will never let anyone hurt you again…” The drama was thick enough to cut with a knife. I could already see how this would play out: the scumbag CEO and the damsel in distress would have a tearful confession of love, a passionate embrace, and the world would celebrate their twisted romance. The original Aurora would be the only casualty. Too bad for them, I wasn’t the original Aurora. And my favorite pastime was pouring gasoline on a fire. Without a second thought, I started typing in the chat. [I suggest Jerry jump with her to prove their innocence. Lock it down, you two!] [If you don’t jump, you’re both my children.] Satisfied, I exited the stream, turned off my phone, and went back to sleep. The next morning, the gifts from my new internet fans started arriving. Funeral wreaths, buckets of red paint, bricks through the windows. To top it all off, Jerry had successfully bankrupted the “small business” the original Aurora had claimed her family owned. I checked my phone. My name was still the number one trending topic, with hundreds of thousands of comments demanding my head. This was perfect. The bigger the spectacle, the harder the fall. Eager to gloat, Jerry arrived at my door with Seraphina on his arm, a smug, triumphant look on his face. “Have you learned your lesson yet, Aurora?” he asked. “Apologize to Sera online, and I might be willing to forget this ever happened. You can even continue to be my pathetic little lapdog.” I lounged on the sofa, my eyes rolling so hard I was surprised they didn’t get stuck. “Did you forget to take a piss this morning? If you don’t have any urine to look in, maybe try a mirror? But don’t do it in my house. It would probably smell as foul as you do.” Seeing his threats had no effect, Seraphina tugged on Jerry’s sleeve, her face transforming in an instant. Her eyes reddened, her lip trembled. “Jerry, darling… does this mean Aurora will never forgive me? I’ll get on my knees if it will make her feel better. Please, don’t fight because of me.” She made a show of starting to kneel. Jerry immediately hauled her up, shielding her behind him like a mother hen. He glared at me with a look so venomous it could kill. I just started humming a little tune. “Oh, what a poor, innocent little flower, so full of… bullshit and cheap tricks…” Jerry, deprived of the groveling apology he expected and seeing his precious Sera “bullied” again, finally snapped. “You will regret this, Aurora,” he seethed. “Mark my words.” I waved them off. “Bye-bye now.” 3 I’ll give Jerry this: he was a man of his word, especially when it came to avenging his little damsel. If I didn’t have the backing of an insanely powerful family, his scorched-earth tactics might have actually been intimidating. But as a power-fantasy heroine, his petty games were laughable. Seraphina’s rabid fans camped outside my door, screaming obscenities? I called the police and had the pests removed. Jerry bought hashtags to smear my name online, with an army of trolls spreading rumors? I hired a team of lawyers to sue every last one of them for defamation. My mother was a billionaire. I could afford to be reckless. My father was the Don. I had an army of bodyguards. I wasn’t afraid of anything. The day before Jerry was set to make a grand appearance at the city’s most exclusive high-society gala with Seraphina, my mother called. She told me she had organized a little party and that I was required to attend. It was time, she said, for me to find a husband worthy of our family. My parents weren’t living under a rock. They’d seen the online drama and had called immediately, asking how I wanted to handle it. But this was my fight. A satisfying victory is one you win yourself. All I asked was for my dad to run a background check on Jerry. Otherwise, I wouldn’t even need my father’s influence; a few of my bodyguards could have turned him into a human pretzel. So when I walked into the very gala Jerry was so proud to have been invited to, wearing a couture gown designed by a living legend, the look on his face was priceless. “Aurora? How did you get in here?” he stammered. What, I’m not allowed to attend the party my own mother threw for me? He was about to call security to have me thrown out when I cut him off with a dismissive shrug. “If they’re letting trash like you in, this party can’t be all that exclusive.” He obviously had no authority to command the event’s security, so he lowered his voice to a hiss. “This is not a place for lowlifes like you. You’d better not cause a scene, or I swear, you’ll pay for it.” At least he had enough sense to know he was out of his league here. He had probably begged, borrowed, and stolen to get an invitation, hoping to network his way to the top. A noble goal, if he hadn’t brought a liability. Suddenly, Seraphina dropped to her knees in front of me, one hand clutching her chest dramatically, the other grabbing the hem of my gown. “Aurora, I’m begging you, please stop fighting with Jerry because of me,” she wailed. “I’ll leave him. I’ll disappear from your lives forever. Just please, don’t embarrass him in front of all these important people.” The little fool didn’t realize that her pathetic act was the most embarrassing thing of all. As intended, her performance drew the eyes of everyone in the ballroom. People started pointing and whispering. Jerry, who had just warned me not to cause a scene, immediately switched into protective mode. He rushed to Seraphina’s side, scooping her into his arms and roaring at me. “Look what you’ve done, Aurora! I told you not to make trouble, and now you’ve forced Sera to her knees! Did you think you could bully her into leaving me? Let me tell you something: in my eyes, you’re not even worthy of polishing her shoes!” He was so loud I was almost certain his earlier warning had just been a fart in the wind. I nodded slowly and began to applaud. A truly moving performance. “A show this spectacular deserves a bigger audience than just me,” I said, pulling out my phone and starting a livestream. “Let’s share this with the world.” I aimed the camera at them. “Okay, I wasn’t ready before. Let’s take it from the top. Run the scene again. Let the whole world bear witness to your beautiful, tragic love story.” 4 The moment the livestream went live, the chat exploded. Seraphina immediately buried her face in Jerry’s chest, turning just enough to give the camera a perfect, tear-streaked profile. Her voice, choked with manufactured sobs, was a masterpiece of victimhood. “Please, everyone, don’t misunderstand,” she whimpered. “Aurora is just… confused right now. I’m sure she doesn’t mean to be so cruel…” Jerry stroked her back, his eyes spitting fire at me. “Confused? She’s malicious! She knows you have a kind heart, and she preys on it, framing you again and again! Now she’s pulling this livestream stunt at a high-society gala to destroy your reputation!” One played the victim, the other spun the lies.

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My husband’s parents drove six hours from their small town to Chicago, wanting to surprise him. I led them to Aura, the upscale restaurant where he was the executive chef, and told him to give them the best table. Instead, he called over his favorite apprentice, a doe-eyed girl named Tessa, and had her prepare the fugu sashimi—a dish even his most seasoned chefs wouldn’t touch. Tessa wrinkled her nose, her voice a breathy whisper. “Oh, Chef, the tetrodotoxin… I’d be terrified to even touch it…” Ethan just laughed, a careless, dismissive sound. “Just rinse it off. They’re a couple of old farmers. They won’t know the difference.” Not ten minutes after eating the fugu, my in-laws collapsed, foam bubbling at their lips. When Ethan was finally summoned from the kitchen, he barely glanced at the two elderly figures slumped over the table. All his attention was on the apprentice, now pale and trembling in his arms. “If they’re sick, send them to the ER,” he said. “But get them to sign a liability waiver for the restaurant before they go.” He shot me a look, his tone so detached you’d think the dying couple on his custom Italian leather banquette were complete strangers. “Your parents just got to the city. Probably just a shock to their system. Don’t you dare try to pin this on Aura, or on my Tessa.” It was then I realized. He still had no idea who was dying on his table. I looked him dead in the eye. “Are you absolutely certain you want to absolve your ‘Tessa’ of all responsibility?” 1 Ethan let out an exasperated sigh. “Leah, are you deaf?” He snatched a printed liability waiver from his assistant’s hand and slapped it down on the table in front of me. “Sign it. Now. Tessa’s a sensitive girl. You’re scaring her.” In his arms, the apprentice, Tessa, was shaking like a leaf. She shot a furtive glance in my direction, then buried her face in his chest, her voice thick with manufactured tears. “Oh, Ethan, it’s all my fault… I just wanted to show off for your… for the nice couple…” she sobbed. “I’ll take full responsibility. I’ll get on my knees and beg for their forgiveness…” Ethan immediately hushed her, his hand cupping her face with a tenderness I hadn’t seen in years. “Don’t be ridiculous. This has nothing to do with you. They’ve probably got weak stomachs,” he murmured. “Besides, a delicate ingredient like fugu? It’s no surprise a couple of country folk like them can’t handle it.” I pointed to my in-laws, whose bodies had begun to twitch and seize on the polished mahogany table. “Ethan,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “This isn’t about blame right now. We need to call 911.” He scoffed as if I’d just told the funniest joke in the world. “And who’s going to pay for that?” he asked, crossing his arms. He still hadn’t looked at them. “You think ambulances are free? That getting your stomach pumped doesn’t cost a fortune?” “I’m not paying a dime until you sign that waiver. They can go back to whatever one-horse town they came from and find a country doctor for all I care.” A hush fell over the dining room. Every eye was on our table. Ethan didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he reveled in it. He raised his voice, jabbing a finger at me. “Let me make something clear, Leah. This is my restaurant. At Aura, what I say goes.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “Your parents’ lives are in my hands right now. And if you don’t sign, I’ll let them die right here.” From behind his shoulder, Tessa peered out, a sliver of a triumphant smirk on her lips. Seeing my hesitation, Ethan’s patience snapped. He lunged forward, knocking over a glass of Cabernet. He grabbed my hand, dipped my thumb into the puddle of dark red wine, and forcibly pressed it onto the signature line of the waiver. “There,” he said, disgust twisting his features as he flung my hand away. “We’re even.” He pulled a silk pocket square from his jacket and meticulously wiped his fingers as if he’d touched something contaminated. Then, he turned back to Tessa, his entire demeanor softening into a mask of concern. “Tess, honey, can you go with them to the hospital? Keep an eye on things, make sure they don’t try to fleece us.” He straightened his tie. “I’ve got an interview with a food critic tonight. I can’t be late.” He wouldn’t even go to the hospital himself. As he walked away without a backward glance, I took out my phone and snapped a crystal-clear photo of the waiver, my thumbprint stark and crimson against the white paper. Then, I dialed 911. I rode in the ambulance, my heart hammering against my ribs as I watched the paramedics work on my in-laws. “It’s the fugu!” I told the EMT, my voice cracking. “They ate pufferfish!” The medic’s face went grim, and he immediately started prepping advanced life support. But the moment we burst through the doors of the ER, Tessa, who had followed in her own car, intercepted the attending physician. She grabbed the sleeve of his white coat. “Doctor, they just had some bad shellfish,” she said, her voice filled with authority. “I watched them eat it myself. Just some shrimp and mussels. I think it’s a severe case of food poisoning, maybe an allergy.” She had deliberately omitted the most critical piece of information. The doctor glanced at her chef’s whites and, after a moment’s hesitation, nodded. He chose to believe her. “Alright, let’s treat it as severe foodborne illness and anaphylaxis! Get them on antihistamines and prep for gastric lavage!” But after the IVs were in, their condition only worsened. A terrifying paralysis began to creep into their limbs. The attending’s forehead was beaded with sweat. “This isn’t right,” he muttered. “The reaction is too extreme for a simple allergy…” Suddenly, the heart monitor shrieked. I couldn’t take it anymore. I shoved Tessa aside and rushed to the doctor, holding my phone up to his face. “They ate FUGU!” I screamed. “Improperly prepared fugu sashimi! Do you understand me?!” The doctor’s eyes widened in horror as he saw the picture of the sloppily plated fish. He dropped the syringe of epinephrine in his hand. “Damn it! Get me toxicology and the ICU, now! We need the TTX antidote! We’re dealing with tetrodotoxin poisoning!” The ER exploded into controlled chaos as the medical team scrambled to transfer them to the Intensive Care Unit. But just as the specialists finalized the treatment plan, just as they were about to administer the life-saving drug, that venomous little snake Tessa spoke up again, her voice dripping with false concern. “Doctor! Wait! I just remembered something!” she cried, clutching his arm. “Back at the restaurant… I think I overheard them talking… They said they have severe allergies to a lot of common medications!” The entire medical team froze. To ensure patient safety, they had no choice but to run a series of rapid allergy tests. Another thirty minutes—thirty precious, golden minutes of rescue time—were lost. I was shaking with a rage so pure I wanted to wrap my hands around her neck and squeeze. It was then that Ethan finally arrived, fresh from his interview, looking impeccable in a tailored suit. He didn’t even glance at the red light glowing above the ICU doors. He walked straight to Tessa and pulled her into a protective embrace, his eyes full of worry. “Tessa, are you okay? They didn’t give you a hard time, did they?” Tessa melted against him as if she’d finally found her anchor. She pointed a trembling finger at me. “She was awful to me, Ethan,” she whimpered. “She kept screaming at me. I was so scared…” Ethan cooed, stroking her hair. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here now. No one’s going to hurt you.” Then he turned on me, his face a mask of fury. “What the hell is wrong with you, Leah?! Tessa came here to help, out of the goodness of her heart, and you attack her? She’s just an apprentice, what does she know? You want to blame someone, you blame me! Don’t take it out on her like some shrew!” I stared at the grotesque scene before me, a profound coldness seeping into my bones. My voice, when it came out, was a raw shout. “Ethan! Even if they were my parents, wouldn’t you care at all if they lived or died?!” He was taken aback for a second, then his lip curled into a sneer as he adjusted the collar of his shirt. “Why are you making such a scene? People get sick, people die. It’s the circle of life. Get over it.” As the last word left his mouth, the red light above the ICU door clicked off. The doctor emerged, his face etched with exhaustion. He pulled down his sweat-soaked mask and looked at me, a deep, profound sorrow in his eyes. He slowly shook his head. “I’m so sorry. We did everything we could.” he said. “We just… we ran out of time. The toxin had spread too far.” A roar filled my ears, and the world went numb. Ethan, however, let out a long, slow breath, not of grief, but of relief. As if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He took Tessa’s hand and turned to leave, his voice almost cheerful. “Well, that’s that. They’re gone. It has nothing to do with us anymore.” He squeezed her hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of this place before the bad luck rubs off on us.” I handled the arrangements myself. The funeral home, the death certificates, the urns, the cremation schedule. Through it all, Ethan never called. It was as if the two people who had raised him had simply vanished from his memory. His Instagram, however, was updated. A smiling photo of him and Tessa clinking champagne glasses at a trendy cocktail bar. The caption read: Clearing out the trash, welcoming a new chapter. I was at the crematorium, waiting for the final preparations, when Ethan showed up. He was with Tessa and several of his hulking line cooks from the restaurant. He wore a custom Armani suit, his hair perfectly coiffed, a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere of the place. He strode directly to me and threw a sheaf of papers in my face. “Sign it.” The sharp edge of the paper cut my cheek. I picked it up. A divorce agreement. The terms were breathtakingly cruel. I was to leave with nothing. All our shared assets were to be transferred to him as compensation for “reputational damages.” The reason? My parents had died in his restaurant, tarnishing its reputation and jeopardizing his career as a “Michelin-starred chef.” He stood there, chin held high, his voice like ice. “I have worked my ass off for ten years to build Aura! We were on the verge of getting our second star, and your hillbilly parents ruined everything!” he spat. “The whole internet is saying my restaurant kills people! Do you have any idea how much money I’ve lost? Do you know what this does to my brand? This is your family’s fault! You owe me!” Tessa, standing behind him, chimed in, her voice saccharine sweet. “Leah, Chef is being more than generous. He could be suing you for millions.” She looked me up and down with disdain. “Let’s be honest. You have no money, no connections. You’ve always been dead weight. Don’t you think it’s time you had some self-respect and just disappeared? Stop dragging him down.” I trembled with rage, my eyes locked on Ethan’s merciless face. “Do you have a conscience, Ethan?! My parents—no, your parents! They worked their fingers to the bone for you their entire lives. They came all this way to see you, and you killed them! And now you want to throw me out with nothing? Is this how you repay them?!” “Shut up!” he roared, his face contorting in fury. “Don’t you dare mention your goddamn dead parents to me!” He took a step forward and swung. His fist connected with my jaw, a sickening thud echoing in the small room. Pain, hot and sharp, exploded across my face. “Who are you to talk to me about conscience?” he sneered. “You’re nothing but an orphan now.” He gestured to his cooks. They moved in, grabbing me like I was a child, and slammed me against the cold, tiled wall. Ethan pried my fingers open and forced my hand down onto the divorce agreement, smearing my signature. He finished, then once again pulled out his handkerchief and scrubbed his hands raw. He picked up the signed papers, blew on the ink to dry it, and a satisfied smile spread across his face. He glanced at the two simple coffins waiting to be moved into the furnace. “What are you waiting for?” he barked at the crematorium staff. “Burn them. Two dried-up husks, not much fat on them. Don’t waste our taxpayers’ electricity.” With that, he wrapped his arm around Tessa’s shoulders and strutted out, the very picture of triumph. Just before they disappeared through the door, Tessa looked back at me, her smile a mocking parody of sympathy. I watched them go, then slowly, painfully, pushed myself upright. I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth, took out my phone, and called my father-in-law’s brother. “Uncle Rob? It’s Leah.” My voice was steady. “The funeral is arranged. I’ll text you the time and location. You can let the rest of the family know. It’s time to say goodbye… to Mom and Dad.” My in-laws had treated me more like a daughter than a daughter-in-law, loving me in a way their own son never could. I used my life’s savings to buy them a beautiful, peaceful plot in a cemetery just outside the city. I chose the headstone myself, a simple, elegant granite, engraved with their names and etched with their favorite photograph, the one where they were laughing on their porch swing. I had Uncle Rob invite every single relative—aunts, uncles, cousins—to pay their last respects on the seventh day after their passing. On the day of the funeral, as I was setting up a small speaker to play somber music, the sound of loud whistling and barking cut through the quiet air. Tessa appeared, dressed in a ridiculously colorful and expensive streetwear outfit, with a pack of large, powerful dogs on leashes. Ethan trailed behind her, a smirk playing on his lips. “Wow, so gloomy in here! Lighten up a little!” Tessa called out, earning furious glares from the few relatives who had already arrived. She paid them no mind. With a flourish, she unclipped the leashes. “Go on, babies! Have fun!” The dogs, freed from their restraints, went wild. They tore through the small cemetery, digging up freshly laid sod, ripping apart wreaths of flowers, and fighting over the food offerings the family had placed on the ground. The scene descended into chaos. “Tessa! Stop them!” I screamed. She just shrugged, a playful smile on her face. “Oh, relax, Leah. They’re just being friendly. I’m sure your mom and dad would love the company.” As if on cue, an Alaskan Malamute, tall as a man on its hind legs, lifted its leg and urinated all over the new headstone. A yellow stream trickled down the polished black stone, defiling the smiling, kind face of my mother-in-law in the photograph. Nearby, a Doberman squatted and left a steaming pile of feces directly in front of the grave. Several of the older relatives looked like they were about to faint from pure rage. I lunged forward, but Ethan blocked my path. He watched the disgusting spectacle unfold, not with horror, but with uproarious laughter. “Ha! Look at that, Tess! Your dogs are smarter than most people. They know how to pay their respects!” he howled. “Bringing gifts of water and ‘gold’! They’re more dutiful than some ungrateful brats I know!” His words were daggers aimed straight at me. In the midst of the chaos, the largest dog, a German Shepherd, slammed its body against the stone pedestal holding the urns. CRACK. CRACK. Two heavy, ornate wooden boxes tumbled to the ground. The lids burst open on impact. The ashes, the last mortal remains of my in-laws, billowed into the air. The mountain breeze caught them, scattering them across the dirt and grass, where they were instantly trampled into the mud and dog filth by the rampaging animals. Ethan actually applauded. “Now that’s what I call returning to nature!” he declared, his voice ringing with satisfaction. “They spent their lives digging in the dirt. It’s only fitting they end up back in it. Dust to dust, right? Getting trampled into the ground with dog shit… it’s a real homecoming.” Just then, a commotion rose from the cemetery entrance. Ethan’s uncles, aunts, and cousins… dozens of relatives from his hometown had finally arrived. They stood frozen, staring in utter disbelief at the scene of desecration before them. At the shattered urns, the desecrated grave, and the ashes scattered and lost forever. Ethan’s Uncle Rob, a sturdy man in his fifties, began to tremble with fury. He pointed a shaking finger at the urine-stained headstone, his voice a choked, horrified roar directed at the still-laughing Ethan. “Ethan… are you insane?!” he screamed. “What are you doing?! What in God’s name are you doing to your own mother and father’s grave?!”

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I poured every resource I had into taking my fiancée’s company public. But on the day of the IPO, she stood on stage, live for the whole world to see, and announced, “Yes, we’re having a baby.” My shock quickly turned to pure joy. I was about to join her on stage when her male assistant beat me to it. They kissed, right there in front of the cameras, their hands intertwined. On their ring fingers were matching, one-of-a-kind custom diamond rings, symbolizing a love meant to last a lifetime. When I confronted her later, her voice was laced with indifference. “This was always a business arrangement, Landon. Why do you care what I do in my private life? Did you really think a little money could buy you love?” A cold smile touched my lips. I finally understood. She was cutting me loose now that the job was done. I don’t know if money can buy love. But it was more than enough to buy her company’s ruin. 1 I immediately dumped every share I owned of Jenna’s company. In less than ten minutes, the stock hit rock bottom. The trading screen was a sea of red. Jenna stormed in, her face a mask of fury, her hand raised to strike me. “Are you insane? Don’t you forget you’re a shareholder too! If this company goes bankrupt, every penny you invested will be gone!” I just smiled faintly. “Didn’t you say I have more money than I know what to do with? I’d rather lose it all than raise another man’s child.” Jenna’s face went pale, but before she could speak, the man beside her, Ryan, cut in. “Landon, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I had too much to drink that night. I’m the one to blame. Please, don’t fight because of me.” Jenna shot me a venomous look. “The baby was an accident. If you have a problem, take it up with me. What kind of man throws his weight around like this?” An accident? The nerve she had to even say it. I could see she had zero remorse. I pulled out my phone and called my assistant. “Buy up every share of our main competitor to Jenna’s company. Don’t stop until we’ve shorted her company into the ground.” Jenna finally snapped. “What the hell do you want?” she roared. “You have two choices. Get rid of the baby, or watch your company burn.” That afternoon, she sent me a copy of a medical report confirming a terminated pregnancy. Only then did I calmly instruct my assistant to start reinvesting. Then, using my authority as the largest shareholder, I fired Ryan. I forwarded the termination notice to Jenna, expecting a storm of angry texts and calls. But there was nothing. She didn’t even reply. I knew she must hate my guts right now, but I didn’t care. As she said, our relationship was a contract. My grandmother’s health was failing. Her last wish, from her hospital bed, was to see me married. Just as I was wondering where I’d ever find a wife, Jenna walked into my life. She was like a ray of sunshine. She’d leave little love notes on my desk when I worked late and would be the first person at the airport with a bouquet of flowers when I returned from an overseas trip. So, when she made her company’s IPO a condition of our engagement, I agreed without hesitation. I thought my investment would at least earn me a partnership built on mutual respect. I never imagined she would use me to build her empire, only to turn around and sleep with her assistant. Just then, a text came in from my grandmother. She was being discharged today and wanted me to bring Jenna home for dinner. I tried calling Jenna, but her phone was off. My texts went unanswered. Remembering the medical report from the clinic, a flicker of worry ignited within me. What if something had gone wrong? I grabbed my keys and drove home. The moment I walked through the door, I saw him. Ryan, shirtless on my sofa, and Jenna, her face flushed, her clothes disheveled. I couldn’t believe it. She’d had a major medical procedure just hours ago, and this was the first thing she did. My sudden appearance startled them. Jenna frantically pulled a blanket over herself, a flicker of panic in her eyes. “You’re home! You didn’t say you were coming.” “Ryan was just… helping me. I spilled something on my shirt. Don’t get the wrong idea.” Her excuse was so flimsy it was insulting. I let out a cold laugh. “Does wiping something down require taking off your shirt? Must have been a nasty spill.” Jenna’s brow furrowed, sensing the ice in my tone. Before she could retort, Ryan had pulled on his clothes and was bowing to me, a picture of false contrition. “I’m sorry, Landon. I shouldn’t be here. I’ll leave right now.” My eyes caught on the suit he was wearing. It was a bespoke piece from an exclusive brand that only created custom pieces for its members. Eighty percent of my wardrobe came from them. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where he’d gotten it. A wave of nausea washed over me. I stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “Take it off,” I said, my voice hard as steel. Jenna’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Landon, are you sick? You want him to walk out of here naked?” “It’s my suit. Don’t I have the right to decide what happens to it? Or should I just call the police and have this thief arrested for breaking and entering and theft?” That did it. Jenna slapped me, hard. “It’s just a suit! Why are you making such a scene?” She stalked towards me, the angry red marks of passion still visible on her neck. She pulled a couple of crisp hundred-dollar bills from her wallet and threw them in my face. “Consider it sold. Happy now?” The sharp edge of the bill sliced a thin line across my cheek. Ryan gasped and handed me a tissue. As he leaned in, he whispered, his voice low enough for only me to hear: “You don’t know, do you? Jenna never got rid of the baby. The report she sent you? I had it faked.” “She didn’t just give me your clothes. She wants you to raise my child for me.” His eyes were gleaming with challenge. That was the last straw. I swung, my fist connecting squarely with his jaw. “You son of a bitch.” Jenna screamed and grabbed a heavy vase from the table, smashing it against the back of my head. Crack. The world went dizzy for a second before she shoved me with all her might. I crumpled to the floor. I felt a warm, slick liquid trickling down my neck. I reached up and my hand came away covered in blood. Jenna was already fussing over Ryan, helping him up, her face etched with concern. She hadn’t even looked at me. It was only when she saw the blood on my hand that her eyes widened in surprise. But her voice was still dripping with that same arrogant impatience. “I guess I’ve been too nice to you. You actually dared to hit him? Landon, do you have any idea…” I cut her off. “You never had the procedure, did you, Jenna?” She was momentarily speechless, then glared at me. “I sent you the report, didn’t I? What more do you want? If you’re not going to believe me, then maybe we shouldn’t get married at all!” She stormed out with Ryan, knocking over a pair of ceramic dolls we kept by the door. We’d made them together in the early days of her company, a memento of our shared dream. She’d said they were like us—bound together forever, destined to build something great. Now, she had shattered the one thing that symbolized us. I had given her chances. But for him, she had crossed every line, lied to me, and played me for a fool. I was done making concessions. If the basic trust between us was gone, then there was no point in a wedding. I called my assistant and cancelled everything. I’d just finished bandaging my head, trying to figure out how to break the news to my grandmother, when a call came from the family estate. It was our butler, his voice frantic. “Mr. Landon, you need to get to the hospital, now! It’s your grandmother—a massive heart attack!” My mind went blank. I didn’t even bother to change my shoes as I bolted out the door. On the way to the hospital, I learned what had happened. My grandmother had prepared a huge dinner, waiting for us to come home. Instead, she received a package from Ryan. It contained Jenna’s prenatal reports and a collection of graphic photos of the two of them together. To make matters worse, Ryan had gone online, smearing my name, claiming I was the third party who had used my power and influence to break them up. The shock was too much for her. Her old heart condition flared up, and she was rushed to the emergency room. My grandmother was the only family I had left in the world. If anything happened to her, I would destroy Ryan. But fate is a cruel mistress. By the time I finally reached the hospital, a doctor was gently pulling a white sheet over my grandmother’s face. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice full of pity. “We did everything we could.” My legs gave out. I stumbled to her bedside and took her hand, my vision blurring with tears. “Nana, wake up. We were supposed to have dinner together, remember?” Just yesterday morning, when she was discharged, her doctor had said she was fine. That with proper care, she would live to see me get married, to see her great-grandchildren. Now, she was just a cold, lifeless body. She would never open her eyes and look at me again. I was completely alone in the world. I buried my face in her cold hand and wept. I don’t know when Jenna appeared behind me, but I felt her hand on my shoulder. “People die, Landon. We have to move on.” Her words ignited a firestorm of rage within me. I turned, my eyes burning. “Isn’t this exactly what you and Ryan wanted? Why are you even here, pretending to care?” Jenna flinched, trying to explain. “I’m sad about Nana too, but this has nothing to do with Ryan. Can you stop acting like a rabid dog and lashing out at everyone?” I didn’t have the energy to argue. I told my assistant to arrange for my grandmother to be taken to the morgue. As I turned to leave, Jenna blocked my way. “I came to talk about the wedding.” “I want to hold it during the IPO celebration. It’s more efficient. But the media thinks Ryan and I are a couple now, so… I want him to stand in for you at the altar.” “Your grandmother is gone, so you don’t really need to be the groom, do you? We can just sign the papers privately.” She still had no idea I had cancelled everything. I looked at her and laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. “No need. You two have a lovely wedding. I hope you’re both very happy together, you bitch and your dog.”

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1 It was three in the morning. I sat on the sofa, listening to the sound of a key turning in the lock. Marcus pushed the door open, a rare smile on his face as he carefully placed a pink hair tie on the entryway table. When he saw me, his brow furrowed instinctively before smoothing out again. “Why are you still up? I told you not to wait for me when I’m working late.” His voice faltered when he saw my lit-up phone screen. It was a social media post from ten minutes ago. The author was his student, Nina. “Let’s get a divorce.” I never thought I would say those words to my husband on my 35th birthday. He stopped in his tracks, then sank onto the sofa, rubbing his temples in frustration. “Is this because I introduced her to my friends and I never introduced you?” “You could say that,” I replied coldly. A smirk played on his lips. “Fine by me. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Life won’t be easy for you and the baby in your belly once you’re on your own.” I let out a cold laugh. If I didn’t even want him, what made him think I’d keep his child? … As I slid the divorce papers across the table, he chuckled. “You’re serious about this? Over something so small?” I nodded. “Yes. Over this one small thing.” Marcus raised an eyebrow, his expression one of utter indifference. “Nicole, stop the act. You’ve been stuck to me like glue since you were in diapers. You really think you can live without me?” He leaned back, his voice dripping with condescension. “I get that you’re trying to get my attention, but don’t overdo it. Threatening divorce every day is a bad habit.” “I’m not kidding, Marcus. I’m serious.” His face darkened. “Fine. Have it your way. Just don’t come crying back to me later.” With that, he snatched a pen and signed his name with a flourish. Before I could say another word, his phone rang with the custom ringtone he’d set exclusively for Nina. Her sweet, gentle voice came through the speaker. “Professor Kane, our little kitten ran away. I’ve been looking for him everywhere. What if a big dog got him? I’m so scared.” “It’s okay, Nina. Don’t be afraid. Stay right where you are, and don’t wander off. I’m on my way to help you find him.” The man who was always so decisive and commanding was now speaking with a gentleness I had never heard. He grabbed his coat and headed for the door. There was a time when he would at least glance my way, gauging my reaction. But my constant compromises had emboldened him. Now, he felt entitled to leave me for her without a second thought. I sat on the sofa and watched him go, not saying a word. Now that I had chosen to let go, I wouldn’t cling to him anymore. I began to pack. The few things Marcus had ever given me, I left behind. The many things I had given him, I listed on eBay. Around noon, Marcus returned with Nina and her cat. Years ago, before we were married, Marcus had forced me to give my own cat away, claiming it was dirty. Now, he was cradling the cat he and Nina had adopted together, unable to put it down. “Why haven’t you cooked?” he demanded, seeing me eating takeout by myself. “I’m your ex-wife now. Am I supposed to cook for you and your new girlfriend?” Marcus’s temper flared, but Nina gently tugged on his sleeve, and he visibly reined it in. “Nicole, please don’t misunderstand the professor and me,” she said, her voice soft. “It’s my first time in this city for college, and I often don’t know who to turn to for help. He’s just a very kind person.” She looked at me, her eyes pleading. “I really don’t want to cause any trouble between you two. He cares about you a lot.” I put down my fork and gave her a cold smile. “You don’t want to cause trouble, so you have your professor use his family privileges to get you a special apartment. You don’t want to cause trouble, so you have him abandon his wife to drive you to and from school every day. You don’t want to cause trouble, so you drank from the same glass with him at the freshman welcome party in front of everyone?” My voice dripped with sarcasm. “Nina, as Mrs. Kane, I should really thank you for being so very, very thoughtful.” My words made her burst into tears. “I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Marcus immediately pulled her behind him, shielding her. “Nicole, stop looking at everyone with those bitter, accusatory eyes,” he spat. “You have a dirty mind, so you see dirt everywhere.” He turned his back on me and started cooing at the sobbing Nina, not sparing me another glance. This drama had been on repeat ever since she appeared. I was just so tired of it. I grabbed my bag and walked out. I had an appointment at the hospital. 2 The moment I arrived at the clinic, my mother-in-law called. It was always like this. Whenever we fought, Marcus couldn’t be bothered to deal with me, so he’d pass me off to his mother. “Nicole, fighting with Marcus again? Honey, let me give you some advice. A woman shouldn’t be so dramatic. Men like a gentle touch.” Her words were casual, dismissive. It was clear she didn’t take me seriously. In her eyes, I was pregnant with Marcus’s child; no other man would want me if we divorced. She already knew about Marcus and Nina. In fact, Nina’s name for her had progressed from Mrs. Kane, to godmother, and now, she just called her “Mom.” And my mother-in-law was perfectly fine with it. In her mind, the fact that her son could keep two women happy was a sign of his charm and ability. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” I said calmly. “If he and Nina are truly in love, then I’ll step aside.” She wasn’t the least bit flustered that I knew. She was confident I was just throwing another tantrum for attention. “Nicole, dear, men have to play the part sometimes when they’re out in the world. As his wife, you should be more understanding, not add to his stress over trivial things. You’re the lady of this house. No one can take your place. Besides, you’re carrying his child. Who would want you if you left him now?” Her tone was thick with contempt. “Mrs. Kane,” I replied coldly, “this isn’t the 19th century. Are you still thinking in terms of first wives and second wives?” I hung up and was about to walk into the pre-arranged abortion clinic when I saw my mother helping my college-aged sister, Sophie, who was waiting in the same line. I rushed over. The moment they saw me, they both started to cry. “Nicole, I know things are hard for you with your in-laws, and I didn’t want to bother you, but I just don’t know what else to do,” my mother sobbed. “Mom, calm down. Tell me what happened.” “Your sister… her boss assaulted her on a business trip. Now he’s denying it, saying she was willing. She’s pregnant, and he won’t even admit it’s his, claiming she slept around. Nicole, Marcus is a brilliant lawyer. Can you please ask him to represent her?” The news hit me so hard I couldn’t speak. My mother, thinking I was hesitant, quickly backtracked. “I’m sorry, Nicole. I know Marcus is a man of principle. I shouldn’t have asked. We’ll find another way.” “No, Mom, don’t say that. I understand. I’ll figure something out.” Twenty minutes later, I was at the private law firm Marcus ran off-campus. The waiting room was packed, as usual. Marcus was a top attorney. I took a number and sat down like everyone else. It was his rule. Even as his wife, I had to follow procedure during work hours. No special treatment. As I was calculating how long the wait would be, a familiar, slender figure pushed through the crowd and walked straight to the door of Marcus’s office. “Professor Kane,” Nina called softly, knocking gently. “I have something urgent I need to ask you about. Could I possibly…?” Marcus immediately stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. He turned to the crowded waiting room and said flatly, “One moment. I have an emergency to handle.” Murmurs of complaint rippled through the room. “What the hell? She just cut the line.” “I thought the great Marcus Kane was all about principles.” “Yeah, everyone here has an emergency. That’s why we’re here!” Marcus ignored them, his face impassive as he closed the door, shutting out all the resentful stares. Even though I knew about his favoritism, seeing it in person made my heart sink. A place that was off-limits to me, his own wife, was a place a young student could enter at will. So, the rules could be broken. I just wasn’t the one worthy of breaking them for. The minutes ticked by. The door remained shut. The complaints grew louder. An hour later, the door finally opened. Nina emerged, her earlier anxiety gone, replaced by a rosy-cheeked, joyful expression. When she saw me sitting in the waiting area, a smug look flashed across her face. Marcus saw me then, too. Surprise flickered in his eyes for a second before he composed himself. “Next,” he called out, his voice all business as he shut the door again. I waited until the firm closed for the day, but my number was never called. As Marcus was leaving, I ran after him. 3 Marcus, walking side-by-side with Nina, looked annoyed to see me. “What are you doing here? Regret it already? Trying to win me back?” I grabbed his arm. “Marcus, my sister was assaulted by her boss. She needs a lawyer. Can you please help? Can you represent her?” He didn’t even hesitate. “I can’t. I have too many cases. I have to be responsible for all my clients.” “Marcus, she’s my sister! Can’t you bend the rules just this once, for me?” My hysteria didn’t faze him in the slightest. “Nicole, how many times have I told you? The most important thing for a lawyer is to respect the rules. No matter how urgent, you have to follow procedure. Come back tomorrow, get a number early, and when it’s your turn, I’ll see you.” He turned to leave with Nina. In my desperation, I dropped to my knees. Ignoring the scornful looks from Nina and the remaining staff, I begged him. “Marcus, please. She’s my only sister. She’s severely depressed. If she loses this case, I don’t know what will happen.” He leaned down, a cold smirk on his face. “Weren’t you so high and mighty this morning, talking about how you didn’t want to be Mrs. Kane anymore? Why are you asking for special treatment now?” His voice dropped to a cruel whisper. “You’re not just using your sister’s situation to manipulate me, are you?” My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms. “Marcus, this is the last time I will ever ask you for anything.” Seeing the desperation in my eyes, his expression softened for a fraction of a second. But then Nina wrapped her arms around his and pouted. “Professor, if you take my case and her sister’s case at the same time, won’t you be too tired? It would break my heart. Maybe… maybe I should find another lawyer for my case.” That was all it took. Marcus straightened up, his voice turning to steel. “If you can’t get an appointment, find another firm.” Watching him walk away, my last shred of hope for him died. I stumbled out of the firm and called my mother, telling her I would find another lawyer. She wasn’t surprised. Instead, she asked, “I heard you and Marcus are getting a divorce. You’ve loved him your whole life, Nicole. Can you really let him go?” Could I? That night, I lay in bed, her question echoing in my mind. Could I really let him go? I’d known Marcus since we were five. Girls were always chasing after him, but he was picky. None of them ever caught his eye. I was the only girl he ever kept by his side. Back then, I thought I was special to him. When I forgot my homework, he’d toss his at me and say gruffly, “Hurry up and copy. I’m not waiting for you if you get detention.” After his basketball games, he’d only ever take the water bottle I offered him. When another boy tried to ask me out, he’d walk right up to him and say, “Get lost. She’s my sidekick.” Our marriage was the result of an accident. 4 When Marcus was thirty-three, he was in a serious car crash. The doctors said he would likely never walk again. His mother, terrified that no woman would marry him now, saw her chance. I had foolishly waited for him, still single at thirty. And so, I became the most “suitable” choice. After the wedding, I cared for him tirelessly, and miraculously, he made a full recovery. At first, both he and his mother were grateful. He told me, “I’ll be good to you for the rest of my life.” And he was. He fulfilled his duties as a husband. If I asked him to pick up a cake on his way home, he would, but it was never the flavor I wanted. If I asked for a ride to work on a rainy day, he’d give me one, but he’d always drop me off a block away, leaving me to run through the downpour without an umbrella. Even our intimacy, which happened maybe twice a year, felt like a chore he was dutifully checking off a list. When I complained to my friends, they told me that’s just how long-term couples are, that I was being overly sensitive. I believed them, until Nina appeared. Only then did I see what Marcus was like when he was truly in love. He would carry a girl on his back across campus just so she wouldn’t get her shoes wet in the rain. He would research the trendiest internet cafes just because she called him old-fashioned. And on countless nights, I saw him alone, staring at her picture. “Suitable.” That’s the word he used to describe me, time and time again after we were married. He never once said he loved me. I had drafted the divorce papers over and over, but I could never bring myself to give them to him. Not until I saw that photo on his social media: him, Nina, and all his best friends, smiling together. That’s when I finally understood. To him, I was a dirty secret. In the twenty-three years he’d known me, he had never once thought I was worthy of being introduced to his friends. But he’d known Nina for a month, and he had already shown her off to everyone in his life. If I was so insignificant to him, how could I ever expect him to fight for my family? After a long, sleepless night, I went to the clinic first thing in the morning and had the abortion. Then I accepted a work assignment that would take me abroad. As soon as the court case was over, I would take my mother and leave this city for good. But then, more bad news. Every lawyer I contacted refused to take my sister’s case. Worse, an unedited, graphic video of Sophie’s assault began to circulate online. Vicious online trolls analyzed it frame by frame, branding my sister a slut who had tried to sleep her way to a promotion and was now crying foul. Then, a picture of my divorce certificate was leaked. The public narrative shifted. I was the crazy ex-wife, harassing my former husband and his new love. Nina, meanwhile, started live-streaming, playing the victim. She gained a massive following and made a fortune from their sympathy. My sister and I were labeled the “homewrecker sisters.” Sophie’s mental state deteriorated rapidly. My mother had to watch her twenty-four hours a day to keep her from harming herself. But Nina wasn’t finished. She came to our door to gloat. “Nicole, oh, I’m sorry, I should say ex-wife. Have you learned your lesson? This is what happens when you try to take my man.” She looked my sister up and down with disgust. “A used-up piece of trash like her… how can she still stand to be alive?” Sophie, already on the brink, let out a piercing scream. The barely-healed scars on her wrists split open again. Her eyes, swollen from constant crying, were now empty of tears, filled only with despair. My mother struggled to restrain her. Shaking with rage, I grabbed a kitchen knife and lunged at Nina. At the last second, a strong hand caught my wrist. Nina shrieked and threw herself into the arms of Marcus, who had just arrived. Her arrogant demeanor vanished, replaced by hiccupping sobs. “Professor, I just came to comfort Nicole, and… and she tried to kill me! I’m so scared!” Marcus threw the knife to the floor and wrapped his arms around her, his eyes flashing with fury as he looked at me. “Nicole, I’m warning you. If you ever harm a single hair on Nina’s head, I will make you disappear without a trace.” I knew he meant it. I knew, as a lawyer, he had the power to do it. But he forgot one thing. I had already been pushed to the edge. Death was no threat to me. I stormed into the bathroom, grabbed a basin of dirty water, and threw it on the two of them. “And I’m warning you, Marcus,” I snarled. “If you two ever show your faces here again, I swear to God, I’ll take you both down with me.” After they left, I managed to find a young, unknown lawyer who was desperate to make a name for himself. He agreed to take the case. On the day of the trial, I arrived early. And I saw Nina and her brother sitting with the opposing counsel. The man who had assaulted my sister was Nina’s brother. A moment later, Marcus walked in and took his place beside Nina, not as a spectator, but as the lead defense attorney for her brother. He was standing against me. At the same time, my phone rang. It was my mother. Sophie was on the roof of the courthouse. Seeing the panic on my face, Nina smiled and sent me a video. In it, her brother was assaulting my sister a second time.

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It took me ten years to single-handedly transform a broke, struggling actor into the new golden boy of Hollywood. Everyone assumed I was on the verge of becoming the glamorous wife of an A-list star. What they didn’t know was that just as I finished paving his path to the stars, he was already taking someone else’s hand. At his birthday dinner, in front of everyone, I broke up with him. He thought I was just throwing a tantrum. But he had no idea. I didn’t just want to break up with him. I wanted to ruin him. Jeffrey Cabrera, if I could build you a throne, I can certainly bring you crashing down from Olympus. Your reign as Hollywood’s king is over. 1 “Let’s break up.” Across the candlelit table, I looked at the handsome man opposite me and spoke with a calm I didn’t feel. Jeffrey froze, then a weary, almost patronizing smile touched his lips. “What is it now, Kathryn?” “Is it because I didn’t wear the dress you picked out for me?” He sighed, his voice laced with the exhaustion of someone trying to placate a difficult child. “Kathryn, don’t do this. I’m exhausted from the shoot.” “I’m not doing anything.” I bit the inside of my cheek, a sharp little sting of pain. He saw me wince and trailed off. Leaning back in his chair, he grabbed a napkin and took a deep breath. “Didn’t you bring this up just two weeks ago?” he said, his voice turning cold. “I haven’t cheated on you. I haven’t been ignoring you. What, exactly, have I done wrong?” He let out a short, bitter laugh. “Fine. Just don’t come crying back to me.” “I’m done.” I had no energy left for this pointless dance. I stood, the legs of my chair screeching against the polished floor. As I turned, I spotted a furtive figure lurking nearby. It was Sarah—Jeffrey’s new assistant, a girl we knew from our old acting school. She glanced at me, gave a bland, barely-there nod as if I were a stranger, then immediately turned to Jeffrey, her expression melting into a mask of fragile distress. “Jeffrey,” she began, her voice a delicate whisper, “Catherine sent another script, and I just don’t know what to do. Could you possibly take a look for me…?” But Jeffrey’s eyes were locked on me, blazing past her. The old me would have erupted. What script was so damn important it couldn’t wait for us to finish one dinner? But I was just so tired. I started to walk away, but Sarah’s hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. “Oh, Kathryn, don’t go!” she cried, as if just realizing her timing was terrible. “I didn’t mean to interrupt! I’m just so new to all this, I’m always asking Jeffrey for help. Please don’t be mad at him because of me, he’s had such a long day on set…” That was it. I snapped. I ripped my arm from her grasp. “Are you new to being an assistant, or new to being a person? I booked this dinner three days ago. You’re telling me you didn’t know?” “You’re so new to the job that when you felt sick at one in the morning, you didn’t call 911, you called him?” “You’re so new that you don’t understand you have no place in his private life?” “Sarah,” I spat, my voice low and shaking, “are you pathologically helpless, bored out of your mind, or are you just shamelessly using the fact that we went to the same school to be this goddamn pathetic?” Sarah stood there, mouth agape, her eyes instantly welling up with tears that shimmered in the dim light. She cast a wounded look at Jeffrey and lowered her head. “Kathryn, that’s enough!” Jeffrey strode over, pulling Sarah behind him as if shielding her from an attack. He glared at me, his brow furrowed. “You went too far. She’ll know for next time, won’t she?” Next time? There would be no next time. Sarah’s tears began to fall, silent but for the choked little sobs that were somehow louder than a scream. A born actress. A laugh escaped my lips. Such a classic damsel-in-distress act, and Jeffrey, the award-winning actor, couldn’t see through it. Or maybe… maybe he just didn’t want to. I shook my head and walked out the door. 2 When I slapped my resignation letter on Catherine’s desk, she blinked in surprise. Catherine was the agency’s star-maker, our boss. “Setting aside your relationship with Jeffrey for a moment, I genuinely admire your talent,” she said, her pen hovering over the paper. “You know you have offers from other agencies, right? If this is just about him, I can move you to another client’s team.” A flicker of something warm stirred in my chest. All these years, my passion hadn’t just been love; it had become a profession others respected. “I’m not signing this yet,” Catherine said, noticing my hesitation. “Take a month off. Paid. Come back and give me your answer then.” I went home and collapsed into bed, sleeping until the following evening. When I woke, I mindlessly scrolled through Instagram. The first post was from Sarah. “First time at a big gala and I had no idea what to wear! So lucky to have you pick everything out for me. The view from up here is dazzling. I hope I can keep up with you.” The photo was a solo shot of her in a stunning gown. But in the background, artfully blurred, stood a familiar, impeccably dressed figure. The black tuxedo I had personally tailored for Jeffrey yesterday was now serving as the backdrop for her moment in the spotlight. My phone buzzed. A message from Jeffrey. “I wore it. Happy now?” Attached was a selfie of him in the tux. It had been nearly twenty-four hours, and he still thought my anger was about a goddamn suit. I opened the folders on my laptop, the digital archive of his entire career that I had built from scratch. Every retouched photo, every witty caption, every strategically timed post—all born from countless sleepless nights of my own. For years, his public persona had never strayed an inch from the script I wrote. But his life… his life had long since gone off-script. I deleted his contact, then wiped every backup, every file, every trace of him from my digital life. The next day, I drove to my grandmother’s house. “Good heavens, you’re skin and bones!” she exclaimed, her warm, wrinkled hand cupping my face. “Aren’t you supposed to be making a fortune? Why does it look like they’ve stopped feeding you?” “And where’s Jeffrey? How come that boy didn’t come with you? He’s looking all slick and well-fed on TV while you waste away?” she grumbled, gesturing at the television where his new drama was playing. I didn’t have the energy to explain that the camera adds ten pounds, or that he had a whole new person to dote on him now. I just buried my face in her familiar, comforting embrace. “Grandma,” I mumbled into her shoulder, “I’m starving. Can you make me your famous tomato soup and grilled cheese?” After I’d scraped the bowl clean, I finally found the courage. “Grandma, I quit my job. You’re going to have to support me.” She was clearing the table. “I’d be thrilled, but I’m afraid you’ll get restless,” she said without turning around. “Besides, how long can you stay away from that boy? You’re just like your mother, a hopeless case.” I wrapped my arms around her from behind. “I’m not like her, Grandma. I know the difference between what’s important for Jeffrey, and what’s important for me.” “I want to get away for a while. Want to come with me?” Her body tensed for a moment, then she nudged me away. “Go on, get out of here. Wipe your mouth.” She didn’t say yes, but I knew from the slight curve of her lips that she was smiling. Just then, my phone buzzed with an alert from my apartment’s video doorbell. On the screen was Sarah’s cloyingly sweet face. “What is it? Work again?” Grandma waved a dismissive hand, used to my chaotic schedule. “Go on, then. Just call before you come next time so I can get groceries… oh, never mind. With your job, you can never plan ahead.” It hit me then how often I’d rushed in and out, always for Jeffrey, never making enough time for her. I walked a few steps toward the door, then glanced back. Just as I suspected, she was still standing in the kitchen doorway, watching me. When our eyes met, she quickly pretended to be tidying up. The people who truly love you, I realized, are the ones whose care is so quiet you might almost miss it. 3 I drove back to the studio I shared with Jeffrey. I didn’t see Sarah, so I called the police. At the station, Sarah was a mess of tears. “Kathryn, I didn’t mean any harm! Jeffrey said you had a backup of the file he needed, and you weren’t answering my texts…” “So your solution was to try and pry the door open?” “I… I was just in a panic…” “If I hadn’t changed the locks last week, you would have just let yourself in and made yourself at home, wouldn’t you?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. Her wails were about to escalate when the door to the mediation room flew open. Jeffrey had arrived. “Jeffrey!” Sarah shot to her feet as if a savior had appeared. “It wasn’t—I was afraid Kathryn would be mad, so I took matters into my own hands… I was really just trying to get the file for you!” Jeffrey was breathless, his chest heaving. That studio… we rented it when we were broke, sleeping on the floor some nights. After he made it big, he bought a mansion and I got my own apartment, but I always preferred working there. It held all our memories, the evidence of every sacrifice I’d ever made. “What the hell is going on? Why are the police involved?” Jeffrey demanded, his sharp tone directed at me. Sarah bit her lip, holding back a fresh wave of tears, the very picture of martyrdom. “It’s all my fault. It has nothing to do with Kathryn.” Jeffrey’s personal assistant, who had come with him, was already smoothing things over with the officer. “It’s all a misunderstanding, officer. They all know each other. Sorry to have wasted your time.” The policewoman ignored him, her gaze fixed on me, waiting for my decision. Jeffrey dragged me out into the hallway. “Nothing was stolen,” he hissed, his voice low and furious. “Take your anger out on me if you have to, but why drag her into it? Do you have any idea what kind of story this will make if it gets out?” “Did you give her the code?” I asked. His face tightened. “She asked me for it…” “So you told her to go?” “Enough!” he snapped. “She’s my assistant. What’s the big deal about her grabbing a file? Are you actually going to press charges? How would you explain that to Catherine? The media would have a field day, and you’d be the one cleaning it up!” He still didn’t know. He had no idea I’d already quit. “Jeffrey, do you honestly see yourself as some kind of noble hero here? You think I’m doing this to get back at you?” I laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. “She trespassed in my workspace without my permission. And I’m the one in the wrong for calling the police?” “Jeffrey, it’s my fault…” Sarah sobbed from the doorway. “Kathryn, I’m so sorry. I’ll pay for any damages, whatever you want. Please, can we just handle this privately? I’m begging you.” Her performance only fueled my rage. Jeffrey, however, had reached his limit. “Kathryn, don’t push it!” he shot back impatiently. “This studio is registered under my name!” With that, he went back inside and, with a few smooth words, resolved the entire situation. Of course. I had almost forgotten. The studio was his. I had just been a guest who had overstayed her welcome, deluding herself into thinking she belonged. “Let’s go. The car’s outside,” Jeffrey said, brushing past me. “No, thanks. It’s a little too crowded for me.” I walked away without a backward glance. Behind me, I could hear the whispers of onlookers. “Isn’t that Jeffrey Cabrera, the movie star?” “Which one is his girlfriend? I heard they’ve been together for years.” “Probably the one crying inside. The one walking away looks like she could kill someone.”

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The year Nathan loved me most, he cut ties with his family and eloped with me, moving abroad to start a new life. But on the day he washed his thousandth dish, the day he coughed up blood from sheer exhaustion, I took three million dollars from his parents. Then I stood and watched as he was forced onto a helicopter bound for home. He clung to the helicopter door, begging me not to leave him, even as his fingers broke and bled. And I? I threw the money he’d earned into the sink and told him it wasn’t even enough to buy me a single tube of paint. I told him a pauper like him had no right to talk to me about a future. Seven years later, at a lavish charity gala, we met again. I begged him for money. He agreed, on one condition: that I be the artist for his wedding, that I witness his happiness with my own eyes. I nodded without hesitation. He didn’t know that the money I needed was to save a little girl. A little girl who shared his blood, a daughter he never knew existed. 1 “I will.” “As long as you keep your word, Mr. Vance.” In a dimly lit corner of the grand ballroom, I stood beside Nathan, my back bowed in deference. A long, slow breath of relief escaped me. The condition was so simple. If I just agreed, I could save my Madelyn. Thank God. But Nathan didn’t move. He stared down at the top of my head for a long moment before a cold sneer twisted his lips. “Only seven years, and you’ve already blown through all three million?” “Was it all on paint?” My breath caught. I dug my nails into my palm, then forced myself to look up, plastering a sycophantic, pleasing smile on my face. “Yes, the money ran out a long time ago.” “That’s why I need a man of your stature to help me out.” After seven years, he was a powerful CEO, a man whose world I could no longer hope to touch. He abruptly let go of my arm as if he’d touched something filthy. “Nathan, what are you doing back here? Found an old flame?” “Hey, man, you’re getting married. Don’t let Susan…” The voice died in the man’s throat. “Jess Kang? What are you doing here?” Nathan’s friends stared at me, their faces instantly hardening. “Nathan, don’t be a fool!” one of them said, anxiously studying his expression. “Have you forgotten how she lied to you, how she ruined you? You can’t trust her again!” I lowered my head again, saying nothing. Everyone knew how insane Nathan had been for me back then. To elope with me, he’d jumped from a third-story window of his family’s mansion, shattering his ankle. He hadn’t even had it set until after our plane landed. To afford the finest art supplies for me, he’d worked six jobs a day, working himself to the point of coughing up blood, yet he wouldn’t even buy himself a full course of medicine. And I had abandoned him in the span of a single second. So I couldn’t blame his friends for looking at me like they wanted to kill me. “You’re overthinking it,” Nathan said, his voice flat. “I’ve just invited her to be the artist for my wedding. To paint Susan and me.” Susan. His fiancée. I repeated the beautiful name to myself, then looked up at them with a brazen, carefree smile. “That’s right. As long as the price is right.” “What can I get you all to drink? I’ll go get it.” No one offered me so much as a kind glance. They formed a tight circle around Nathan and me, their voices a rising chorus of accusations, calling me heartless, warning Nathan not to fall for my tricks again. I just bowed and scraped, playing along with their insults. I saw my manager across the room, waving impatiently at me, and a knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. Nathan followed my gaze. His face was a mask, devoid of emotion. He simply signed a check and tossed it at my feet. “You start tomorrow. This is the down payment.” He waved a dismissive hand at me, as if he couldn’t stand the sight of my face for another second. I snatched the check from the floor, my fingers closing around it tightly, and backed out of the circle. Madelyn’s hospital bills. I could pay them. I was so happy I could have cried. Even when my manager made me wash dishes for an extra two hours, I didn’t feel the least bit resentful. The thin rubber gloves tore quickly, and the skin on my fingers peeled away, leaving them looking like waterlogged, rotting wood. But I felt no pain. Instead, my mind drifted back to the past, to the nights when Nathan would come home from his own dishwashing job, and I would gently apply ointment to his chapped, raw hands. It was cheap stuff, barely effective, but he was so stubborn, he’d never let me use more than a tiny amount. “I’m a grown man. What do I need this for?” he’d say, hiding his chilblained hands and taking mine instead. “A painter’s hands… those are the ones that are precious.” Lost in the memory, my hand slipped. A plate shattered at my feet. A pang of dread shot through me as I calculated how much would be docked from this month’s pay. But before I could even bend down to pick up the pieces, a figure appeared beside me, yanking me to my feet. “Jess, what are you doing to your hands?!” 2 I looked up and met Nathan’s furious gaze. But the moment the words left his mouth, he froze. It was the same thing he used to shout at me whenever he got angry, back before we broke up. When I’d cut my finger trying to slice fruit for him. When I’d worked at a fast-food joint and hot oil had spattered the back of my hand. He would always say, in that harsh, worried tone, Jess, what are you doing to your hands? He said my hands were for painting, not for menial tasks. He treasured my hands, my art, as much as he treasured me. We had met at an art exhibition, after all. We were in different departments at the same university, a year apart. Our paths had never crossed. But that day, amidst the bustling crowd of the gallery, he was the only one who stood in the corner, in front of my painting, and studied it for a full hour. I was ecstatic. I chattered at him for ages, telling him about my work, asking for his thoughts and advice. But he was a man of few words and offered little in return. I found out later that he was a severe depressive. That day had been the first day he was out after recovering from his last suicide attempt. None of that mattered to me. We quickly became friends. And then, lovers. He came to my studio every day to watch me paint. He listened intently to every word I said, no matter how much I rambled. And those eyes, usually so clouded with a deep-seated gloom, slowly began to find a glimmer of a smile in my endless chatter. I was with him as he slowly, painstakingly, returned to a normal life. Then came graduation, and his family demanded we break up, citing our difference in status. He didn’t hesitate. He took me and we eloped, leaving the country behind. He told me that no matter how hard it got, he would make me the most famous painter in the world. He said my art had saved him, so I should never feel guilty for anything he did for me. He saw me as the sun that had pulled him from the abyss. And I betrayed him without a second thought. Because it was all taking too long. I couldn’t wait for a future built on the coins he earned washing one dish at a time. “Why are you doing this?” The memory faded. I saw Nathan pull himself back from the brink of his outburst, releasing my arm. “Waitstaff have to wash dishes in addition to serving?” His voice was flat, emotionless, just like when we first met. He was a puppet again, all strings and no feeling. “Just trying to earn a little extra, you know?” I awkwardly hid my hands behind my back, glancing around. A wave of relief washed over me. My coworkers were all gone. No one had seen us. “I was a bit reckless these past few years, made some bad investments. Now I’m working odd jobs to pay off my debts.” I crouched down to pick up the shards, not daring to meet his eyes. “It’s a good thing I ran into you today. You were so generous…” His hand gently brushed mine away. In silence, he picked up the sharp fragments and threw them in a nearby trash can. Then he stood up, looming over me. “Are you still painting?” I remained crouched on the floor, my hands empty. For a split second, my mind went blank. Then I composed myself and looked up at him. “Of course. That’s my main profession.” He just looked at me, saying nothing. My heart hammered against my ribs. I was terrified he would see through my lie and take back his offer to be his wedding artist. Thankfully, the tense silence was broken by a phone call. “Nathan, are you almost home? I made you some soup to help with the hangover.” The woman’s voice on the other end was melodious and gentle. I took a step back, the name echoing in my mind. Susan. The fiancée his friends had mentioned, the one who was his perfect match. “Almost there,” Nathan said, then paused. “You have a cold. You should be resting. Don’t wait up for me, get some sleep.” I didn’t look up, but I could feel his eyes on me as he spoke. I suppressed the bitter sting in my throat and tried to slip away while he was still on the phone. “Jess.” The moment I turned, he ended the call. “You’ve been hiding for seven years. Is there any point in running now?” “See you tomorrow.” 3 I pretended not to understand the sarcasm laced in his words, simply nodding before hurrying away. The next day, as promised, I arrived at his villa. Susan greeted me at the door and even poured me a cup of tea. “Ms. Kang. It’s been a long time,” she said, a faint, knowing smile on her face as she took in my confused expression. “You probably don’t remember me. Nathan and I were in the same department. I used to see him going to find you all the time.” Now I knew why the name had felt familiar. Susan had known him for just as long as I had. “I used to be so envious of you,” she continued. “A man like him, born to such privilege, so cold to everyone else, yet he only had eyes for you.” “I never imagined you two would break up so… decisively.” I managed a tight, awkward smile and retreated to a corner to set up my easel, not daring to say another word. He was cold because of his illness. And he only had eyes for me probably because… I was relentless. But all of that was in the past. Now, my subjects were Nathan and Susan, a perfect, storybook couple. I spent the morning at their home, painting a scene of them watering flowers in the garden, Nathan’s hand resting on her waist. “It’s beautiful. No wonder Nathan insisted on hiring you,” Susan said with a satisfied nod, handing me a glass of water. “You’ve been painting all morning. You must be tired. Take a break.” I accepted it without a second thought and took a large gulp. Scalding hot water seared its way down my throat. I clutched my neck, coughing violently. “Oh, dear! I forgot this was freshly boiled water!” Susan exclaimed, standing up with a look of apology. In her haste, she knocked over the glass. My morning’s work was instantly ruined, a wash of bleeding colors. But I barely registered it. The pain in my throat led to an endless fit of coughing. Soon, I couldn’t breathe. It was Nathan who came rushing in. He carried me to a room and forced an asthma inhaler into my mouth. The black fog clouding my vision slowly receded. As my breathing evened out, I saw Nathan’s red-rimmed eyes. And behind him, on the nightstand, was a row of unopened asthma medication. The same brand I used to use. “Jess,” Nathan’s voice trembled. “Wasn’t three million dollars enough for you to buy yourself the best medicine?” I slowly sat up, waving a dismissive hand. “Of course I did. It was three million dollars. You don’t have to worry about me not taking care of myself.” I gave him a weak smile. “I haven’t had an attack in ages. What just happened was an accident. I know Ms. Lin didn’t mean to…” “Shut up.” I stared at him, stunned by his sudden interruption. “I looked into it. Painting hasn’t been your main profession for years.” Nathan’s voice was numb, as if he were reading my death sentence. “You haven’t sold a single painting. Your name disappeared from the art world seven years ago.” “The reason you gave for leaving me was your art.” “But now, even the asthma inhaler you carry is the cheapest kind you can buy.” As if by magic, he produced the small plastic inhaler from my bag. He took a step forward, trapping me against the headboard. “So you tell me,” he hissed, his face inches from mine. “What did you really do with that three million dollars?” 4 My body began to tremble. But I couldn’t let him know. I hid my hands behind my back and dug my nails into my own flesh. The pain in my scarred, calloused hands was sharp, excruciating. But it was nothing compared to the pain in my heart. The three million dollars was long gone. It was all for Madelyn. Our daughter, the one I had given birth to in secret, the one born with a congenital heart defect. I had spent every penny in hospitals, from the day she was born until now, her seventh year. A month ago, she had finally undergone a successful heart transplant, only to suffer a severe rejection. The staggering cost of her ongoing treatment was a mountain crushing the very breath from my lungs. And then, just as I was about to break, Nathan had reappeared. So I had no choice but to seek him out, to tear my own dignity to shreds, to shamelessly exploit our shared past and beg him for help. As for painting… I thought back to that morning, sitting before the easel, the feel of the brush in my hand. A small, sad smile touched my lips. It felt like a lifetime ago. But I couldn’t tell him a single word of it. “I’m not some famous artist. My sales are all private deals. It’s normal that no one’s heard of me.” I slipped out from under his arm and gave him a nonchalant shrug. “I told you, I squandered the three million. That’s why I have to work odd jobs to pay off my debts while I paint.” “And as for my asthma… it’s incurable, so it doesn’t matter what kind of medicine I use.” A terrible silence descended between us again, a chasm I couldn’t cross. And in the doorway stood Susan, the jealousy and resentment in her eyes undisguised, marring her otherwise gentle, beautiful face. I fled. You don’t deserve him, Jess, I told myself, over and over again. A week later, I finished my work at Nathan’s villa and went to the hospital to see my precious girl. Madelyn said my voice still sounded like Donald Duck. I just smiled and gently pinched her pale little cheek. My throat was healing slowly from the burn. But at least Nathan had barely spoken to me since the incident. He had probably given up on me, again. And that was for the best. I didn’t regret my choice. I couldn’t be a burden to him seven years ago, and I couldn’t be one now. Once the wedding was over and I had the money, I would disappear. I just had to get through tomorrow. “If Mommy’s Donald Duck, then you’re my little Goof—” “Madelyn! Sweetheart! Doctor!” Without any warning, my daughter, who had been laughing with me just a second ago, suddenly closed her eyes, her breathing becoming heavy and labored. The heart rate monitor beside her bed shrieked. I watched, helpless, as she was wheeled back into the operating room, just two hours after her last procedure. I collapsed onto a bench outside, a hollow shell. The world swam before my eyes. The doctor’s words echoed in my ears. He said the rejection was getting worse, that if she couldn’t get through this critical period, she might never… I couldn’t bear to hear the rest. I felt my own breathing quicken, the familiar sense of suffocation closing in. “Jess, breathe! Breathe!” In the last second before my consciousness faded, Nathan appeared before me like a dream, holding me, forcing the inhaler to my lips. I pushed his hand away and fell to my knees before him, sobbing. “The rest of the money… the four hundred thousand… can you give it to me now? I can’t wait until tomorrow. I need to transfer Madelyn to a better hospital today…” “She’s my daughter, she’s six years old… I had her with someone else after you left… but she’s so good, so sweet, please, I’m begging you…” I was babbling, incoherent with grief, just begging him, over and over. He held me tight, repeating that it was going to be okay, telling me to calm down. “I have a friend who’s a specialist in this field. I’m messaging him right now. He’ll arrange the transfer.” “The wedding is canceled tomorrow. I’ll go with you. Your daughter will be fine.” “Don’t cry.” Something warm and wet fell onto my neck. It couldn’t be Nathan’s tears, could it? The thought floated through my dazed mind. Then a phone rang. Nathan quickly answered it, putting it on speaker and holding it up to my ear, desperate for me to hear the news that might save me. “It’s all arranged. You can bring the little one over tomorrow,” a strange man’s voice said from the other end. “But there’s one thing you might have wrong. The child isn’t six, like you said.” “The medical records from the hospital say she’s seven years old.”

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He was dying. The doctor had already told me to prepare for the worst. I’d rushed to the hospital, only to find him struggling to draw up a will. I thought it was for us—for the future we were supposed to build together. Instead, the will declared in cold, black ink: all assets would go to his sister. Ten years of going Dutch. I’d never spent a dime of his money. Now, he looked at me, his gaze weak, filled with an unspoken, entitled dependence. I turned and walked away. “Don’t expect me to take care of you.” 01 The sterile stench of antiseptic clung to the air, thick and suffocating, coating the back of my throat. I stood at the door of the hospital room, my eyes fixed on the rhythmic green pulse of the heart monitor. Every beat, every jagged peak and valley, frayed my already shattered nerves. Leo lay in the bed, his face a ghastly shade of gray, his lips cracked and dry. The man I knew—warm, handsome, vibrant—was gone. In his place lay a hollowed-out shell, a husk of a man devoured by disease. The doctor had spoken to me just moments before. His words were gentle, couched in careful euphemisms, but the meaning was brutally clear: Leo was critical. Ten years. I had been tangled up with this man for a decade. From the bright-eyed optimism of our college days to the daily grind of our careers, I had believed we were each other’s bedrock, an unbreakable support system. A wave of nausea and grief churned in my stomach. I swallowed hard, forcing the tears back down. “Evie…” He spoke, his voice a dry, ragged whisper, like the wheezing of a broken accordion. I rushed to his side, my hand closing over his, which felt as cold as stone. “Leo, I’m here.” With a visible effort, he shifted his gaze past me, toward the lawyer standing silently by the wall. “The… will.” My heart plummeted. Had it really come to this? But then a second thought surfaced. Maybe this was for the best. Settling his affairs might lift a weight from his shoulders, perhaps even help him fight. I assumed the will was about our future. The apartment we rented together, the small condo in the suburbs we were saving for, the life we… The lawyer, a stone-faced man in his late forties, adjusted his glasses. He opened his briefcase and produced a document. “Mr. Coleman,” he began, his voice clear and detached, each word a frozen pebble dropping into the pit of my stomach. “As per your instructions, the contents of your last will and testament are as follows.” “I, Leo Coleman, being of sound mind, do hereby declare this to be my last will. Upon my death, all my property, including but not limited to real estate, savings, stocks, and other securities, shall be bequeathed in their entirety to my sister, Chloe Coleman, and to her alone.” The world went silent. The only sounds were the roaring in my ears and the distant, tinny beeping of the monitor. I wrenched my head around, my eyes locking onto Leo’s. He was watching me, his gaze—once so full of tenderness—now held nothing but a sick, entitled dependency. It was as if he were saying, I’m in this state. Surely you can understand? I’ve taken care of everything. All you have to do is take care of me, just like always. A soft click came from the doorway. Chloe was leaning against the frame, arms crossed, a smirk of pure, undisguised triumph dancing on her lips. She looked at me as if I were the world’s biggest fool. A free caretaker who’d served her brother for ten years, only to be kicked to the curb at the finish line. Ten years of going Dutch. The phrase exploded in my mind like a cruel joke. On our first date, he’d said going fifty-fifty was a sign of respect for my independence. After that, every dinner, every movie ticket, every vacation was split down the middle, calculated to the last cent. I thought it was the modern way, a partnership built on mutual respect and financial independence. I had never taken a single penny from him. I was even proud of our so-called equality. But now, I understood. In his eyes, in his family’s eyes, my independence, my refusal to be a freeloader, was just proof that I “knew my place.” It was proof that I had no claim to any part of his life. And yet, he had felt perfectly entitled to a decade of my unwavering companionship and care, all given without expectation of return. Now, sick and dying, he was leaving everything to his precious sister, then turning to me with those weak, innocent eyes, silently demanding I stay and continue playing the role of the selfless, devoted partner. On what grounds? A tidal wave of rage and humiliation surged from the soles of my feet to the crown of my head. The blood pounded in my veins, hot and furious. I felt like a clown who’d been performing a one-woman show for ten years, all for the amusement of his family. “Evie, you… you won’t leave me, right?” Leo’s voice was faint, but a flicker of panic entered his eyes as he saw my silence. He struggled to reach for my hand. That whisper, that question, was the hammer blow that shattered the last fragment of affection I held for him. I yanked my hand away. I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to quell the sickness rising in my throat. I forced myself to meet his gaze, my own eyes now stripped of all warmth. Then I turned and walked toward the door, each step deliberate, each footfall landing on the ashes of my youth. “Don’t expect me to take care of you.” My voice was quiet, but it was as cold and sharp as a blade of ice, slicing through the cloying, fraudulent sentiment in the room. Leo’s eyes widened in shock and terror. And by the door, Chloe’s triumphant expression froze, then twisted into a snarl of fury. “Evelyn! What the hell is that supposed to mean?” She lunged forward, blocking my path, her body rigid with rage. “My brother is lying there, dying! Have you no soul? You think you can just walk out? Not a chance in hell!” I looked at her face, contorted by a grotesque mix of greed and jealousy, and I almost laughed. It was pathetic. I didn’t waste my breath arguing. I just held her gaze. “Move.” 02 “Move? I’m not going anywhere!” Chloe’s voice shot up into a piercing shriek that echoed down the hallway, drawing the attention of other patients and their families. “Everyone, come and see this!” she yelled, her voice dripping with manufactured drama. “See how cruel this woman is! My brother was with her for ten years, and now that he’s on his deathbed, she’s trying to run off with his money without a second glance!” As she screamed, she fumbled for her phone, flicking on the video camera and shoving the black lens right in my face. Her plan was sickeningly obvious: use public shame and moral outrage to trap me. Paint me as a heartless, gold-digging monster so I’d have no choice but to stay and serve her selfish, manipulative brother. Watching her pathetic performance, the fire in my gut cooled into an icy calm. Wasting energy on people like this was beneath me. I sidestepped her, my voice low and cold as I passed. “We went Dutch for ten years. Every single transaction is accounted for. My conscience is clear.” “You…” Chloe sputtered, momentarily stunned. She recovered quickly, her voice rising again behind me. “You get back here! Evelyn, you absolute bitch!” I didn’t look back. I walked straight into the elevator. The metal doors slid shut, sealing off her hysterical shrieks and closing the door on ten years of my life that now felt like a complete and utter sham. When I arrived back at the apartment Leo and I “shared,” I stood at the door and keyed in the passcode I’d used for years. BEEP. Incorrect passcode. I froze. I tried again. Same result. A cold dread coiled in my stomach. Just then, my phone buzzed. A text from Chloe. Don’t bother. Leo said you’re not the woman of the house anymore. You have no right to be there. Beneath the text was a photo. Leo, looking frail in his hospital bed, holding Chloe’s hand. Both of them wore the smug smiles of victors. Something inside me snapped. I’d been kicked out. Kicked out of the home where I paid half the rent, bought most of the furniture, and poured ten years of my heart and soul into. Rage, humiliation, betrayal—a toxic cocktail of emotions flooded my system, obliterating all rational thought. I started pounding on the door with my fists, kicking it with my feet, the loud thuds echoing in the empty hallway. “Leo! Chloe! Get the hell out here! This is my home!” Silence. Only the cold, unyielding door, which vibrated against my bruised knuckles. I was a madwoman, abandoned by the world, screaming at my own front door until my strength gave out and I slid to the floor in a heap. My hands shaking, I pulled out my phone and called my best friend, Sarah. “Sarah… I…” The words caught in my throat, and the dam of composure I’d been holding back finally broke. I sobbed, unable to form a complete sentence. Sarah, my colleague and my rock, arrived in a whirlwind of righteous fury. She found me huddled in a corner of the hallway, hugging my knees like a stray dog. “Evie!” Her own eyes reddened the moment she saw my wrecked state. After I choked out the whole story, Sarah trembled with rage, aiming a torrent of curses at the closed door. “A pair of absolute scumbags! What kind of trash are they? Going Dutch for ten years? My ass! That Leo is nothing but a pathetic, overgrown man-child! And that sister of his is a parasite, planning to leech off her brother for the rest of her life!” “They used you up and threw you out! This is beyond disgusting!” Her anger was a spark, igniting the banked fires of my own hatred. But the worst was yet to come. Chloe moved fast. She edited the video from the hospital hallway, cutting it down to show only my cold, retreating back and her own tear-streaked, accusatory face. Then she blasted it across all her social media. The caption was pure poison: Ten years of love, destroyed by sickness. The human heart can be so cold. I just pray my brother can pull through this. She attached photos of Leo looking pale and helpless in his bed. It was like throwing a match into a tinderbox. Within minutes, my phone was blowing up with a flood of messages and comments. “I can’t believe you’re that kind of person. You’re evil.” “Leo was so good to you. How could you abandon him when he needs you most?” “Ten years… you’d have more loyalty to a dog. Is your heart made of stone?” Mutual friends, who had no idea of the real story, sent messages berating me. Strange numbers started calling, claiming to be journalists, asking invasive questions about why I’d “abandoned my dying boyfriend.” I felt like I’d been stripped naked and thrown into a public square, with an endless crowd pointing, jeering, and slinging mud at me. I was furious, heartbroken, and desperate to scream the truth to the entire world. But my voice was just a whisper against the hurricane of lies the Cole siblings had so expertly crafted. They didn’t just want me gone. They wanted me destroyed. They wanted to obliterate my reputation, poison my social circle, and leave me utterly alone. “Evie, we can’t let this continue.” Sarah snatched my phone and powered it off. “This is slander. It’s a character assassination. We need to call a lawyer, now! You can’t let them do this to you, or you’ll never be able to wash this stain off.” I stared at the black screen, at the reflection of a pale, haunted face I barely recognized. The warmth and trust that had once filled my eyes were gone, replaced by the cold, hard glint of a burning fire. She was right. This was a war. And it had just begun. You want to destroy me? Fine. Let me show you what a woman with nothing left to lose is capable of. 03 I didn’t sleep that night. Curled up on Sarah’s comfortable couch, I stared at the ceiling as the last ten years played out in my mind, a slow-motion film reel where every scene was now tainted with a sickening new light. I remembered the beginning. “Evie,” he’d said, “let’s go Dutch. I don’t want you to ever feel like I’m trying to buy your affection. I respect your independence.” Back then, I’d practically melted. I thought he was a rare gem, a man who truly saw me as an equal. Soon, “going Dutch” became the ironclad rule of our relationship. From a cup of coffee to an international flight, we tracked every expense in a shared app, splitting everything with clinical precision. I thought it was the foundation of a healthy relationship. Now I saw it for what it was: a carefully constructed trap. He used “respecting my independence” as a smokescreen to hide a selfishness so profound it was etched into his very bones. He refused to open a joint bank account, claiming that “keeping finances separate prevents arguments.” He refused to buy a property with me, insisting that “the market is too high right now, let’s just wait.” He even demanded we split the cost of a new dishwasher for the apartment we lived in. And I, the fool, had actually believed he was principled and financially responsible. But I was the one bearing all the hidden costs. I was the one who packed the boxes, hired the movers, and scrubbed our new places clean every time we moved. I was the one who took time off work to deal with plumbers and electricians whenever something broke. I was the one who dragged myself to the clinic for an IV drip when I had a fever, while he would simply text, “Drink lots of water.” And him? He blissfully enjoyed the fruits of my labor—a clean home, a smoothly running life, my constant care—without ever considering the time, energy, and money it all cost. Something else surfaced from my memory. His mother had been hospitalized once, and he’d come to me, his face a mask of solemn concern. “Evie, look, with my mom in this situation, and me being so busy with work… what if you quit your design job? You could focus on taking care of her for a while.” I had been stunned into silence. Seeing my hesitation, he’d quickly added, “Of course, any expenses related to her care… we can split them, AA.” A part of me had gone cold in that moment. But I had brushed it off, making excuses about my own workload and deadlines to turn him down. Looking back, he wasn’t asking me. He was informing me. In his mind, my career, my ambitions, my entire life could be put on hold to serve his family’s needs. And his contribution? Splitting a few laughable expenses. I pulled out my phone and started digging through old photos and chat logs. Every picture, every message, was now damning evidence of his parasitic nature. “Evie, I’m a little tight this month. Can you cover my half of the rent? I’ll get you back.” “Honey, my mom saw this massage chair she loves, but my credit card is maxed out. Could you buy it for her? I’ll pay you next month, I swear.” “My project hit a snag, and I need some cash to keep it afloat. Can you lend me five thousand? I’ll pay it back as soon as I can!” … Each message was a performance of weakness, a promise of repayment that never materialized. And I, swayed by sentiment and a misguided desire to protect his fragile ego, had never once pushed him to pay me back. I found the electronic lease for our apartment. And when I saw the tenant’s name—my name, and my name alone—the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place, and the pain was sharp, like a rusty knife twisting in my gut. I was the one paying the rent. He was just transferring me a few hundred dollars a month, which he generously labeled “living expenses.” It finally dawned on me. This wasn’t ten years of “going Dutch.” This was ten years of calculated, methodical vampirism. He had latched onto me like a leech, draining my finances, my energy, and my love, all while refusing to shoulder an ounce of real responsibility or risk. I wasn’t his partner, the person he wanted to build a life with. I was just a convenient resource, a provider of emotional and financial support to be used and discarded. Rage, regret, humiliation, disgust… The emotions swirled into a toxic vortex inside me, hardening into a cold, lethal resolve. Leo and Chloe Coleman. You played me for a fool for a decade. Now, the game is over. I’m taking back everything that’s mine. My money, my home, and the dignity you trampled on for ten long years. 04 The next morning, with dark circles under my eyes, I walked into Mr. Davies’s law office, Sarah by my side. Mr. Davies was a man in his forties, dressed in a sharp, immaculate suit, his gaze calm and piercing. I laid everything out for him: the whole sordid story, the sickening chat logs, the mountain of transfer receipts. He listened intently, never interrupting, only occasionally adjusting his glasses as his expression grew more and more serious. “Ms. Vance,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring, “based on what you’ve told me, the actions of Mr. Coleman and his sister go far beyond a mere moral failing.” “Ms. Coleman knowingly disseminated false information online to attack your character. That constitutes slander. And Mr. Coleman, fully aware that you were the sole leaseholder, conspired with his sister to illegally evict you and change the locks. That is unlawful entry and occupation.” He paused, tapping a finger on the copy of the will. “As for this document, it is legally tenuous. First, a testator must be of completely sound mind, free from coercion or deception. Given Mr. Coleman’s critical condition, his mental capacity at the time is highly questionable. But more importantly…” Mr. Davies looked at me, his eyes sharp. “You need to prove that you were not just ‘going Dutch,’ but that you were, in fact, the primary financial contributor to this relationship. These financial records you’ve brought are invaluable. They are the most powerful weapon you have to demolish their narrative.” I looked at the thick stack of papers on his desk, a detailed history of my ten-year-long mistake. Every receipt, every transfer was a needle in my heart. But they were also the swords I would use to strike back. Just as a sliver of hope began to break through the darkness, Chloe’s assault intensified. She had sold her story to a notorious online tabloid. They twisted the narrative of the “designer girlfriend abandoning her dying boyfriend” into a modern-day tragedy, painting me as a vain, money-grubbing social climber who had bled her partner dry and left him for dead. The article went viral, catapulting the story to the top of the local news feeds. My name, my profession, even the address of my design studio were plastered all over the internet. The studio phone rang off the hook. Clients started sending cautious emails, asking veiled questions, their words laced with doubt and hesitation. Then came the first contract termination. Then a second. And a third. My business, my passion, everything I had worked so hard to build, was crumbling around me in a matter of days. A suffocating despair threatened to drown me. I had never imagined that human cruelty could sink to such depths. The final blow came when Chloe, flanked by reporters from the tabloid, ambushed me outside my studio. A barrage of cameras flashed, microphones were shoved in my face. “Ms. Vance, do you have any comment on the allegations that you abandoned your partner?” “Is it true you ran off with Mr. Coleman’s life savings?” “Have you already found a new sugar daddy?” The questions were sharp, cruel daggers aimed directly at my heart. I was trapped in my own office, a cornered animal surrounded by a pack of hyenas. Through the glass door, I could see Chloe’s triumphant, gloating face. My chest tightened. I couldn’t breathe. My mind was a chaotic storm, and I could feel myself teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown. And then, a calm, authoritative voice cut through the noise. “Members of the press, please maintain a professional distance! Your actions are a severe violation of my client’s right to privacy and a direct assault on her reputation! We will pursue legal action against any party publishing unsubstantiated and defamatory statements!” It was Mr. Davies. He and Sarah had arrived. He stood before me like a shield, calmly and professionally addressing the media frenzy, his voice firm as he warned Chloe that her actions constituted a criminal offense. Staring at his solid back, the fog in my brain began to clear. A tiny ember of hope rekindled in the ashes of my despair. I wasn’t alone. I couldn’t fall apart. I clenched my fists, my nails digging so deep into my palms that the pain jolted me back to full awareness. I looked through the glass, my gaze meeting Chloe’s defiant stare. The fear and vulnerability in my eyes receded, replaced by the hard, unyielding glint of tempered steel. You drove me into a corner, Leo and Chloe. Now, get ready. Because I’m not just coming back to clear my name. I’m coming back to ruin you.

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Ethan Sterling was in critical condition, poisoned by a new designer drug. As the family’s private physician, I was forced to be the cure. My body, treacherously fertile, caught the first time. After the wedding, I gave him what his family had always wanted: beautiful, brilliant fraternal twins. But our marriage was a cage. Ethan wouldn’t let our children call him “Dad.” He spent his nights getting drunk, clutching a photograph of Chloe Reed—the one he called his soulmate. On our tenth wedding anniversary, he locked me and our children in the basement and burned us alive. It turned out that for all those years, he had harbored a deep-seated resentment for the night I saved him. He was stubbornly convinced that I had used his moment of vulnerability to claw my way into his powerful family. In his mind, I was the reason his relationship with Chloe had shattered; I was the reason she had spiraled into a depression that ended with her walking into traffic. When I open my eyes again, I’m back on the night Ethan Sterling was drugged. This time, I give the opportunity to “save” him to Chloe. And I walk toward the library… 1 “Dr. Chen, you have to go in. Mr. Sterling is getting worse.” The housekeeper’s frantic voice barely registered. My body was locked in a tremor I couldn’t control, a phantom memory of fire licking at my skin. The agony of being burned alive felt branded onto every nerve ending. In the back of my mind, I could still hear the desperate cries of my children, trapped with me in that suffocating basement. “Dr. Chen?” That name felt foreign. It had been a decade since anyone had called me that, not since I had become Mrs. Ethan Sterling. “It’s his birthday party,” the housekeeper, Mrs. Hayes, stammered. “I don’t know what happened, how it could go so wrong.” Her words were the key. I stopped dead. I was back. This was the night it all began. I took a deep, shuddering breath, the air tasting of a second chance. “Mr. Hayes,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady, turning to the anxious man beside her. “Go and get Chloe Reed. It looks like Mr. Sterling has been drugged. A powerful aphrodisiac, from the symptoms.” The head housekeeper looked stunned. “But, Doctor…” “Get her,” I commanded, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Unless you want to be responsible for what happens next.” As he scurried away, I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to calm the frantic hammering of my heart. In my first life, I was the one who opened that door. Ethan had descended on me like a feral animal, a storm of heat and desperation. And the staff, just outside the door, had dutifully ignored my cries. The inevitable happened. I got pregnant. A quick, quiet wedding followed. I thought it was the beginning of a fairy tale. It was the prologue to a nightmare. Ethan despised me. He saw my presence that night as a calculated, predatory move. He was convinced I had used his moment of vulnerability to claw my way into his wealthy family, shattering his relationship with Chloe, the one he considered his soulmate. He blamed me when, months later, a distraught Chloe walked into traffic and was killed. He never let our children call him Dad. On our tenth wedding anniversary, he locked me and our twins in the basement and set our world on fire. I pushed the searing hatred down, letting it cool into a hard, dense stone in my gut. I smoothed my collar, turned away from Ethan’s bedroom, and walked toward the library. If my memory served me right, Ethan’s father had fallen victim to the same plot. The Sterling men were notorious for their difficulty in fathering children. Ethan himself was the product of IVF, a fact that had secured his otherwise tenuous position as the sole heir. This time, what if he wasn’t? I pushed open the heavy oak door to the library. Marcus Sterling was slumped in a leather armchair, his face flushed, his silk tie hanging loose around his neck. When he saw me, his eyes widened, like a drowning man spotting a piece of driftwood. He lunged, pulling me into the room and into the start of my new life. 2 The next morning, I walked out of the library, my clothes rumpled, my body aching. I nearly collided with Chloe Reed, who was emerging from Ethan’s bedroom, a smug, satisfied glow about her. She froze when she saw me, then her lips curled into a contemptuous smirk. “Well, well, Dr. Chen. Doing the walk of shame, are we?” Her voice was laced with derision. “Or are you just feeling guilty? I guess seducing an old man for a shot at the family fortune isn’t exactly something to be proud of.” I gave her a look as cold as a morgue slab. “Takes one to know one.” Chloe’s face tightened. “Don’t you dare compare us. I’m going to be his wife. You… you’re just the kind of mistake that gets paid off and sent away.” My gaze dropped. She was right, in a way. In the first timeline, the maid who had been sent in to “help” Marcus was dismissed with a generous check. But I wasn’t that maid. I was ferociously, almost unnaturally fertile. It was the one card I held that had gotten me through the Sterling gates before. I glanced meaningfully at the maid’s uniform she was still wearing from her “duties” last night. “I’d worry more about yourself, Chloe.” Just then, Ethan stepped out of his room, wrapping an arm around Chloe’s waist. He looked at her with a tenderness that twisted something in my chest, a phantom pain from a life I no longer wanted. “Chloe, are you okay? You should be resting.” She leaned into him, her voice a breathy whisper. “I have to get back to work. I can’t just disappear.” She shot a pointed look at me. “I’m not Dr. Chen, after all. I don’t have the luxury of leisure.” Ethan grunted. “She’s just staff, same as anyone else.” He turned his gaze back to Chloe, softening it. “Don’t worry. I told you I’d take care of you.” His eyes, when they finally fell on me, were chips of ice. “I heard you’re the one who sent for Chloe. Smart move. But don’t get any ideas. You stay in your lane and away from things that don’t concern you.” His words were a dagger, reminding me of a past I was desperate to escape. He always knew I had feelings for him. In that first life, I learned that the Sterlings had anonymously funded my college scholarship on Ethan’s recommendation. I developed a crush, a quiet admiration that led me to take the job as the family’s private physician, just to be near him. Before we were married, I had asked him if he truly wanted this. His answer was chillingly pragmatic: “It has to be someone. It might as well be you. Don’t overthink it. Just be Mrs. Sterling.” Once our children were born and his position as heir was cemented, the facade dropped. He was a user. A hollow man. “Understood,” I murmured. This time, with me out of the way, I was morbidly curious to see what kind of epic love story they would manage to build. As I turned to leave, Ethan’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around my wrist like a manacle. His eyes narrowed, focusing on a patch of skin visible at my collar. A dark, ugly mark stood out against my skin. “What is this?” His voice was a low growl. “Have you no shame? Giving yourself away to just any man.” The sudden movement sent a jolt of pain through my bruised body. I fought to keep my face impassive, meeting his furious gaze with a cold one of my own. “That has nothing to do with you, Mr. Sterling.” His face went dark with a strange, possessive rage I couldn’t decipher. “Who was it? One of the groundskeepers? Is that all you’re worth?” Before I could answer, a small, pained whimper came from behind him. “Ow… my leg…” Ethan dropped my wrist instantly and spun around. Chloe was leaning against the wall, her face a mask of delicate suffering. “I think I pulled something…” Without a word, Ethan swept her into his arms. Chloe wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his chest. But over his shoulder, her eyes met mine, and they were gleaming with pure, unadulterated triumph. I remembered this Chloe. The one who used her feigned fragility as a weapon to keep Ethan tethered to her. When he married me in the other life, she spiraled, jumping from one wealthy man to another, trying to make him jealous. It was a path that led her to hard drugs and, eventually, a fatal overdose that looked like a traffic accident. And Ethan, the fool, had mythologized it as a death born of a broken heart. I placed a hand on my lower abdomen. A deep, primal heat was already spreading from my core, a feeling more intense than the last time. It looked like Ethan was about to have a few little brothers. A slow, cold smile spread across my face. 3 Marcus Sterling was called away on urgent business overseas shortly after that morning. His only communication was a text message: Don’t worry. I will take responsibility for you. Wait for me. I didn’t need his reassurances. Even if “responsibility” just meant a bank transfer, the moment my pregnancy test came back positive, a wedding would be non-negotiable. What I hadn’t anticipated was how quickly my life in the Sterling manor would become a living hell. My disheveled exit from the library that morning had been witnessed by the entire staff. They had all assumed I’d been with Ethan. But when Ethan publicly declared that Chloe was to be his future wife, instructing everyone to treat her as such, the whispers started. “So if it wasn’t the young master… who was Dr. Chen with?” “Who do you think? Some stranger she snuck in. The Sterlings have a strict no-fraternization policy for staff. She’s broken a cardinal rule.” “I always thought she seemed a bit too proper. Turns out she’s just desperate.” Mrs. Hayes, the housekeeper, had seen me go into the library, but without a direct order from Marcus, she kept her mouth shut. The rumors, fueled by the other staff eager to curry favor with the newly elevated Chloe, festered and grew. My clothes would be “accidentally” dropped on the muddy floor of the laundry room. My tea would sometimes have a vile, slimy texture. “Oh, Dr. Chen, your sweater fell again,” Chloe would say, clutching a thermos of some nourishing broth, her face a perfect mask of false sympathy. “These maids are just so clumsy.” I’d meet her gloating eyes, pick up the soiled garment without a word, and walk away. The gossip turned venomous. They said I’d been promiscuous before I even arrived. They said I flirted with the male staff. The whispers became so detailed and grotesque, they even fabricated the color of the underwear I wore each day. “I heard she was with the gardener last night.” “Wouldn’t surprise me. I saw her coming out of the hedges behind the greenhouse, her blouse was all wrinkled.” I clenched my jaw and endured. Their goal was simple: to humiliate me until I quit. I was on my way to find Mrs. Hayes, to demand some semblance of order, when I ran straight into Ethan in a quiet corridor. He grabbed my arm, yanking me into a small, dark supply closet. “You just can’t get enough, can you?” he hissed, his face inches from mine, his eyes burning with contempt. “Is sleeping your way through the staff list your new hobby?” I struggled against his grip. “Let go of me, Ethan. You’re pathetic, believing every piece of gossip you hear. What’s next, are you going to force yourself on me?” I sneered. His grip tightened painfully. “A woman like you doesn’t get to use a word like ‘force’.” I stared back at him, silent. Finally, he spoke, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I know you want me. Behave yourself, and I’ll let you be my mistress.” The sheer arrogance of him was nauseating. “I’m not interested.” SLAP. The blow was so sharp my head snapped to the side. “Your stable boy can’t give you what I can,” he snarled. “Ava, you’re testing my patience. End it with him.” My cheek stung, and I could taste blood. For a split second, a flicker of something—regret? concern?—crossed his face. He softened his tone, a clumsy attempt at seduction. “Stop being stubborn. Chloe gets the title, but you’ll have everything else she does.” I laughed, a raw, bitter sound. “I said, I’m. Not. Interested.” He shoved me back, sending a stack of linen boxes tumbling. “Then get the hell out of my house! The Sterling family has no need for a private doctor who sleeps with the help!” I didn’t even grant him a final glance. I turned and walked out. Leaving now was for the best. I couldn’t stomach another day of watching him and Chloe play house. I stepped out of the closet and found Chloe standing there, her eyes narrowed with a venomous glare. “Ava. Why do you always have to get in my way?” I scoffed. “Please. A man like Ethan is a prize only you would want.” I brushed past her and headed for the grand staircase. “Dr. Chen, what are you doing? No, please, don’t!” Her sudden scream made me whip my head around in confusion. In that split second, I saw her deliberately throw herself backward, tumbling dramatically down the long, carpeted stairs. 4 My eyes widened in disbelief. I couldn’t process what had just happened. Down below, servants rushed toward the sound of the fall. Ethan burst out of the supply closet, his face a mask of panic, and vaulted down the stairs to Chloe’s side. “Chloe!” He gathered her into his arms, his voice thick with anguish. She was covered in theatrical scrapes and bruises. “It’s not Ava’s fault,” Chloe whimpered, clinging to him. “It’s my fault. I took you from her. It’s only natural she’d be angry.” She looked up at Ethan, tears streaming down her face. “But I just can’t bear to give you up.” “Ava!” Ethan’s roar echoed through the foyer. “How dare you! Get down here!” Two burly security guards seized my arms, dragging me down the stairs and forcing me to my knees in front of Chloe. The impact on the marble floor sent a blinding shock of pain up my legs. “Which hand did you use to push her?” Ethan demanded, looming over me. “I didn’t touch her,” I said through gritted teeth. “Check the security cameras.” Chloe sobbed harder into Ethan’s chest. “No, don’t. It was me. I fell all by myself. It has nothing to do with Dr. Chen.” “You’re too kind, Chloe,” Ethan murmured, stroking her hair. “You don’t need to protect a monster like her.” A bitter, hysterical laugh escaped my lips. No matter the timeline, no matter the circumstances, Ethan would never, ever believe me. “Since you can’t remember which hand it was,” Ethan said, his voice dropping to a chillingly calm tone, “we’ll just have to break your right one.” A cold spike of fear pierced through me. I was a doctor. My hands were my life, my career. “No, you can’t!” I shook my head, panic rising in my throat. “You can call the police, you can have me arrested, but you can’t touch my hands!” A cruel smile played on Ethan’s lips. “So they are important to you.” He savored my terror. “Alright then. We’ll start with the fingers. Someone get me a hammer.” From the safety of his arms, Chloe watched me, her eyes alight with vicious glee. I was drowning in hatred, choking on the injustice of it all. I had done nothing wrong, yet here I was, trapped in their sadistic drama once again. Ethan took the heavy mallet from a groundskeeper himself. He raised it high, bringing it down with sickening force on my smallest finger. Pain, white-hot and absolute, exploded in my hand. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a scream. My finger was a mangled, twisted ruin. “This is the punishment for not learning your place,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “You were so much more obedient in our last life, why did you have to change…” I didn’t catch the end of it, but the implication was clear. He remembered too. A fresh wave of fury, potent and pure, surged through me. I locked my eyes on his. He raised the hammer again. “Beg me,” he taunted. “Beg me, and maybe I’ll stop.” “No,” I spat. “Ethan Sterling, in this life, one of us is going to destroy the other.” His face contorted in rage, and he lifted the hammer for the final blow.

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