Category: English

After the divorce, my mom set me up again. He was an engineer. Good-looking, well-off, and out of the country most of the year. The only catch? He had a son who wasn’t quite… right. My mom asked if I minded being a stepmom. I just laughed. A ready-made kid is a lot easier than nine months of pregnancy. Isn’t the government encouraging people to have children anyway? I’ll take him. 1 Michael’s work was demanding, so our first meeting was at a café beneath his office building. He was dressed in a pair of light-gray work coveralls, his features sharp and handsome, his smile disarmingly warm. I was floored. I had no idea my mom had access to this caliber of blind date material. Over coffee, he gave me the rundown of his life. Thirty-five, a six-figure salary as a global support engineer for a heavy machinery company, constantly traveling for overseas assignments. When we were done, he made it clear he was more than happy with me, but then he brought up the delicate subject. “I’m not sure if your mother mentioned it, but I have a five-year-old son. He’s in kindergarten.” I nodded. I get it, teenagers can be rebellious, but I couldn’t wrap my head around how a five-year-old could be “not right.” Was Michael violent? Did he have some kind of weird fetish? My eyes scanned him again, from head to toe. His hands were clenched into tight fists, a sign of his nerves. He offered me a devastatingly earnest, almost goofy smile. He seemed harmless enough. “Can I ask why you and your ex-wife divorced?” Michael went quiet for a moment. “We didn’t divorce. I’m a widower. She died from an amniotic fluid embolism during childbirth.” I froze. That was a detail my mom had conveniently left out. “When my son was born, I was flying all over the world for work. He lived with his maternal grandparents. I brought him home to live with me when he was four, and that’s when he…” He trailed off, rubbing his hands together awkwardly as he waited for my verdict. I thought it over, then finally said, “I have a three-year-old daughter. She has to live with me. I don’t know if you’re okay with that.” 2 My daughter, Buddy, is a Golden Retriever I rescued from a back-alley breeder. I spent twelve thousand dollars on his surgeries, which led to a six-month cold war with my ex-husband, followed by our divorce. Michael stared at me, dumbfounded, for a solid three seconds. The tension in his shoulders visibly melted the moment I showed him a picture of Buddy on my phone. Aside from my commitment to Buddy, Michael knew the basics about me. Thirty, a freelance writer who basically lives like a hermit, pulling in a modest income that my ex found embarrassing. Since the divorce, I’d been living with my parents, and my mom never let me forget it. “So… can I get your number? We could, you know, keep talking.” I was satisfied with Michael. He needed a wife to take care of his son, and I needed his income to support my stay-at-home lifestyle. Plus, I’m a total sucker for a pretty face. After we exchanged numbers, I immediately sent him my half of the bill for the coffee. Michael glanced at the payment notification on his phone, his brow furrowing. “If… if you think I’m decent enough,” he began, hesitating, “maybe I could introduce you to my son sometime?” “He’s really not… off all the time. When he’s quiet, he’s actually pretty adorable.” I didn’t say anything. He took a deep breath, playing his final card. “I’m serious about you. If you’re willing, I’ll give you a fifty-thousand-dollar nest egg to start our life, and my paycheck is yours and your daughter’s every month.” “How about tomorrow, then?” I said. “I have to take Buddy to the vet for a check-up. They can meet afterward.” We set a time. I picked up my dog from the groomer’s, went home, and gave my mom the short version. I still couldn’t understand why Michael tensed up every time he mentioned his son. A five-year-old boy… even if he was a bit of a handful, how “not right” could he be? “Mom, have you ever met his son?” My mom scratched her head. “Oh, sure. He seemed like a nice boy. Looks just like his dad, sweet-faced. Just… quiet. Doesn’t really engage with anyone.” “He’s five,” she added with a shrug. “What are you so afraid of? It’s not like he can burn the house down.” 3 The next day, after Buddy’s check-up, I made a special trip to the toy store and a bakery, loading up on action figures and a box of egg tarts. Michael picked me up, and it was only then that I learned he owned a sprawling penthouse apartment in the city center. Because of his crazy work schedule, his son spent most of his time there alone. “Patrick’s grandparents aren’t in the best of health these days, so they can’t look after him anymore,” he explained. “I have a nanny who comes by regularly to cook for him.” “Patrick? That’s a nice name.” “His mother picked it.” I fell silent. Michael parked in the underground garage, took the bags from my hands, and led me toward the elevator. “Patrick’s still young. I know it might be a lot to ask, but he’ll need you to look after him.” “I came back yesterday and cleaned the whole place up…” His words died on his lips. He pushed the door open to reveal a living room that looked like a warzone. Patrick was sitting alone on the sofa, methodically stuffing a small cake into his mouth. “Patrick!” Michael’s face flushed with anger. Patrick stared blankly at Buddy for a second before scrambling off the couch and bolting into his room, slamming the door shut behind him. Michael looked exhausted, apologizing profusely. The door was locked tight. No matter what Michael said, Patrick wouldn’t open it. It would take time for the nanny to come and clean up, so Michael and I sat on the sofa, making small talk. “He claims he can hear cats and dogs talking,” Michael said, his voice low. “He also said a dog found a new mommy for him.” “But don’t worry,” he added quickly. “I’ve taken him to a child psychologist. They said it’s nothing that will affect his daily life.” Since I talk to Buddy all the time, I didn’t find Patrick’s claims particularly strange. He was only five. His dad had just brought home a strange woman. Acting out to claim his territory seemed perfectly normal. Just as I was trying to figure out how to bridge the gap between us, the door to his room creaked open, just a crack. His eyes met mine for a fleeting second before darting away. The moment he saw the nanny arrive at the front door, he slammed his own door shut again. He was afraid of her. 4 I asked the nanny to just take out the trash and leave for the day. Then, I walked over to Patrick’s room and knocked softly. “The nanny’s gone. When you’re hungry, you can come out and eat.” A long moment passed. Finally, the door opened. He peeked his head out, checking to make sure she was really gone before cautiously stepping into the living room. Buddy, his tongue lolling out, wagged his tail excitedly and trotted circles around the little boy. Patrick looked uncomfortable. He tugged at his slightly-too-small t-shirt, then shyly reached out and patted Buddy’s head. He quickly snatched an egg tart from the shopping bag and stuffed it into his pocket. The nanny hadn’t prepared lunch, so we ordered from a restaurant nearby and ate together. “Is she my mom?” Patrick, sitting across from me, asked the question out of the blue. Buddy, who was lying at his feet, let out two sharp barks. Patrick looked up, his wide, hopeful eyes shifting between me and Michael. His eyelashes were long, and his cheeks were still plump with baby fat, flushed a rosy pink. He looked like a delicious little strawberry shortcake. Michael was right. Patrick was actually quite adorable. “Yes,” Michael said softly. “Would you like to live with her?” “You’re a liar, Daddy!” Patrick’s eyes filled with tears, but he spoke with a stubborn defiance. “My mommy is dead!” The mood at the table instantly soured. I smiled, peeled a shrimp, and placed it on his plate. “I’m not your mommy. You can call me Auntie Clara. Of course, if you want to, you can call me Mom.” “Like the nanny?” he shot back, a deceptively innocent, almost cruel, smile on his face. “Is that what you are?” “No. I’ll be living with you. I’ll be the one to discipline you for your dad. The nanny won’t spank you, but I will.” His eyes welled up with tears again. 5 The very next afternoon, Michael and I were at the courthouse getting our marriage license. He was in a rush, quickly helping me move my things into his apartment. A couple of weeks ago, he had received an assignment that would take him overseas for an extended period. He’d delayed his departure because he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Patrick alone for so long. “I’ll be gone for more than half a year this time. I’m counting on you to take care of Patrick. If anything comes up, just message me. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” “Patrick can be a handful at school. You might have to take some heat from the teachers for me.” “If he misbehaves and makes you angry, you have my permission to discipline him. Just don’t hurt him, okay?” “And… video call me if you miss me.” Michael recited his laundry list of instructions as he stood in the security line at the airport. I had suggested Patrick skip a day of school to see him off, but the boy had stubbornly refused. Michael’s figure grew smaller and smaller, eventually swallowed by the bustling airport crowd. On the way back, I took a detour to the supermarket. Ever since I’d noticed Patrick’s fear of the nanny, I’d had Michael let her go. With no one else to cook, the job fell to me. Day one of motherhood. To make a good first impression, I drove to pick him up from school. But when I got there, I saw him lingering by the school gates with a group of other kids. They were jumping around him, singing some kind of song. What was going on? A party at the school gate? It wasn’t his birthday. My patience wore thin. I got out of the car and plucked Patrick from the center of the circle. “Sorry, guys. Patrick’s mom wants him home for dinner, so he can’t play right now.” I buckled him into the back seat. The seatbelt was loose, completely useless. Note to self: buy a booster seat. Buddy sniffed around him, licking his hand from time to time and nudging his chin with his head. “What do you want for dinner tonight?” Silence. Right. I’d almost forgotten. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about his new stepmom. I changed the subject. “I fired the nanny.” I watched his reflection in the rearview mirror. His head shot up, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. Then, completely out of context, he answered my first question. “I want barbecue ribs, and honey-glazed ribs, and…” A cold sweat prickled my back. I had clearly overestimated my culinary skills. In the end, we went out for dinner. 6 After dinner, I fed Buddy, and Patrick quietly washed his hands and went to his room to look at his picture books. What was so “not right” about this kid? He was perfectly normal. I happily settled in for a quiet evening, opening my laptop to write. At nine o’clock, Patrick was still engrossed in a Sudoku puzzle, with no intention of going to bed. I took the book away and told him it was time for a bath. He clung to the doorframe with all his might, shouting, “I can wash myself! I can do it!” I pried his stubborn little fingers away. “Can you really get yourself clean? You’re starting to smell a little ripe.” He let go, completely stunned. His cheeks puffed out in indignation, making him look like an angry little pufferfish. “That’s a lie! I take a bath every single day!” I ended up having to physically drag him into the bathroom. Patrick’s bathroom had a large tub with a low-set faucet, which made it easy for him to draw his own bath. I stripped him down, tossed him in, and started scrubbing him down like a potato. When I got to his arm, he cried out in pain. At first, I thought he was just being dramatic, but when I looked up, his eyes were brimming with tears. That’s when I saw it—a large, ugly bruise on his right forearm. My expression hardened. “How did you get this?” He refused to answer. I gave his bottom a light swat. “Patrick, I’m talking to you!” He burst into tears, wailing like a teakettle. “When I don’t listen, the nanny pinches me,” he sobbed. “She says I’m the kid nobody wanted.” I froze. Suddenly, his question from the restaurant—“Like the nanny?”—slammed into me. It wasn’t a challenge. It was a test. He was terrified that I would hurt him, too. Coming back to my senses, I softened my voice. I wrapped him in a towel and lifted him out of the tub. “How long has she been hurting you? Why didn’t you tell your dad?” Frustration simmered inside me as I pulled a set of pajamas over his head. “You have a mouth, don’t you? Why are you suddenly silent when your dad’s around?” “I don’t get to see Daddy very often,” he mumbled. “By the time I see him, it doesn’t hurt anymore.” I pulled the hood of his pajamas up over his head. “Doesn’t hurt? Then who was that screaming in the bathtub just now?” “From now on, if anyone ever lays a hand on you, you hit them back. Hard. You understand? I’ve got your back. I won’t tell your dad.” I tucked him into bed and turned to his closet. What was this? All his clothes were a size too small. “I don’t have any new clothes.” Patrick’s voice was muffled from under the covers, only his eyes visible. “The nanny took all the new clothes Daddy bought for me.” Damn it. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I lay awake until midnight, tossing and turning, vowing to make that woman pay. 7 I didn’t even have to go looking for trouble. It found me. The school called. Patrick had gotten into a fight. I floored it, racing to the kindergarten. When I arrived, the former nanny was splayed on the floor of the principal’s office, putting on a world-class performance of weeping and wailing. I pulled Patrick behind me, crouching down to check him from head to toe. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding when I saw the only injury was a small scratch on his cheek from another kid’s fingernail. “You’re this little monster’s mother, are you? Look what he did to my grandson!” I bent down and pointed at the other boy, whose face was a mess of bruises and swelling. “Did you do this to him?” Patrick wouldn’t speak. “Patrick! Head up. Answer me!” He obediently lifted his head, his hands fidgeting nervously in front of him. “I did it,” he whispered. “He called me a stray with no mom. I got angry, so I hit him.” I ruffled his hair. “Good job. You did the right thing.” The teacher looked at me as if I’d just sprouted a second head. “Mrs. Miller, children will be children, but you’re an adult. You should know better.” The nanny shrieked, “An apology? My grandson looks like this, and you think an apology is enough? You’re going to pay for this!” “Patrick did nothing wrong,” I said, turning to face the spectacle on the floor. “And last I checked, I’m not dead. So how exactly does that make him a child with no mother?” I gave the nanny a pointed look. “You know, I was just about to come looking for you. I noticed some cash missing from a drawer at home the other day.” She flinched, but quickly puffed out her chest. “What are you talking about? That’s slander!” “It’s fine if you don’t admit it. The security cameras saw everything.” She scrambled to her feet, shooting me a venomous glare. “I don’t care about that! Your son beat up my grandson, and you’re going to pay. If you don’t, I’ll make you regret it!” A triumphant, vicious smirk spread across her face. “I know your husband isn’t home.” I clenched my fists, ready to throw down. The teacher grabbed my wrist. “Don’t be rash. Just apologize and this will all be over. His father is not someone you want to cross.” Just as she said that, a deep voice boomed from the doorway. “Who? Who’s been bullying my son?”

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The world spun into a blur. Then, nothing. During our aerial lift, my partner—my husband—should have been there. But his arms weren’t. I crashed. Just like that, my legs were gone. Paralyzed. Iain wept, swearing it was a clumsy mistake. He promised to care for me forever. Then he claimed our savings were drained and stopped my treatments—only to buy his first love a couture gown. I missed my treatment window. I’d be bedridden for life. As I grieved, I overheard him on the phone: “You dropped Vivian on purpose so Sienna could win.” After a silence, Iain replied, heavy with false guilt: “I wronged Viv, but I’ll be responsible. She lost her legs and dream, but she has my love.” My future stretched empty and dark. I found a blade and drew it across my wrist. As blood bloomed on the sheets, Iain leaned over, red-eyed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I take it all back.” 1 “Your eyes are red again, darling.” Iain’s voice, a gentle murmur as he hung up the phone, was as tender as ever. He walked over to my bedside, his brow furrowed with concern. “Is the pain acting up?” For a moment, I couldn’t tell which version of him was real. The man on the phone, or the one standing before me. “The dance company just called,” he said. “I have to head over for a bit.” The company? Wasn’t he just on the phone with his friend, mocking my entire existence? I stared at him, searching his eyes for the slightest flicker of deceit. He held my gaze for a second, then his own flickered away, just for an instant. His tell. He was lying. “They said they might be able to lend me some money,” he added, the lie growing smoother. “Enough to cover your treatment costs.” A bitter laugh almost escaped my lips. Just a few days ago, a nurse had come to the room, her expression apologetic, to inform me my bill was severely past due. That was why my physical therapy had stopped. That was why I wasn’t getting better. When I’d asked Iain, his face had crumpled with worry. “Treating your legs has wiped me out, Viv. But don’t worry. I’ll take out a loan if I have to. I’ll get it paid.” I waited. And waited. Until yesterday, when the doctor delivered the verdict with clinical finality: “You’ve missed the optimal window for recovery. It’s highly unlikely you’ll ever be able to stand again.” In that moment, I understood. My life was over. I was a bird with broken wings, destined for a cage. “Okay,” I whispered, turning my head away. “You should go.” I lay down, not clinging to him as I usually did, not begging him to stay. I waited until the door clicked shut, then I buried my face in my pillow and let the sobs wrack my body. I cried until exhaustion pulled me under, only to be jolted awake by the blare of the television news. It was her. Sienna. She’d just won another major Latin championship and was surrounded by a swarm of reporters, microphones thrust in her face. It was like looking at a ghost of my former self. Before the fall, I was the one who won every competition, the one bathed in the flash of cameras, the one showered with praise. “Sienna, congratulations on your victory! Who is the most important person you want to thank tonight?” a reporter asked. “My first love,” she answered, her voice sweet and breathless. “For always being there for me, for encouraging me. He even gave me this dress!” “That looks like a custom couture gown!” “Oh, that’s not important!” she said, blushing prettily. “What’s important is how good he is to me! Okay, okay, no more gossip!” She cast a playful, happy glance to the side. And in the corner of the frame, I saw it. A sliver of a pale blue shirt sleeve. The same shirt Iain was wearing today. My hand tightened on the bedsheet, knuckles white. It could be a coincidence. Just the same brand, the same style. It had to be. My fingers trembled as I dialed the number for the head of our dance company. With every ring, my heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, painful rhythm. 2 The director confirmed it. Iain was there, right by Sienna’s side, celebrating her victory. I stared at the television, at the thousands of glittering diamonds sewn onto Sienna’s gown, a dress that shimmered with every triumphant breath she took. Then, I looked down and touched my own legs. Lifeless. Numb. So, it was all a lie. The tight finances, the desperate struggle to pay my medical bills. A sharp, painful breath hitched in my throat. I blinked back tears. “Director,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady, “could you send me the video of the competition? The one from the day I fell.” There was a stunned silence on the other end. I had refused to watch it, refused to even speak of it. The memory alone was enough to make me shatter. But now, I had to know. A wave of nausea washed over me as I fast-forwarded the clip, my finger hovering over the screen. There it was. The moment my world ended. I watched it in slow motion. My turn in the air was flawless, my form perfect. But on the ground, Iain faltered. Just for a split second. His body tensed, and the hands that were meant to catch me froze, hovering just inches from my body. Then, the impact. A sickening crunch as I hit the stage. The video captured his horrified gasp, the frantic way he scrambled to my side. To anyone watching, it looked like a tragic accident. No one would ever know, unless they heard the words from his own mouth, that he had let me fall. For Sienna, he had crippled me. He had destroyed my life. And he was the one who had ignited my dream in the first place. I met him in college, after a Latin competition where I’d bombed, again. I was ready to quit, to hang up my shoes for good. After my final, defeated dance, I heard a single, thunderous round of applause from the empty seats. It was Iain. Two young dreamers. One lost, the other a beacon of encouragement. He convinced me not to give up. I put my dance shoes back on. After graduation, we met again. But life is never that simple. Just as my career was taking off, my mother was diagnosed with a sudden, aggressive illness. The years of winning competitions had left me with a decent nest egg, but I was still short for the final, life-or-death surgery. The prize money from the next competition, just three days away, would cover it. But instead of a check, I was met with a brick wall. I was suddenly, inexplicably blacklisted from the industry. Even my closest friends wouldn’t help. After days of frantic calls, I found out why. Sienna, Iain’s ex-girlfriend, had pulled strings to shut me out. Time was running out. My mother was fading. I swallowed my pride, my dignity, everything I was, and knelt before Sienna. She didn’t demand I leave Iain, like some villain in a soap opera. She just gave me a long, cool look, a look that wordlessly communicated the vast, uncrossable chasm between our worlds. Satisfied by my humiliation, she made a call and my blacklisting was lifted. But it was too late. The competition was over. My mother had missed her chance. She was gone. I hated Sienna with a fire that consumed my soul. At night, I would clutch my mother’s old clothes and weep until I had nothing left. After Iain and I got together, I told him the story. He was silent for a long time. “Are you sure it wasn’t a misunderstanding?” he finally said. “Sienna can be a little spoiled, but she’s not a bad person. You shouldn’t be so prejudiced, so… jealous of her.” I stared at him, my blood running cold. He continued, his tone patient, as if explaining something to a child. “You two are from different worlds. Why would she target you for no reason? Maybe your performance just wasn’t up to par back then. Maybe you should stop blaming her. At the end of the day, it was your failure as a daughter that led to your mother’s death.” Iain was my rock, the person I trusted most in the world. Hearing him say it with such conviction shattered my already fragile confidence. I started to believe him. I started to believe it was all my fault. 3 I watched the video again and again, the fall replaying on a loop until the images were burned into my mind. I was still watching when Iain returned. He walked over, saw the screen, and a flicker of discomfort crossed his face. “Don’t watch that, Viv,” he said softly, his voice dripping with that practiced tenderness. “It’ll only upset you. It hurts me to see you sad.” I looked up at him, my heart a block of ice. “Hurts you? You planned the whole thing.” His gentle expression vanished, replaced by a wounded fury. His voice turned sharp. “What are you talking about? Vivian, I have done nothing but take care of you since your accident. And this is how you think of me?” He gestured wildly, his voice rising. “If it weren’t for me, your deadbeat, gambling-addicted father would have had you cremated before you were even cold! Do you forget that?” He was working himself into a frenzy, his performance utterly convincing. “How can you be so ungrateful?” “Wasn’t it for Sienna?” I asked, my voice as cold and dead as my legs. “I…” The blood drained from his face. The words caught in his throat. “It’s not what you think,” he finally managed to say, his voice a dry rasp. “I owed her,” he admitted after a long pause. “For leaving her back then.” My control snapped. “You owed her! What does that have to do with me? Why did my legs have to be the price for your guilt? I wasn’t the other woman!” “Calm down!” he snapped. “Look, if you think about it from another angle, it’s not all bad.” I stared at him, incredulous. “My debt to Sienna is paid,” he explained, a chillingly rational tone in his voice. “Now I can devote myself to you, completely. I’ll never have anything to do with her again. So, you can’t walk anymore. But you have all of me. Isn’t that enough?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Have you?” I shrieked, the sound tearing from my throat. “What good is having a pathetic bastard like you? I just want my body back! I want my legs!” After the accident, the physical ruin of my body had eroded every last bit of my spirit. I was no longer capable of loving anyone, least of all him. The warmth in Iain’s eyes vanished, replaced by a glacial cold. “It seems you haven’t quite grasped the reality of your situation,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “For the rest of your life, you will depend on my charity to survive.” I soon learned exactly what he meant. Later that day, I was thirsty. I tried to wheel myself to the small table where a glass of water sat, but the wheels of my chair caught on the edge of a thick rug. I was stuck. “You can stay right there and think,” Iain said, standing in the doorway, a smug look on his face. “Think about the proper attitude you should have towards me from now on.” He slammed the door, leaving me alone. My mouth was parched, my throat burning. The glass of water was so close, yet impossibly far. The thirst grew from a simple need into an agonizing, soul-scorching pain. Hours passed. Then came a new, more urgent torment. A pressure building in my bladder. The catheter needed changing. Iain always did it for me. I bit my lip, hard, and slammed my hands against the controls of the wheelchair. It jolted and rocked violently, then tipped, sending me spilling onto the floor. Pain shot through me, but I ignored it. I started crawling, dragging my useless legs towards the bathroom. I arched my back, trying desperately to hold on, but my body betrayed me. A warm flood soaked through my pants. I clenched my fists, pounding them against the cold floor. I wished I was dead. The humiliation of my own body’s betrayal was a thousand times worse than any verbal insult. It stripped away the last shred of my dignity. I lay there until the next morning, when the home-care aide arrived. She hauled me onto the bed, her movements rough and efficient. She pulled off my soiled pants without a word, then began wiping between my legs with a towel, her touch impersonal and rough. She flipped me over like a slab of meat. Looking at the mess on her hands, she wrinkled her nose in disgust. “God, this stinks. Can’t even control your own piss and shit.” She sighed, her voice dripping with contempt. “If I were you, I’d just die. Honestly. You’re a waste of air and food.” I trembled with rage, my teeth chattering. “This is your job,” I managed to hiss. “My husband pays you well to…” Before I could finish, she shoved my own dirty pants into my mouth. The foul stench filled my nostrils, making my stomach heave. “Shut up!” she snarled. “You’re in this state and you still have the energy to complain? Mr. Collins just keeps you around out of pity. It’s like feeding a stray dog on the street.” She laughed, a cruel, short bark. “For a man like him, money is just a number. His time is what’s precious. And right now, his time is being spent on…” She trailed off with a smirk, but I knew what she meant. Just half an hour ago, Sienna’s dance company had posted a new set of photos online. In them, Iain and Sienna were on a vast stage, locked in a graceful embrace, dancing. Everyone’s eyes were on them. It was everything I had lost. Everything I could never have again. Why was my life, my love, so full of pain? I found the sharpest thing I could reach. As the blood pooled on the floor, a dark thought flickered through my mind. I wondered how Iain would react. Would he be sad? Devastated? Or maybe… just relieved to finally be free of his burden.

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The girl I grew up with was in love with the campus king. The king, however, was obsessed with her arch-nemesis. So, Donna lost her mind. She turned to me, her loyal lapdog. “Kian, I want you to seduce Lydia Moriarty. Knock her off her pedestal.” My first instinct was to say no. Lydia Moriarty was notoriously difficult. But then, a string of comments materialized before my eyes: [This idiot… who cares who he chases? Lydia’s family is way richer than Donna’s!] [He doesn’t know it yet, but if he refuses Donna today, he’ll be kicked out of the Xavier mansion tomorrow.] [And the worst part? Because Donna’s upset, Mr. Xavier won’t give him a dime.] [That’s a seven-figure payout down the drain!] Come again? A seven-figure fortune, just… gone? The “no” on the tip of my tongue did a sharp U-turn. I looked at Donna, my face a mask of heartbreak. “Lydia Moriarty? Alright… I’ll try.” 1 I’m an adopted son of the Xavier family. And, unofficially, Donna Xavier’s personal lapdog. Donna always looked at me with that familiar, cutting disdain. “Kian, I’ve never met anyone as pathetic as you.” Night after night, the only warmth I felt came from the balance in my bank account. I was just doing a job for Mr. Xavier, a job that came with a hefty paycheck. So I let her insults and psychological jabs roll right off me. Her friends once gave her a brilliant idea. For a guy on the make like me, the best way to put him in his place was to trample his dignity with cash. God save us from the sudden bright ideas of the terminally stupid. Donna casually tossed a stack of bills at my face. “Get lost. The sight of you makes me sick.” It was pouring rain outside that day. On the outside, I looked like I was about to shatter. On the inside, I was discreetly stuffing the cash into my bag. As I turned to leave, I made sure to clutch my chest dramatically, a single, perfectly timed tear rolling down my cheek just before her expression could sour. That performance bought me a night off from waiting on her. After that, Donna figured she’d found the perfect way to handle me. Whenever she didn’t want to see me, she’d just throw money at me to make me disappear. The fool. She had no idea how thrilled I was. This time, she tossed a card at me. Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “I want you to seduce Lydia Moriarty. Knock her off her pedestal.” “What?” I seriously wondered if she’d lost her mind. Donna’s brow furrowed. “You’re the best at sucking up to people, aren’t you? Use all those pathetic tricks you pull on me, but on her.” Her voice hardened. “Make Ethan give up on her for good.” Ethan Ford. Heir to the Ford fortune. Arrogant, domineering, and utterly self-absorbed. And hopelessly devoted to Lydia Moriarty. People are twisted. The more he couldn’t stand Donna, the more desperate she was to have him. Desperate enough to throw me to the wolves. I may be a professional sycophant, but I have my principles. One client at a time. Besides, Mr. Xavier was already paying me a six-figure monthly salary. Going after Lydia Moriarty was a high-risk gamble. My first instinct was to refuse. I’d already plastered the perfect look of wounded vulnerability onto my face when those comments flickered into existence again: [This idiot… who cares who he chases? Lydia’s family is way richer than Donna’s!] [He doesn’t know it yet, but if he refuses Donna today, he’ll be kicked out of the Xavier mansion tomorrow.] [And the worst part? Because Donna’s upset, Mr. Xavier won’t give him a dime.] [That’s a seven-figure payout down the drain!] Come again? A seven-figure fortune, just… gone? 2 Seeing me frozen in place, Donna’s patience wore thin. “Kian, stop it. You could strip naked in front of me and I still wouldn’t feel a thing.” Mr. Xavier had plucked me from an orphanage when I was ten, a companion for a young Donna who had a slight speech impediment. My sunny, easy-going nature was supposed to help. Faced with a sudden life of luxury, I was a whirlwind of excitement, chattering away to her constantly. Within a few years, her impediment was gone. But Mr. Xavier, ever cautious, kept me on as her companion, paying me a monthly salary. Donna had a terrible temper. She and her clique of mean girls made my life a living hell. But I’d known real poverty, the kind that gnaws at your bones. I couldn’t walk away from the money. The comments kept scrolling. [Damn, that mouth on her. Kissing her would be like drinking poison.] [Poor Kian. Mr. Xavier’s just going to use him and toss him aside.] [He’s terrified Donna might actually fall for Kian and ruin the arranged marriage with the Fords.] [Take the card, you fool! Agree to go after Lydia! You’ll be getting paid by both sides. It’s the dream!] So, saying no would cost me a fortune. Good thing my face was already set in an expression of pure, practiced misery. Before the word “no” could escape my lips, I blinked, letting my eyes well up. Slowly, with a kind of deadened resignation, I reached for the card. Seeing the tears in my eyes, Donna’s expression shifted. She seemed desperate to get rid of me, like I was a hot potato. She snatched her hand back. “The PIN is your birthday.” “Does it really have to come to this?” I whispered, my brow furrowed in pain. She stuffed her hands in her pockets, nonchalant. “What else?” “Fine. I’ll do it.” “You…” I spun around and ran, not waiting to hear the rest. No way was I sticking around. If I waited a second longer, she might change her mind, and I’d be out a whole lot of cash. 3 The next morning, I packed my bags and moved out of the Xavier mansion. The comments had been right. Last night, Mr. Xavier had called me into his study. He said that I was an adult now, that he had fulfilled his duty as my guardian. To avoid any “gossip,” he offered me five million dollars to leave the Xavier household for good. Staring at the long string of zeros on the bank transfer, I almost burst out laughing. That night, tucked in bed, I was grinning like an idiot as I called a real estate agent. He was efficient, finding me a new place in no time. I was so ecstatic, I didn’t even bother saying goodbye to Donna. I just left. The comments were still buzzing: [Wait, Kian is obsessed with money, but he agreed to stop chasing Donna? Something’s not right.] [I’m not saying I’m jealous, but who makes millions overnight? Damn, kid, you’ve got it made!] [Isn’t the plot supposed to be: Kian refuses, gets kicked out, shamelessly clings to Donna, and then gets put in his place by the male lead?] [Is he actually going to go after Lydia Moriarty?] 4 Lydia Moriarty was a fortress. A goddess born into privilege, with a face that could launch a thousand ships. Her name was a permanent fixture on the campus confessions page. Someone even started a group chat just to sell her photos. I joined the group and bought out the entire collection. Then I dropped a bombshell: “I’m going to win her over.” No one thought I was delusional. Instead, they offered advice. “Pro-tip: Don’t try the ‘clumsy fall’ trick. I pretended to be some cute, innocent guy and tripped in front of her. She walked right past me without a second glance. Do you know how hot 45-degree pavement is? My kneecaps nearly melted!” “Giving her water is even worse! I almost got crushed into a human pancake by the crowd!” “Move it, people! I snuck into her lecture, and the professor called me out on the spot. ‘The student in the back wearing dinosaur pajamas, please come solve this partial differential equation.’ I couldn’t even read the question! Now the whole business school thinks we have a moron T-Rex in our midst!” … I took mental notes. And then I staked out the locker room. Lydia, fresh off the badminton court, walked in. The breeze lifted the hem of her shirt, revealing a glimpse of sleek, defined abs. Beneath her grey athletic skirt, her legs were long and toned. My heart hammered against my ribs. “Seen enough?” A cool voice sliced through the air. I looked up, straight into a pair of classic, almond-shaped eyes. I had to admit, Lydia Moriarty had a face that could stop your heart. Her eyes tilted up slightly at the corners, and a tiny mole dotted the left side of her perfect nose. She radiated an aura of cool, aristocratic distance. Her brow furrowed with annoyance. “You have a crush on me?” “Huh?” Her lips were thin, her voice chilling. “Don’t play these games. You’re not my type.” “Oh.” Lydia’s expression flickered. As she brushed past me, she paused. “Kian.” “Yeah?” A few beads of sweat trickled from her hairline down to the delicate hollow of her collarbone. She looked down. “Go back and tell Donna Xavier to stay away from me.” Damn, she was smart. Suddenly, I was intrigued. “Want to bet I’ll be your boyfriend one day?” “No.” 5 Whatever. I posted one of the candid shots I’d just taken to the group chat as a teaser. Five dollars for a set of twenty. My DMs exploded instantly. If you can’t beat them, join them. And every penny counts. A high-volume, low-margin business model would at least earn back the money I’d spent buying the photos in the first place. When Lydia came out of the shower, looking fresh and clean, she saw me squatting by the trash can. She frowned. “Waiting for me?” I was busy replying to messages. People were calling me a pro, saying my shots were amazing. That 25 cents a picture was basically charity. I glanced up, answering automatically. “Yeah.” Lydia pursed her lips. She pulled a broken bracelet from her bag, about to toss it. I lunged forward. “Can I have that?” She froze. “You want my trash?” “Yep.” She looked genuinely startled, then opened her hand. “You like me that much?” The bracelet landed softly in my palm. I gave her a warm, gentle smile. “Just being near you is enough to make me happy.” Lydia’s brow furrowed. She turned and strode away, as if fleeing a persistent pest, but the tips of her ears were flushed a faint pink. Probably just the heat. I snapped back to reality and sent a picture of the bracelet to the group. “Fresh off the press! Lydia Moriarty’s exclusive bracelet! It broke during her match, but I can fix it. This is a personal item, people. DM me with your best offers!” [Mouth_of_a_Sailor]: “Is that really hers?” [Midnight_Sad_Boi]: “I saw her playing badminton with it on! It’s hers!” The group admin even chimed in, tagging me: “Dude, you’re a legend. How’d you get your hands on a personal item so fast?” You know it. All for the money, honey. That’s my motto. 6 The next day was the Go club’s welcome meeting. I ran into Lydia at the entrance. She frowned and took a half-step back. “You again?” Like a magician, I produced a bottle of water from my bag. “If I want to win you over, I have to be seen, right?” She stared at the bottle I held out. Her fingers twitched. It was the brand she always drank. Before she could refuse, the club president called my name from across the room. While she was distracted, I shoved the water into her arms and scurried away. After the introductions, the president announced we were pairing up for practice games. A classmate, Sophie, immediately slid up to me. “Kian, want to be partners?” Before I could answer, a familiar water bottle was thrust between us. Lydia had materialized behind me. Her face was a cold mask as she pushed the water back into my hands and turned to leave. I had to apologize to Sophie. I hurried after Lydia. “Hey, Lydia, want to be partners?” “Didn’t you already find someone?” she clipped out. I circled around to face her, my eyes curving into a smile. “But I came here for you.” I gently pulled her to a nearby table. “Everyone’s already paired up. It’s just us left.” As we played, our fingers brushed. She snatched her hand back, the tips of her ears turning red again. “Do you even know how to play?” I watched her, smiling. “The president told me you’re a 5-dan professional. If I beat you, can I claim a prize?” “What kind of prize?” The hand holding the black stone paused. She seemed to realize she was playing into my hands and hesitated. But I sealed the deal before she could object. “Something you can definitely do.” Just then, my phone buzzed with a group chat notification. Lydia’s gaze fell to my screen, and her eyes widened in shock. I had set one of the pictures I took of her as my lock screen. Remembering the whole photo-selling business, I quickly turned the screen off and met her gaze. “It’s not illegal to have a picture of the person you like as your wallpaper, is it?” “…” When she didn’t say anything, I pressed my advantage. “I took a really nice photo of you the other day. My friends want to see it too. Is it okay if I show them?” “Your face is a work of art. Men see it and fall in love, women see it and go crazy, old people…” “Stop!” She turned away, the blush on her ears spreading down her neck. “Whatever.” “Great.” “By the way,” she added, her voice smug. “You lost.” I pointed at the board. Comprehension dawned on her face. Her eyebrows shot up. “You were distracting me on purpose?” Her competitive spirit ignited. “That doesn’t count. Let’s go again.” Fifteen minutes later. I smiled. “You let me win.” “And about that prize… you can’t go back on your word.” Not giving her a chance to refuse, I held up my phone. “I recorded you. A deal’s a deal.” Lydia had clearly never encountered anyone as shameless as me. She finally gritted her teeth. “You’ve certainly got some moves.” You bet I do. Thanks to Donna, I was forced to learn a whole host of skills she couldn’t be bothered with as a child, just so I could cover for her. Chess, horseback riding, violin… you name it, I had at least a working knowledge of it. 7 After that, Lydia stopped being surprised whenever she saw me around campus. The consensus in the group chat was that out of all her pursuers, I had the best shot. The guys who used to sell her photos took mediocre pictures from bad angles. I, on the other hand, always found her good side. A few of my shots were so close you could see the fine, downy hair on her cheeks. They figured she must have been letting me get that close. One afternoon in the library, I spotted her immediately, head bent over a textbook. Beauty, I realized, was an aura. Especially when it came to a focused woman. She stood out from the crowd like a crane among chickens. I was about to head over when a hand clamped onto my arm and yanked me into the hallway. It was Donna, who I hadn’t seen in ages. She wore the same condescending expression. “There’s a volunteer event in front of the library tomorrow at noon. You’re going for me. Oh, and you’ll be wearing a mascot costume.” It had been so long, I’d almost forgotten about this nuisance. I’d already moved out of her house. I had no obligation to be nice to her anymore. “I’m busy,” I said, my voice cold. “What could possibly be more important than what I need?” Had her brain completely checked out? I let out a humorless laugh and spelled it out for her. “Winning over Lydia Moriarty.” Donna’s expression froze, her face darkening like a storm cloud. “Oh, really?” “Yeah, really. What, you regret it now? Because I’m not giving the money back,” I said, done with pretending. I started to walk away. She grabbed my arm, her jaw tight. “Twenty thousand. To fill in for me tomorrow.” “Not interested. It’s too hot for that.” “Fifty thousand.” “No. I’ll get heatstroke in that costume.” “Two hundred thousand.” “Deal.” “…” I pulled my arm free. “Anything else?” As I reached the door, I heard her mutter, “Kian, you really are a disloyal dog.” I paused and looked back. “Thanks for the compliment. Don’t forget to wire the money.” As I grabbed the doorknob, I heard the thud of a foot kicking the wall behind me. I couldn’t be bothered. I went to find Lydia. 8 But something was off with Lydia. While she studied, she didn’t meet my eyes once. A chill emanated from her that was cold enough to give me frostbite. When it was time to leave, she packed her bag and walked out without a word. I scrambled to catch up. Just outside the library, Ethan Ford intercepted her, holding a milk tea and a small cake. He shouldered me aside, beaming at her. “Lydia, you must be exhausted from studying. I had someone wait in line forever to get these for you. Have a taste?” He thrust the items toward her. Lydia looked thoroughly annoyed. She didn’t reach for them. But as her gaze shifted, she froze. I followed her line of sight. Damn it. How did the bracelet I’d gotten from her end up on Ethan’s wrist? I thought I sold it to some other guy in the group. Noticing her stare, Ethan proudly held up his wrist, giving it a little twirl. “No doubt about it, this is yours! I bought it off some guy.” “Cost me a pretty penny, too,” he added smugly. Damn it all to hell. The guy who bought it said he was short on cash, so I took pity on him and sold it for a measly $520. Lydia’s eyes were fixed on me, her voice practically a growl. “How much did you pay for it?” Ethan grinned. “Ten thousand. The second I heard it was yours, I didn’t even blink. The seller was a real pro about it, too. The money hit his account, and he handed it over without a second thought. See? All those other guys are faking it. I’m the only one who really likes you.” Meanwhile, I was dying a slow, painful death. Damn the middleman! In that moment, I still hadn’t grasped the full extent of the disaster unfolding. Not until Lydia pushed Ethan aside and stalked toward me. Her eyes bored into me, and she forced out a single, chilling question: “Kian, care to explain?”

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Three in the morning. I was about to see the most challenging case of the night. A man and a woman, in the middle of a passionate encounter at a hotel, had become physically stuck together. An ambulance had rushed them to the emergency room, sirens blaring. I pulled on a pair of sterile gloves and lifted the white sheet covering them. The moment I saw the man’s face, it was as if I’d been struck by lightning. It was my husband of three years, Alex. The girl he was clutching protectively in his arms was teary-eyed. When she looked up and saw me, a defiant smirk flickered across her lips. “Done staring, Doctor? Can we get a move on? My boyfriend is… still in a lot of pain.” I said nothing. I just picked up a syringe filled with a sedative, its cold, steel tip aimed directly at his most vulnerable point. 01 “Dr. Vance, Trauma Room Three! We’ve got a case of penis captivus. It’s urgent, you need to see this now!” Lily, one of the nurses, called out, her voice tight with a mixture of urgency and barely suppressed shock. I had just finished treating a patient with alcohol poisoning. Hearing her, I peeled off my used gloves and hurried toward the trauma room. “Penis captivus.” A textbook term for an exceedingly rare clinical phenomenon. It was a condition that was far more embarrassing than it was dangerous, but if handled improperly, it could lead to tissue necrosis. The door to the trauma room was slightly ajar. I could hear the soft, muffled sobs of a young woman and a man’s pained, reassuring whispers. “Don’t cry, Gia, it’s okay. It’s just… a minor complication.” That voice… My heart seized, as if clamped by an invisible hand. Breathing became a conscious, difficult effort. I pushed the door open. Under the glare of the surgical lights, the two entangled figures on the bed looked like a grotesque and sordid piece of performance art. A white sheet was draped haphazardly over their midsections, but it couldn’t hide the disarray of the room or the thick, cloying atmosphere of sex. The man’s profile was handsome, familiar. Sweat plastered his dark hair to his forehead. Though his face was pale with pain, he held the girl in his arms with a fierce, protective posture. The girl had a cascade of long, wavy hair and a youthful face streaked with tears, the picture of fragile innocence. They were locked together, a malformed conjoined twin. And the man was my husband of three years, Alex Friedberg. Just a week ago, he had kissed my forehead tenderly, telling me he had to attend an important architectural symposium in the next city over. He’d said he didn’t know when he’d be back. Apparently, his “symposium” was being held in another woman’s bed. Lily, seeing me frozen in the doorway, whispered, “Dr. Vance?” I snapped back to reality, ruthlessly shoving down the storm of emotions churning inside me. I was a doctor. This was my operating theater. “Prep ten milligrams of diazepam, IV push,” I ordered, my voice clipped and professional. I pulled on a fresh pair of sterile gloves and reached to lift the sheet to assess the situation. “Don’t touch her!” Alex’s voice was raw and urgent. He finally looked up, his eyes meeting mine. His pupils contracted violently. Shock, panic, shame—a dozen emotions flashed across his face before hardening into a glare of pure, indignant fury. “What are you looking at? Turn around!” he snarled at me, as if I were the intruder who had no right to be there. The girl in his arms saw me then, too. Her eyes widened for a second, and then, a look of smug, triumphant understanding bloomed in their teary depths. She burrowed deeper into Alex’s embrace, a clear gesture of ownership, and whimpered, “Alex, I’m scared…” Alex immediately looked down at her, his voice softening to a tender coo I had never heard before. “It’s okay, Gia. I’m here. She’s just a doctor. It’s just a routine procedure.” Just a doctor. A routine procedure. In that single moment, he had erased three years of our marriage, all to soothe the nerves of another woman. My heart felt like it had been dropped into a jar of formaldehyde, numb and lifeless. Lily had the syringe ready and handed it to me. I took it, expelled the air, the steel tip glinting coldly under the lights. The girl met my gaze, a victorious smile playing on her lips. “Have you had your fill, Doctor? Can we speed this up? My boyfriend is waiting.” Boyfriend. She emphasized the word, twisting the knife. I looked at her, my face a blank mask. My gaze then drifted down to my husband’s arm, to the vein exposed and pulsing with pain and tension. I held the syringe and stepped forward. Alex’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What are you doing?” “Giving you an injection,” I said, my tone as flat as if I were discussing the weather. “Once your muscles relax, you’ll be able to separate.” But Gia suddenly shrieked, “No! Alex, I don’t want a shot! I’m scared of needles!” She thrashed like a spoiled child, crying and wailing in his arms. And Alex—my calm, composed, always rational husband—actually indulged her. He turned on me, his voice sharp with accusation. “Isn’t there another way? She’s afraid of needles, didn’t you hear her?” I almost laughed. “Mr. Friedberg, this is an emergency room, not your bedroom. You have two choices. One, the injection. Or two, you can wait for necrosis to set in, at which point we’ll have to surgically remove the affected tissue.” Alex’s face went rigid with fury. Gia was still crying, each sob a dull blade sawing at my nerves. I ignored them both. I walked to the side of the bed, pinned Alex’s arm with one hand, and with the other, I brought the needle down, aiming it steadily at his most vulnerable point. Not his arm. His exposed inner thigh. “Ah!” A choked gasp escaped him, his body convulsing. Of course, I hadn’t actually pierced the skin. The cold tip merely pressed against him, a sensation designed to inspire absolute terror. “Shut up,” I said to Gia, my eyes like chips of ice. “Make another sound, and the next shot goes in you.” Her wailing stopped instantly. She stared at me in disbelief. Alex’s eyes burned with humiliation and rage. “Evelyn! Are you insane?” I withdrew the needle, repositioned it over the vein in his arm, and smoothly depressed the plunger. “I’m not insane,” I said, looking him dead in the eye, each word precise and cold. “I’m simply doing my job as a doctor—saving lives. And maintaining order.” 02 The sedative worked quickly. With a final, relieved sigh from Gia, they separated. I turned away, tossed the used syringe into the biohazard bin, and instructed Lily, “Run some routine checks, then admit them for 24-hour observation.” Without a backward glance, I walked out of the room. The hallway lights were a harsh, sterile white, stretching my shadow into a long, thin specter. I leaned against the cold wall, the strength draining from my limbs all at once. The calm, authoritative presence I had projected in that room was nothing more than professional instinct. Now, with the mask off, I was just a woman in ruins. Alex and I had been college sweethearts. He was the star of the architecture department; I was at the top of my class in medical school. From campus to the altar, everyone saw us as the perfect couple, a match made in heaven. He remembered all my favorite things, picked me up after every late shift, and kept our home running smoothly so I could focus on my demanding career. I thought we were soulmates. Reality had just delivered a brutal, deafening slap. All that supposed thoughtfulness and love was just an elaborate performance. It wasn’t long before a well-dressed, elegant woman swept into the hospital. It was my mother-in-law, Janet. Her face flickered with embarrassment when she saw me, but she quickly composed herself, adopting a placating tone as she took my hand. “Evelyn, dear, don’t take it to heart. Men, especially successful men like Alex, always have these young things throwing themselves at them. It’s just a bit of fun, it means nothing. You just have to be magnanimous, and this will all blow over.” Her words were like salt in an open wound. “Janet, he’s your son, not the king,” I said, pulling my hand away. My voice was glacial. Her face stiffened. Seeing she would get nowhere with me, she turned and swept into the hospital room. I didn’t follow, but I could hear their conversation clearly through the door. “Gia, my dear child, you’ve been through so much,” Janet’s voice was honey-sweet, a stark contrast to the tone she’d used with me. “Aunt Janet, it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have let Alex be so reckless…” Gia’s voice was thick with tears, a perfect blend of guilt and vulnerability. “Silly girl, how could this be your fault? If anyone’s to blame, it’s Evelyn. She’s always at work, running around in that white coat like a man. Not an ounce of femininity in her. Alex is a young, virile man. Of course he’s going to stray.” “Aunt Janet, don’t say that about Dr. Vance. She’s… she’s just dedicated to her work.” “You’re just too kind. Don’t worry, I know what’s what. As far as the Friedberg family is concerned, you’re the only daughter-in-law I’ll ever accept.” Standing in the hallway, I felt my blood turn to ice. So, in their minds, I, the legal wife, was the third wheel. And the mistress had already been pre-approved by my mother-in-law as the future Mrs. Friedberg. How utterly laughable. The door opened and Alex stepped out. He had changed into a fresh set of clothes and combed his hair, looking every bit the handsome, respectable man he pretended to be. He walked up to me, his expression devoid of guilt. Instead, he looked at me with a cold, judgmental air. “Evelyn, what happened today ends here,” he said, his voice low and threatening. “You will not tell my father, and you will not tell your family. Gia is young and sensitive. You scared her badly today. Don’t you dare go near her again.” I stared at him, feeling like I was seeing this man for the first time. “I scared her? Alex, let’s be clear. I saved her. If it weren’t for me, she might be on an operating table right now.” “Saved her?” Alex scoffed, his eyes dripping with undisguised contempt. “The way you held that needle to me, you looked like you wanted to kill me. Evelyn, I never realized you had such a cruel streak.” “You’re so desperate to defend her you can’t even see right from wrong anymore?” “This isn’t about right and wrong!” he snapped, his voice rising with impatience. “Gia and I are in love! Do you understand that? You, a woman who only knows scalpels and medical charts, you have no idea what passion is, what love really is!” “So, between us, there was never any love? Just responsibility?” My voice trembled. He didn’t answer. His silence was more cutting than any insult. His phone rang, shattering the suffocating tension between us. He pulled it out. The caller ID—Gia Darling—seared my eyes. He answered it without a hint of shame, his voice instantly softening. “What’s wrong?… Don’t be scared, I’m right outside. I’ll be right in… Okay, I’ll peel an apple for you. Be good.” He hung up and, without another glance at me, tossed a final, cold command over his shoulder. “You can go home by yourself tonight. Gia needs me.” He turned and disappeared back into the room. I stared at the closed door, which now felt like a portal between two different worlds. Inside was his true love, his soulmate. Outside was me, the discarded, inconvenient “man in a white coat.” 03 I don’t know how I managed to drive home. I felt like I was moving through a thick fog. When I opened the door, his slippers were still by the entrance where he’d left them. On the coffee table was the latest issue of an architecture magazine I’d bought for him. The plants we’d potted together on the balcony were thriving. This home, so full of his presence, now felt like a monument to a massive, cruel joke. I sat on the sofa all night. At dawn, Alex came home. He was carrying breakfast from my favorite café, his face etched with fatigue, but he forced a smile. “Evelyn, you must be hungry. Come, eat.” He set out the coffee and bagels on the table, acting as if the previous night had been nothing but a bad dream, one from which we had now awoken, back to being the loving couple we always were. I didn’t move. I just watched him with cold, empty eyes. “We need to talk,” he sighed, sitting down across from me. “Evelyn, I know I was wrong,” he began his performance. “What happened with Gia… it was an accident. You know I’ve been under a lot of pressure, bidding for the Westgate Arts Center project. I was completely blocked, no inspiration. Gia… she inspires me. She’s like my muse.” “So you and your muse got inspired… right into bed?” I cut him off, my voice sharp. He flinched, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face, but he pressed on. “We both had a little too much to drink that night. It was a moment of weakness… Evelyn, it didn’t mean anything. In my heart, you’ll always be my wife. My relationship with her is purely artistic, a meeting of minds. Nothing more.” “A meeting of minds that got you physically stuck together?” “Evelyn!” He finally dropped the act, slamming his hand on the table as he shot to his feet. “Do you have to be so crude? Must you insist on humiliating me like this?” “I’m humiliating you?” I rose to meet his gaze, refusing to back down. “Alex, who is humiliating whom? You were cheating on me, I caught you red-handed, and now you’re trying to pass it off as an ‘accident’? Do you take me for a fool?” “No!” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I already apologized! I’m trying to make it right! What more do you want? Do you have any idea how mortified I was at the hospital last night? The least you could do is show a little understanding!” He was so self-righteous, as if he were the real victim. This was the man I had loved for years. Selfish, deceitful, and always, always putting himself first. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and when I opened them again, they were filled with an icy calm. “Alex, let’s get a divorce.” He stared at me, as if he hadn’t heard correctly. “What did you say?” “I said, I want a divorce.” “Absolutely not!” he refused without a second thought. “I don’t agree. Evelyn, stop this nonsense. I know you’re angry, but divorce isn’t a joke.” “I’m not joking,” I said, my gaze unwavering. “Being in this house for one more second makes me sick to my stomach.” “You…” His face flushed with anger. He was about to retort when his phone rang again. It was Gia. He glanced at the screen, hesitated, then retreated to the balcony to take the call. Through the glass door, I couldn’t hear his words, but I saw the tension in his jaw melt away the moment he heard her voice. He spoke patiently, a small smile even playing on his lips. He ended the call, came back inside, and grabbed his jacket. “Gia was frightened last night. She’s all alone at the hospital. I have to go check on her.” He delivered this not as a request, but as a statement of fact. “And forget about the divorce. You just need to cool down. We’ll talk again when I get back tonight.” With that, he walked out. The door slammed shut, and with it, the last glimmer of hope I had for us died. I picked up my phone and dialed a number. “Hello, Mr. Davis? This is Evelyn Vance. I’d like to schedule a consultation regarding divorce and the division of assets.” 04 Alex didn’t come home for the next few days. I was grateful for the peace. I worked at the hospital during the day and spent my evenings gathering evidence of his infidelity. His computer wasn’t password-protected. I easily found a hidden folder filled with photos of Gia. Photos from every angle, in revealing clothes, some even taken in bed. The folder was named “My Muse.” I also discovered that over the past year, he had transferred over two hundred thousand dollars from our joint account to her. For handbags, for jewelry, for the rent on her expensive art studio. The last gift I had received from my husband was a bouquet of flowers his assistant had sent on my birthday last year. So, he wasn’t unromantic. His romance was just reserved for someone else. One day, after finishing a long emergency surgery, I was heading to the break room, completely exhausted, when I saw an unexpected visitor in the hallway. Gia. She had been discharged. She wore a beautiful white dress, her long hair flowing over her shoulders, her face adorned with delicate, innocent-looking makeup. She seemed to be waiting for me. When she saw me, she smiled and walked over. “Dr. Vance, what a coincidence.” I ignored her and tried to walk past. She stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “Don’t be in such a hurry, Dr. Vance. Let’s talk.” “I have nothing to talk to you about.” “But I do,” she said, her smile both sweet and venomous. “I wanted to thank you, Doctor. If you hadn’t acted so quickly that day, who knows how long Alex and I would have been… stuck together.” She drew out the last two words, her eyes gleaming with unconcealed triumph. I stared at her coldly. “Are you finished? If so, move.” “Oh, sis, why are you so cold?” she pouted, her voice suddenly soft and wounded. “I know you’re upset, but you can’t force love. Alex loves me. There’s no point in you clinging to the title of Mrs. Friedberg. You’re just making all three of us miserable.” “Oh? And what do you suggest I do?” I crossed my arms, watching her performance with a detached curiosity. “You should let us be happy,” she declared, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Alex told me there’s no love left between you two, just family obligation and responsibility. He’s afraid to ask for a divorce because he doesn’t want to hurt you. Sis, you’re an educated woman. You should understand the saying, ‘The one who isn’t loved is the third wheel.’ The sooner you let go, the better for everyone.” I looked at her youthful, unlined face and felt a wave of absurdity wash over me. “So, I, the legally wedded wife, have become the obstacle to your great and true love?” “You could say that,” she nodded. Then, as if remembering something, she pulled a small gift box from her purse and held it out to me. “By the way, this is for you. It’s a little something from Alex to say he’s sorry. He was afraid you wouldn’t accept it from him, so he asked me to give it to you. He said that even though the love is gone, he still wants you to be happy.” I recognized the logo. It was a jewelry brand I liked. I didn’t take it. Gia didn’t seem to mind. She opened the box herself. Inside was a simple, elegant necklace. “Isn’t it beautiful?” She dangled it in front of me. “Alex said you usually dress so plainly, this would be perfect for you.” Then, she pulled down the collar of her dress, revealing her own delicate collarbone. Around her neck was the exact same necklace. No, not exactly the same. Hers had a halo of tiny, glittering diamonds around the pendant. Under the light, it sparkled a hundred times more brightly than the one in the box. “Mine was custom-made,” she said, stroking her own necklace, a smug, cat-that-got-the-cream smile on her face. “Alex said I’m his one-of-a-kind treasure, and I deserve the best. Yours is just the standard model. But it’s the thought that counts, right, sis?” It was a blatant, undisguised act of humiliation. She was showing me, in the most tangible way possible, that in Alex’s eyes, I was an obligation to be placated with a generic trinket, while she was the treasure to be adorned with the “best.” I stared at the necklace on her throat, and a wave of nausea roiled in my stomach. It had been happening a lot lately—certain smells, or a spike in my emotions, would make me feel sick. I pressed a hand to my mouth and turned to run to the restroom. Gia, assuming I was fleeing in defeat, laughed triumphantly behind me. “Don’t run off, sis. Alex said he’s coming home tonight to lay all his cards on the table. You should probably prepare yourself.”

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Ten years of marriage. Ten years of sleeping in separate wings of the house. The day our home burned, the flames were a roaring beast, so violent no one dared get close. No one but me. I ran back into the collapsing structure, the searing heat blistering my skin, and strained to move the mahogany wardrobe that had pinned her beneath its weight. When the firefighters finally burst in, one of them yelled over the inferno, “The roof is coming down! We can only get one of you out!” Without a moment’s hesitation, her eyes found the man cowering in the corner, her first love, who had been visiting that afternoon. “Save him,” she said. “I want him to live.” There was no anger in me, no questions. Just a hollow ache and a single, desperate need to know the truth I’d been too afraid to confront for a decade. “These ten years,” I choked out, the smoke stealing my breath. “You never let me touch you. Was it because of him?” She wouldn’t meet my eyes. Her gaze fell to the floor, and her silence was all the answer I needed. Finally, a soft, weary sigh escaped her lips. “I’m sorry, Leo. If there’s a next life, I promise I’ll be a proper wife to you.” A laugh, brittle and broken, tore from my throat. Of course. Only hearing it from her own lips could finally kill the hope I’d so foolishly guarded. My heart is yours in this life, or not at all. I have no interest in being your second chance. In the stunned silence that followed, I wrapped my arms around her. With her gasp against my chest, I threw us both from the sixth-floor window. As we fell, I twisted my body beneath hers, my final act a cushion against the unforgiving ground. “Congratulations, Stella,” I whispered into her hair, the wind roaring in my ears. “Our story’s over. Now yours can begin.” When I opened my eyes again, I was in the back of a town car, on my way to move into my freshman dorm at Vanderbilt. Without a second thought, I pulled out my phone and made a call. I was pulling strings. I was transferring. To Northwestern, a school as far away from Stella Prescott as I could get. But as I sat on the Acela train bound for Chicago, a girl’s desperate cry cut through the noise. “Leo Callahan! Our story isn’t over! It will never be over!” I snapped my head toward the window. Outside, keeping pace with the speeding train, was a cherry-red Porsche. And behind the wheel, a familiar face, streaked with tears. 1 “Young master, we’re almost at the Prescott estate. Did you remember the flowers Mr. Callahan asked you to prepare?” Flowers? What flowers? I blinked, my mind foggy, and saw our family driver, Arthur, watching me in the rearview mirror with a concerned expression. “It’s your first day of college, sir. You and Miss Prescott. You said you wanted to bring her favorite jasmine?” Seeing Arthur’s careful deference, feeling the strange wholeness of my own body, it hit me like a physical blow. I was back. I had been reborn. I was back on the day I was meant to pick up Stella and drive with her to Vanderbilt. I remembered this moment. In my hurry to see her, I’d forgotten the jasmine at home. Just as Arthur was speaking, he was already making a smooth U-turn. He didn’t even need to ask; he knew I would insist on going back for them. Whatever Stella wanted, I gave her. It had been that way since we were children. In everyone’s eyes, Stella Prescott was my future wife. The future Mrs. Callahan. It was a foregone conclusion, as solid as the family fortunes that bound us together. They all assumed she was as devoted to the idea as I was. After all, we were childhood friends. We were perfect for each other. They were only half right. A girl you’ve known your whole life is one thing. But she’s no match for the one that got away. The Prescotts and the Callahans were old family friends. Or rather, the Prescotts owed their current standing to my family’s influence. Stella, ever the dutiful daughter, couldn’t bear to disappoint her parents. So she broke things off with Grant, the scholarship kid from the wrong side of the tracks. I can still see her at the altar. The officiant asked if she would take me as her husband. She didn’t answer him. Her eyes, red-rimmed and glistening, found mine. “Is this what you wanted, Leo?” she’d whispered, her voice trembling. “You won. Now we’re stuck together for life.” The wedding went off without any further drama, but in that moment, I knew I was just a villain on their stage, the clown who had stolen the ending of their love story. Even so, for ten years of marriage, she never let me touch her. The irony is staggering; the most intimate contact we ever shared was when I used my body as a shield for hers as we plummeted from that window. And even at the end, she couldn’t bring herself to tell me a single comforting lie. This new life… it’s a chance to do it right. A chance to finally live for myself. The sweet fruit’s not worth it if you have to force it from the vine. And this time, I was letting it go. My last life was bitter enough. This time, I was choosing something sweet. I leaned forward and tapped Arthur’s shoulder. “Arthur, don’t go back. Take me to the train station. I’m going to Northwestern.” 2 “Right away, sir. I’ll get us there as quickly as—” “Wait!” The screech of tires filled the air. I had braced myself, my hand already on the grab handle. Arthur was flustered, apologizing profusely. “My apologies, sir. Did I mishear? You want to go to Northwestern? But… what about Miss Prescott?” Vanderbilt was in Nashville, an easy drive from our homes in Connecticut. But Northwestern was in Chicago. The Acela train was the only practical way. “You heard right, Arthur. I’ve had a change of heart. As for Stella… she can get an Uber. It’s not that far.” I held up a hand to stop his inevitable questions. This was a seismic shift in the world he knew. It was like a chain-smoker of ten years suddenly quitting cold turkey. The first reaction is always disbelief. But I had no explanation to offer him. Confused but loyal, Arthur changed course for the station. My grades were more than good enough for Northwestern, and a quiet word from my father would smooth over any administrative hurdles. I called him and laid it out. As expected, he was stunned. At first, he refused, even offering to make a call to get Stella into Northwestern with me. But I wore him down, my quiet insistence finally breaking through his objections. He agreed. With that settled, I opened my message thread with Stella. I’d sent her more than a dozen texts this morning. No reply. The last message from her was over a week ago, a single, dismissive letter: K. In all the years I’d known her, my efforts to talk, to make plans, to just connect, were mostly met with three responses. K. Fine. Are you done? Or, most often, the deafening silence of a read receipt with no reply. My original plan had been to text her that I was going to a different school. But why bother? She clearly didn’t care. Why invite more of that cold indifference? I scrolled to her Instagram. Her feed was nearly empty, save for a few old, tagged photos of her with Grant. She never posted. I remembered once, I’d used her phone to post a picture of the two of us. She’d yelled at me for the entire day. Now I understood. It wasn’t that she hated social media. She just hated the idea of me appearing in her world. Looking at the radiant smile on her face in those pictures, a painful realization dawned on me. In the ten years we were married, I never once saw her smile like that. So, she was capable of joy. Just not with me. Block. Delete. A wave of relief, so profound it was almost dizzying, washed over me. Then, I opened a new message. To Grant. He was also an incoming freshman at Vanderbilt. My fingers typed out a single line. She’s at her parents’ place in Greenwich. Go get her. She’s all yours now. I didn’t need to specify who. He would know. Block. Delete. Stella, my debt is paid. This time, you go your way, and I’ll go mine. We will be strangers for the rest of our lives. 3 At the station, I had ten minutes until departure. My phone buzzed again and again. The screen lit up with her name: Stella Prescott. I’ll admit, for a split second, I was shocked. In all the years I’d known her, I had always been the one to call. The number of times she had initiated a call to me was exactly zero. But the shock lasted only a moment. I declined the call and blocked her number. She was just annoyed I hadn’t shown up to chauffeur her. After more than a decade of my unwavering devotion, she’d grown accustomed to me being at her beck and call. This was nothing more than an angry summons, a demand to know why I was late. I’d been the pathetic, devoted man for one lifetime. I wouldn’t start this one by taking another one of her scoldings. (Ten Minutes Earlier) Stella finished applying her makeup just as she got a call from Arthur, confirming he’d be there at ten-thirty sharp. His tone was a little strained, but she didn’t notice. From the balcony, her best friend suddenly burst into the room, breathless. “He’s here! He’s here!” Stella’s eyes lit up, the exact same way they had whenever Grant used to come pick her up. In my previous life, Grant had arrived at her house before me. I had seen it with my own eyes: the joyful, radiant smile on her face as she hopped onto the back of his bicycle. She had only remembered her obligations when my town car pulled up. She had climbed into a car most people could only dream of riding in, but a single tear had traced a path down her cheek. This time, the cheerful ding-ding of a bicycle bell echoed from the street. Stella didn’t even bother with her shoes, running downstairs to throw open the door as if a second’s delay might make the person outside vanish. Grant, tipped off by her friend, quickly produced a bouquet of roses, smoothed his hair, and put on the charming, roguish smile Stella had once adored. The door swung open. “Stella.” No response. No embrace. Grant watched as Stella’s eyes swept right past him, her gaze frantically scanning the street beyond, searching for someone else. “Stella, I came to get you,” he said, thinking maybe she hadn’t heard. He held out the flowers. “These are for you. Your favorite, red roses.” This time, Stella took a deliberate step back. Her smile was polite, but her tone was firm and distant. “Thank you, Grant, but I can’t accept these. My fiancé, Leo, will be here to pick me up any minute.” The roses fell from his hand, scattering on the manicured lawn. It was the first time he had ever heard her refer to me as her fiancé. Her best friend, standing by the door, couldn’t help but ask, “Stella, I thought you said you couldn’t stand Leo? What—” Stella cut her off with a slight shake of her head, her focus remaining on Grant. “I appreciate you coming all this way, but my fiancé is on his way. Please, you should leave. I don’t want Leo to get the wrong idea.” Grant, who had been completely bewildered, suddenly let out a laugh. “Stella, you don’t get it, do you? Leo isn’t coming. He’s the one who sent me a message telling me to come get you.” Stella froze. “That’s impossible. He loves me. He would never say something like that.” Everyone in our circle knew how desperately in love with me she was. I was notoriously possessive. The idea of me sending my rival to pick up my fiancée was laughable. Seeing her certainty, Grant’s smirk grew wider. He fumbled for his phone, scrolling through his messages. “Leo’s just a rich playboy, Stella. He probably got tired of you and pawned you off on me. He’s a jerk. I’m the one who truly loves you. Just you wait, I’ll make something of myself, I’ll give you the world…” “No! That’s not possible!” Stella’s face had gone pale. “Arthur just called! He said he was almost here!” She stared intently at the watch on her wrist, the second hand sweeping towards the twelve. Just then, the throaty roar of an engine filled the air, and a black town car pulled up to the curb. Stella’s face flooded with relief. It was Arthur! Grant had been lying! Composing herself, she ran to the car, a sweet smile gracing her lips. “Good morning, Arthur!” Arthur, who was usually so warm and effusive, couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “Miss Prescott,” he stammered. “Please, get in. I’ll take you to the university.” But Stella didn’t move. She stood by the curb, her fingers twisting the hem of her skirt, her eyes fixed on the rear passenger door. If I had been there, I would have known what she was waiting for. In our last life, I couldn’t even wait for Arthur to put the car in park. I’d burst out, bouquet of jasmine in hand, desperate to see her even one second sooner. Today, the car door remained shut. The silence was heavy, absolute. Grant’s words echoed in her mind: It was Leo who told me to come get you. “Miss… Miss Prescott?” “Arthur,” she asked, her voice small. “Is Leo… is he in there?” Arthur looked deeply uncomfortable. “The young master… he’s not quite awake yet, miss. Why don’t I take you to campus first?” Stella forced a smile. “Then let’s go get him together. We can all go to campus as planned.” A bead of sweat trickled down Arthur’s temple. He couldn’t understand it. Miss Prescott, who had always treated the young master with such indifference, was suddenly so concerned. But a lie can only hold for so long. Wiping his brow, Arthur finally broke. “Miss Prescott… I… I should just take you to school. The young master has already left on his own.” Stella’s gaze fell to the empty space on the seat where the jasmine should have been. “But… wasn’t he just in the car? Doesn’t he want to go to school with me more than anything?” “Well…” Finally, with no other choice, Arthur told her the truth. “The young master… he’s on a train. He’s going to Northwestern University in Chicago.” Before the words had even fully registered, Grant finally found the message on his phone. Stella, who had been holding onto a fragile composure, snatched the phone from his hand. Her body trembled as she read the words. She grabbed Grant’s shoulders, her voice rising with panic. “He said I’m yours now! How could he say that? He loves me more than anything!” Her frantic eyes found Arthur’s. “Tell me it’s not true, Arthur! Tell me he’s lying!” Arthur said nothing. His silence was the most damning answer of all. Stella’s eyes turned a dangerous shade of red. After two long minutes of suffocating silence, her voice emerged, raspy and raw. “Arthur. Let me borrow the car.” Arthur couldn’t help but protest. “Miss Prescott, at this point, he’s probably already on the train. It’s too late to catch him.” But Stella was already sliding into the driver’s seat of the Porsche he sometimes used for errands, her hands shaking on the steering wheel. “It’s not too late,” she vowed, her voice trembling with a terrifying resolve. “I don’t care if he’s on a plane. I will catch him. He is not getting away from me. Not in this lifetime.”

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The girl my family’s scholarship supported was a master of weaponized incompetence. Before the conference championships, I told her explicitly not to touch my things. So, naturally, she slipped a banned stimulant into my water bottle. I was reported for cheating. My results were nullified, I was banned from the sport for life, and the university expelled me. When I confronted her, she collapsed into a puddle of perfectly formed tears. “Chloe, I swear, I just wanted you to win… I never thought this would happen.” My boyfriend, Liam, wrapped his arms around her, glaring at me. “She was trying to help. Why do you have to be so cruel to her?” I spiraled. I locked myself away at home. Then she showed up, claiming she felt guilty, with Liam in tow and a bottle of expensive tequila. A peace offering, they said. A way to drown my sorrows. After they forced ten shots down my throat, my head was splitting open. I begged her to go buy me something for the pain. She came back with ibuprofen, told me they were hangover pills, and watched as I took them. I died from acute gastrointestinal bleeding. At the hospital, she put on a heart-wrenching performance. “I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault! I’m just so dumb, I can’t even tell the difference between painkillers and hangover cures…” When the police questioned her, Liam provided her alibi. He told them I’d been unable to handle the pressure after the cheating scandal and had intentionally overdosed. A suicide. The next time I open my eyes, I’m back. The day before the championships. 1 “Chloe, I got you a Red Bull! For energy before your race tomorrow.” The familiar words send a tremor through my body. I look around—the scent of chlorine, the echoing shouts in the natatorium, the exact shade of blue on the Northwood University banners. I realize it instantly. I’m back. Before I can process it, Mia shoves the cold can into my hand. My boyfriend, Liam, is watching her with that stupid, adoring look on his face. “You’re so thoughtful, Mia. Chloe’s lucky to have a friend like you.” A bitter laugh escapes my lips. Anyone with half a brain knows that competitive swimming has a zero-tolerance policy for caffeine-loaded energy drinks like Red Bull. It’s practically regulation 101. In my last life, I’d turned her down politely. But just to be safe, I’d specifically warned her not to touch any of my gear. The next day, I was flagged for a random drug test. They found amphetamines in my system and in my water bottle. My entire team’s results were voided. I was banned for life. The university expelled me. It was only later that I learned Mia was the one who had spiked my water. When I went to her for answers, she’d simply dissolved into tears and fallen into Liam’s arms. “Chloe, I swear, I just wanted you to win… I never thought this would happen.” And Liam, my Liam, held her and yelled at me. “She meant well, for God’s sake! Why do you have to bully a girl like her?” That was the beginning of the end. The depression swallowed me whole. Then Mia and Liam showed up with that bottle of tequila to “apologize.” Ten shots later, the world was spinning. I begged her to get me something for the crushing headache. She came back with ibuprofen, calling it a hangover cure, and I swallowed it down. At the hospital, her voice was a fragile, breaking thing. “I’m so sorry… I’m just so stupid, I can’t even tell painkillers and hangover pills apart…” And Liam backed her up, telling the police I couldn’t live with the shame. That I’d killed myself. Thinking of that agony, that betrayal, my hand clenches into a fist. Then, in one fluid motion, I toss the Red Bull into the nearest trash can. Mia freezes, her eyes instantly welling up. “Chloe… you don’t like it? I’m sorry, my family… we don’t have much money. This was all I could afford. I saved up for two weeks to buy it for you. It was the best I could do.” The sight of her shimmering tears sends Liam into protective overdrive. He turns on me, his voice sharp. “What the hell, Chloe? We get it, you grew up with money and you look down on the rest of us, but that was a gift. That was her showing she cares. How could you just throw it away?” The rest of the team starts to murmur, their eyes on me. “That was harsh, Chloe. Even if you didn’t want it, you didn’t have to humiliate her like that.” “This is a team, not your personal kingdom. Mia isn’t your servant.” Mia looks at me, tears streaming down her face. “It’s my fault. Everyone, please don’t be mad at Chloe.” I stare down the ring of her defenders, my voice ice. “Anyone who’s been in this sport for more than five minutes knows energy drinks are banned during competition. So, Mia, are you really that clueless, or did you do it on purpose?” Mia’s face crumples in on itself, a mask of pure, wounded innocence. “I’m so sorry, Chloe. I’m so stupid, I can’t do anything right. I even mess up trying to buy you a drink.” Liam wraps an arm around her shoulder. “Hey, stop that. You’re not stupid.” He pulls her into a hug, then glares at me. “Do you really need to make a big deal out of everything? She was trying to be nice. It was an honest mistake. She’s a little naive, you don’t have to attack her for it.” I’m so full of rage I can barely see straight. I step forward and slap him. Hard. “To hell with her ‘honest mistake.’ Her good intentions were meant to destroy my career. I can’t afford that kind of kindness. From now on, you can have all of it. I don’t want it.” Liam’s eyes go wide, his hand flying to his cheek. “Chloe, are you crazy? You just hit me.” I give him a withering look. “I’m hitting a fool who can’t think for himself.” Mia throws herself between us, her arms spread wide. “Chloe, no! It’s all my fault. I’m the idiot, I’m the one who messes everything up. Hit me if you want, but don’t blame Liam!” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “You want me to hit you? Fine. I’ll grant your wish.” And I slap her, the sound cracking through the humid air. Liam explodes. He shoves me, hard. I lose my footing on the wet tile and go down, my arm slamming against the edge of the concrete bleachers. A sharp, searing pain shoots up to my shoulder, and a dark bruise is already blooming on my skin. I gasp, sucking in a breath through my teeth. A few of the other swimmers flinch, frowning at Liam. “Dude, what are you doing? What if she’s hurt? The championships are tomorrow.” Liam just glares down at me, unmoved. “She started it. She hit me and Mia first.” I laugh again, the sound raw in my throat. “One of them tried to get me disqualified, and the other—my boyfriend—defended her. You’re damn right I hit you. Both of you.” Liam’s face flushes with anger. “Chloe, what the hell are you talking about?” I’m done. I’m done with this conversation, done with him. “Liam, as of this second, we’re over. You and Mia are perfect for each other. Have a great life.” His jaw drops. He looks at me, incredulous. “You’re breaking up with me? Over this? You’re going to regret this, Chloe.” I just scoff, grabbing my swim bag and turning my back on him without another word. The next day, I arrive at the arena. Our team’s relay is the tenth event. As we’re warming up on the pool deck, Mia comes over with a tray of water bottles. “I filled everyone’s up!” she announces cheerfully. The others thank her, taking their bottles. She turns to me, her smile faltering just a little. “Chloe, I couldn’t find your bottle. Where is it? I can go fill it for you.” This was her opening in the last life. The simple, helpful offer that led to my ruin. “Not necessary,” I say flatly. Her eyes immediately start to glisten. “Are you still mad about yesterday, Chloe?” Liam materializes at her side, wrapping a possessive arm around her. “It’s not your fault, Mia. You were just being nice. Chloe doesn’t know how to appreciate it. This water you got me is great. We’re going to win this thing.” Mia blushes, smiling shyly. “I know you will. Good luck, everyone!” Right before we’re called to the blocks, I pull out my own water bottle. As I raise it to my lips, I see it. A faint trace of white powder clinging to the rim of the mouthpiece. My hand trembles. I was so careful. I guarded everything. And still, she found a way. If I had taken that drink, I’d be walking right back into the same nightmare. I look up and meet Mia’s eyes across the deck. She’s staring at me intently. “Chloe, drink up! Your event is about to start.” I screw the cap back on tightly. “Not thirsty. I need to hit the restroom, you guys go on ahead.” Inside the bathroom stall, a strange sense of panic washes over me. Something still feels wrong. Like I’ve missed a step. Thirty minutes later, the race is over. As expected, our relay team took first place. We all just secured a twenty-point academic boost for our grad school applications. The team is ecstatic, a tangle of wet limbs and joyful screams. “We did it! I knew we could do it!” Right in the middle of our celebration, two officials in polo shirts approach our group. “Excuse me, which one of you is Chloe?” Everyone turns to look at me. I step forward. “I’m Chloe. What’s this about?” The official gives me a stern look. “We’ve received a report that you used a banned substance before the competition. Please come with us for testing.” I feel a cold knot form in my stomach as I follow them away. My teammates look at me, their smiles gone, replaced by anxiety. “Chloe, you didn’t, did you? This was a team effort.” I shake my head. “No. I didn’t take anything.” They look relieved, but the seed of doubt has been planted. I go with the officials. They take blood and urine samples. An hour later, the results are in. The lead official holds the report, his face grim as he addresses the event coordinator. The coordinator’s voice booms over the PA system, silencing the arena. “Due to a positive test for a banned stimulant from team member Chloe, the first-place finish for Northwood University is hereby disqualified. Furthermore, Chloe is banned from all future competitions, effective immediately.” My body goes numb. How? I didn’t drink the water. How is it in my system? Every eye in the arena is on me. Liam storms over, his face contorted with rage, and slaps me across the face. “You cheated, Chloe? You actually took something? Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? You’ve destroyed everything we worked for!” Other teammates grab at my arms. “How could you do this to us, Chloe? We trained for a year, day in and day out, and you threw it all away!” The crowd in the stands starts yelling. “If you can’t win clean, don’t compete! Cheater!” “What a disgrace to our school!” “Get her out of here! I’m writing to the dean. We don’t want scum like you ruining our reputation!” People start throwing empty cups and programs down at me from the stands. I clench my fists, my voice shaking but clear as I look at the event coordinator. “I don’t accept this result.” Mia rushes to my side, her face a mask of patronizing concern. “Chloe, don’t make it worse. Just admit it. If you apologize, maybe we can all ask them to be lenient.” I let out a cold, humorless laugh. “I have nothing to apologize for. I didn’t break any rules.” Liam points a finger in my face. “The test results are right there! Are you still going to lie? First you cheat, now you won’t even own up to it? You’ve humiliated this entire team!” The event coordinator looks at me, annoyed. “On what grounds do you not accept the result?” A small smile plays on my lips. “Because I didn’t swim in the race.”

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The day I found out I was pregnant was the day Cole Harrison dumped me. He slid a black Amex across the polished marble of his kitchen island. “There’s three million dollars on this,” he said, his voice as cool and hard as the stone. “Take it and go.” I picked it up, testing its weight in my palm. I let out a low whistle. “Is that all?” This might not even last until the kid’s fifth birthday, I thought. His hand, which had been reaching for a pack of cigarettes, froze mid-air. “I’ll wire another two million in a couple of days.” I knew when to quit while I was ahead. A bright, meaningless smile spread across my face as I gathered my things and walked out of his life. A month later, I was cruising down Fifth Avenue in my BMW when I saw him. He was wearing a DoorDash uniform, wrestling a flimsy paper bag out of an insulated backpack on the back of an e-bike. “Cole? What is this, some kind of reality show?” I pulled over, not caring if I embarrassed him. He scanned me from head to toe, my new dress, my perfect blowout, and sighed. The sound seemed to come from the very soles of his worn-out sneakers. “The truth is, Lena,” he said, his voice raspy, “I went broke. About a month ago.” He finally met my eyes. “I couldn’t support you anymore. I figured it was better to push you away than to have you leave me out of disgust.” I blinked, my brain struggling to process this. “But… what about Clara? The one that got away?” A flicker of something—pride? relief?—crossed his face. “She came back. Found me. Said she didn’t care about the money. She’s willing to stick it out with me, help me rebuild.” I immediately slid on my oversized sunglasses, creating a shield between my face and his. “Well. Wishing you two all the best.” Then I was back in my car, hitting the gas and leaving the new, broke, noble version of Cole Harrison standing in a cloud of exhaust. 1 I have three fundamental fears in life. One: being broke. Two: being dead. Three: being alive, but broke. I pushed the BMW up to eighty on the West Side Highway, the city blurring past me. In my rearview mirror, a tiny light bobbed and weaved through traffic, getting closer. It was Cole, on that pathetic little e-bike. “What the hell do you want?” I yelled, pulling over and rolling down my window as he caught up. “Don’t tell me you want the money back!” His handsome face, slick with sweat under the flimsy helmet, looked genuinely confused. He was breathing hard. “No, of course not.” He hesitated, his expression shifting into something tentative, almost vulnerable. “I just… I wanted to ask… is it enough? For now?” My defensive posture softened just a fraction. “It’ll do.” For two years with Cole, my life had been a whirlwind of limitless spending. Five million used to be my budget for six months of fun, not a lifetime. “It’ll do?” he repeated, a frown creasing his brow. “So… does that mean you’ll be looking for… someone else?” I stared up at the roof of my car and rolled my eyes so hard I felt it in my skull. “Cole, instead of worrying about my love life, maybe you should worry about your delivery ETA.” I rolled up the window and drove away. This time, he didn’t follow. Back in my apartment, a text from my best friend, Maya, lit up my phone. MAYA:【OH MY GOD!!!!】 MAYA:【You will not BELIEVE who just delivered my lunch. COLE HARRISON.】 MAYA:【Like, ‘buy you a wall of Birkins for your birthday’ Cole Harrison???】 MAYA:【Is he doing some billionaire ‘undercover boss’ thing?】 I typed back. ME:【He’s broke. We split up last month. He’s delivering pad thai to support his long-lost love now.】 MAYA:【…】 MAYA:【Wow. What a man of character, I guess.】 Maya’s dad died young, her mom’s disabled, and with no college degree, she’d been scraping by working at a bubble tea shop. I’d helped her out a lot over the past couple of years. As we finished texting, I wired her fifty thousand dollars. She sent it right back. MAYA:【No, seriously, Lena, I’m good! I got that sales job, remember? I start next month, and the commission is insane. I’ll be making six figures!】 I smiled and didn’t push it. From now on, I had to be careful. I had a little one in my belly to think about. 2 I didn’t see Cole after that. Using the money I’d saved during my two years as a kept woman, I bought a sprawling condo in a luxury high-rise overlooking Central Park. The rest of the five million I handed over to a financial advisor who specialized in making rich people richer. My life became quiet. I stayed home. I rarely ordered in. Then one day, leaving an OB-GYN appointment on the Upper East Side, I saw her. Clara. Cole’s great lost love. She was stepping into the back of a black Maybach. My inner gossip columnist took over. I followed them. I watched the Maybach glide through the gates of a ridiculously opulent private community in Greenwich, Connecticut. Holy shit. Was Cole, in his quest for noble poverty, getting cheated on? The question was so juicy I couldn’t leave. I parked down the street and waited. It wasn’t until well after dark that the Maybach reappeared. I followed it again. This time, it stopped in midtown Manhattan. Clara got out and hailed a cab. So I followed the cab. It took me to a shabby, pre-war walk-up in a forgotten corner of Queens. The kind of place that perpetually smelled of mildew and old city damp. This, I was certain, was the new love nest she shared with Cole. A universe away from his former penthouse. I leaned against my car and waited. At half-past midnight, a lone e-bike pulled up to the curb. “Cole,” I called out. “Lena?” He squinted, then walked over, his surprise obvious. “How did you know I live here?” I ignored the question. “You should probably be a little nicer to Clara,” I said, hinting at what I’d seen. He clearly didn’t get it. He held up a plastic bag. “I’m great to her. Whenever there’s a canceled order at the end of my shift, I bring it home for her.” My gaze dropped to the bag. Inside was a container of what looked like soggy, lukewarm wontons. I looked back up at his earnest face. The expression I gave him was the one you reserve for people who tell you the earth is flat. “Never mind. My mistake,” I said with a tight smile, and got the hell out of there. I was starting to think poverty had done more than just change Cole’s circumstances; it had broken his brain. I needed to stay far away, for the sake of my unborn child’s sanity. But I should have known it wouldn’t be that simple. A few days later, my doorbell rang. It was Clara. She was here to demand I give the money back. “So you’re living pretty well,” she said, breezing past me into the foyer, not bothering to take off her shoes. She surveyed my apartment with a look of undisguised contempt. “While Cole is drowning in debt.” She plopped down on my velvet sofa. “He gave you five million dollars before he went bankrupt, didn’t he?” she accused. “Do you have any idea how much that would help him right now? If you had a shred of decency, you’d give it back.” Without a word, I pulled out my phone and called Cole. “Cole,” I said the moment he answered. “Did you send Clara over here to shake me down for money?” 3 There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low rumble. “Clara is at your place? I had no idea.” A pause. “Where are you? I’m coming to get her right now.” When Cole arrived, he was still in his DoorDash uniform. He actually stopped at the door and asked if I had any of those disposable shoe covers. “Don’t bother,” I said. “Just take her and go.” “You have a thing about cleanliness,” he insisted. “I should put them on.” From the living room, Clara let out a cold, bitter laugh. “You don’t have to come in, Cole. I’m leaving.” She grabbed her purse and stormed towards the door. As she passed him, her voice cracked with a hurt I hadn’t expected. “At home, you’re so exhausted you collapse into bed without even taking your shoes off. You leave your sweaty socks everywhere. Do you ever think about me the way you still think about her, Cole? Do you?!” With that, she ran down the hall, choking back a sob. I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, as Cole and I stood there in the awkward silence. Finally, I sighed. “You know, for what it’s worth, you really should try to be a little neater.” Cole’s gaze drifted back from the empty hallway to me, a complex, unreadable smile playing on his lips. “I’ve just been so tired lately, Lena. I can’t keep up with the details anymore.” I let out another long breath. This is what I was talking about. This is why I was afraid of being broke. It had taken Cole, a man who was once the epitome of refined elegance, and turned him into a slob. But still… something about his behavior felt off. A weird, unsettling performance. It’s probably just the pregnancy hormones, I told myself. Making me paranoid. The next day, I wired two hundred thousand dollars to the account Cole had given me. In the notes, I wrote: Don’t make this a habit. The price of a soft heart was too damn high. If I spent my life feeling sorry for everyone else, who was going to feel sorry for me, a single mom-to-be? Staring at my reduced bank balance, I finally felt calm enough to take a nap. But a new problem arose. Now that Cole knew where I lived, things started appearing at my door. Unordered deliveries. Sometimes it was groceries from Whole Foods—fresh vegetables, fruit, fish, organic milk. Sometimes it was a cake from my favorite bakery. Sometimes lattes and pastries. And sometimes, full-on feasts: sushi platters, barbecue ribs, a hot pot setup from Haidilao. They weren’t extravagant, but they were all my favorites. If Cole hadn’t texted me each time to let me know it was from him, I would have assumed someone was trying to poison me. I knew he was probably just thanking me for the two hundred grand. So, I graciously accepted. Every time I ate, I’d rub my belly and whisper. “This is from your dad, sweetie.” “What’s that? You don’t like it?” “Don’t be a snob. This is all he can afford right now.” “You just make do. Mommy will take you to a Michelin-starred restaurant tomorrow.” But as I sat in that Michelin-starred restaurant the next day, the chef meticulously preparing a tasting menu just for me, my mind kept drifting. I saw Cole sitting across from me, not in a delivery uniform, but in a Tom Ford suit. I saw him sliding a velvet box across the table, revealing a ruby necklace, his eyes sparkling with the same pride as the gems inside. 4 When we first got together, I knew about Clara. She was the one that got away, the goddess he’d worshipped in college. He never got the girl. So he got busy, built an empire instead. And then he got me, with a ruby necklace. I thought I was just terrified of being poor. I’d clawed my way out of a forgotten town at the foot of a mountain, a place so small it wasn’t on any map. I’d come to the big city and nearly gotten sold to some sleazy club owner before I knew what was happening. I’d hit wall after wall trying to find a real job, learning just how complicated and cruel people could be. So when Cole opened that velvet box and said, “Lena, just be with me,” I didn’t hesitate. And when I later found that old, treasured photo of Clara tucked away in his desk drawer, it didn’t even hurt that much. We didn’t look alike, not really. We were just the same type. What was I really losing? Nothing. In return, I got money, designer bags, and a closet full of beautiful clothes. My handsome, generous benefactor was good to me. What more could I ask for? So when I heard his long-lost love was coming back, I took the five million and walked. You can’t be too greedy in this life. I’d already been given more than I’d ever dreamed of in my first twenty-four years. True love? I’d leave that for other people. I sniffled, stuffing a ridiculously expensive piece of foie gras into my mouth. I waved at the chef shaving black truffles over my plate. “Keep ‘em coming,” I mumbled. Just as I finished, my phone rang. An unknown number. “Hello? I’m calling about your boyfriend, a Mr. Cole Harrison? He was in an accident on his delivery route. Can you come to Mount Sinai Hospital right away?” By the time I got there, Cole was lying in a hospital bed, looking perfectly fine and fully conscious. When he saw me, his brow unfurrowed into a relieved smile. “Lena, you’re here.” I scanned him from head to toe. The only visible injury was a patch of gauze on his ankle, no wider than the palm of my hand. “If I’d gotten here any later, would it have already healed?” He had the grace to look embarrassed. “Sorry. I guess I passed out for a minute. The paramedics used face ID to unlock my phone and called you. It was my emergency contact.” I put my hands on my hips. “Why didn’t they call Clara? She’s your girlfriend now, isn’t she?” I was furious. I’d been stuffed from dinner, and I’d rushed over here, running through the hospital, getting a stitch in my side. I was pregnant, for god’s sake! The smile vanished from his face, replaced by a flicker of something sad. “Because in my phone,” he explained softly, “you’re still listed as ‘Baby’.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I didn’t say another word. As I turned to leave, I nearly collided with Clara, who was just arriving. She shot me a cold glare but, surprisingly, didn’t say anything nasty. She even walked me to the hospital entrance. I pulled open my car door. She stood on the curb above me, looking down with a strange intensity. “Lena, I have to ask you something,” she said, her voice low. “Cole… is he… bad in bed?”

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1 The day Paul Moore went bankrupt, he threw me his last savings on a black card. “You don’t have to stay,” he said. I tore my Harvard acceptance in half. “We sink or swim together.” The heiress who once spent fortunes on meals learned to clip coupons and argue over ten cents. When he fought his way back, he promised me a wedding of the century. I was nervous but happy. Then I saw him through a half-open door, sliding my diamond ring onto a starlet’s finger. “Won’t Ava be upset you’re giving everything to Mia?” Paul smiled. “She gave up Harvard for me when we were poor. She can handle anything.” He chuckled coldly. “If she had the guts to leave over this, I’d respect her more.” My blood turned to ice. A bitter laugh escaped me. Fine. If he wants me to leave—I’ll leave. … “What is the meaning of this?” A black card hit Paul Moore square in the face. Mia Brooks frowned, her delicate brows knitting together. “Paul, I told you, I’m not some canary you keep in a golden cage!” The moment the card struck his cheek, the air in the room grew thick with tension. But Paul just smiled, letting it fall to the floor. He looked at the pouting girl before him, his thumb gently caressing the diamond ring on her finger. “My fault, darling. I shouldn’t have treated you like a girl who can be bought.” Mia snatched her hand back, crossing her arms and turning away. “I told you from the start, I’m with you because I like you. Your money has nothing to do with it! If you can’t understand that, then we’re through!” “Mia, come on.” Paul reached for her, but she slapped his hand away. The indomitable Paul Moore, a titan of industry, was reduced to a helpless, smiling fool by a starlet’s temper tantrum. He shot a look at his friends, his eyes overflowing with a sickeningly sweet adoration. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” “Get lost!” He pulled her into his arms. “Alright, alright, it’s my fault. How about I make it up to you? The Zenith Award for Best Actress this weekend. It’s yours. How does that sound?” Mia’s expression softened. My own fists clenched so hard my nails dug into my palms. Someone in the room spoke up. “Mr. Moore, wasn’t that award promised to Ava?” “Mia’s just as deserving,” he said, pulling her onto his lap. “She works hard, she’s a talented actress. The nominations haven’t been announced yet, so we’ll just make a little change.” Before his assistant could even move, I kicked the door wide open. Paul immediately pushed Mia off his lap. “Ava?” I ignored the sharp, familiar pain in my lower back and stared daggers at him. “Who are you giving that award to?” Paul’s gaze fell. To get the perfect shot for my last film, I’d refused a stunt double for a high-fall scene. The landing had been brutal, leaving me with eighteen steel pins in my spine. I was back on set the same day, pushing through the agony to keep us on schedule. He was there. He saw it all. He knew I’d collapsed in tears of pain the moment the cameras stopped rolling, my body slick with a cold sweat as I leaned against him. But now, he avoided my gaze. “Mia’s a newcomer. It hasn’t been easy for her to get this far. You’re a veteran, Ava. Let her have it.” “Never!” I pointed a trembling finger at Mia. “If she were better than me, fine! But while I was memorizing my lines until dawn, she was mumbling ‘1-2-3-4-5-6-7’ to the camera! While I was doing my own stunts, she was using eight different body doubles for a single scene! You’re going to give an award that a real actor might work eight years to earn to this… this mannequin?” “Ava!” Paul’s voice was a whip crack. His eyes, usually so warm when they looked at me, were now filled with an icy unfamiliarity. “Know your place!” The words hung in the air. Even he seemed surprised by them. I stared at him, incredulous. “My place? Do you mean my place as a veteran actress, or my place as your girlfriend of ten years?” “Ava, I…” He seemed to realize his mistake. The things we say without thinking are often the most revealing. They’re the truth. “Look, Ava, you don’t have to treat me like your enemy.” Mia lifted her chin, her expression a mask of arrogant nonchalance. “I’m not interested in petty female rivalries. I just happen to like Paul, and I’m not afraid to go after what I want.” She dangled the black card in front of my face. “He tried to give this to me. I refused. I’ve always been the type to earn what I want. So relax. Unlike you, I have no interest in his money. When I like someone, it has nothing to do with their bank account.” She tossed the card at me, and it fluttered to my feet. Then she turned to leave, but at a subtle nod from Paul, one of his men blocked her path. “Now, why would you leave?” Paul rose, sweeping Mia into his arms. “Change the nomination,” he ordered his assistant. “Take Ava’s name off the list and replace it with Mia’s.” “Paul!” “And,” he cut me off, his voice softening as he looked down at Mia, his eyes filled with that same doting look, “my spending money on you is my business. It has nothing to do with you. You’ll never be just a kept woman to me.” Mia squirmed playfully in his arms before finally relenting. As he carried her out, she glanced back at me over his shoulder, a flicker of triumphant satisfaction in her eyes. I sat in my car, parked in the garage, and slammed my fist against the steering wheel. I never cared about winning the Zenith Award. I only got into acting in the first place to help make ends meet for Paul and me. I, who had never bowed to anyone, had to smile and grovel for a bit part. But slowly, I fell in love with the craft. Even after Paul rebuilt his empire and offered me a hundred million dollars to quit, to stop putting myself through hell, I couldn’t. He understood then that acting had become a part of me. From that day on, he supported me, never holding me back. When I stumbled back into our apartment, my mind a numb fog, I found it wasn’t empty. “This one, and this one. Take them all.” Mia was directing a moving crew, pointing at my crystal ornaments and gold statuettes. “Put that down! Who let you in here?” My sudden shout made her jump, a hand flying to her chest. Her fear quickly morphed into annoyance. “What are you yelling for? Paul registered my fingerprint for the door. I can come and go as I please. Hey! That one, too! Take it all to the new house Paul got for me!” She was pointing at a small gold ring on my vanity. It was less than five grams. Paul had bought it for me when we were at our poorest, after living on instant noodles for three months straight. He had sworn to me then that he would give me the world. Even now, with necklaces worth eight figures, that little ring was my most treasured possession. I slammed my hand down on the mover’s, stopping him. My smile was pure acid. “I thought you didn’t care about a man’s money, Ms. Brooks? Are you really so desperate that you won’t even leave behind a trinket worth less than three hundred dollars?” Mia’s face darkened. “It’s not about the money. It’s about the principle. Wherever the money flows, love follows. You have to fight for what you want in this life, don’t you, Ava?” “I’ve never heard someone make being a gold digger sound so noble,” I sneered. “No need to be jealous,” she purred, leaning closer. “In the end, it all comes down to who Paul chooses. As for all this… I’ll gladly take it off your hands.” She then pointed to the top shelf of my closet. “That trophy looks nice. Pack it up with the rest.” I turned, and my breath hitched. It was my mother’s. “Don’t touch that!” I shoved the mover aside, grabbing the trophy and clutching it to my chest. The force of it sent Mia stumbling back. “Ava! Are you insane?” she shrieked. “It’s just a stupid trophy! It’s not like it was ever going to be yours anyway, you hack! I’m taking what’s Paul’s, what does it have to do with you? Get it from her!” “You dare!” I raised my hand, ready to strike. Mia’s face went pale, and she cowered, her arms over her head. “Ah!” “Ava!” A hand clamped down on my wrist like a vice. I turned to see Paul towering over me, his eyes blazing with disapproval. With a single, effortless motion, he flung me back against the wardrobe. “Paul!” Mia cried, throwing herself into his arms, her shoulders trembling delicately. It only made him hold her tighter. “Ava, it’s just a trophy. Why are you making a scene?” I looked up at him, my heart shattering. “What did you just say?” Only then did his eyes focus on the object in my arms. My mother’s last honor. Her last gift to me. In the days when we could barely afford food, I had sold every piece of my own jewelry, but I never once considered selling this. A complex emotion flickered across Paul’s face, and he looked away. “Mia is your junior. She wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. There’s no need to be so dramatic.” “Wouldn’t hurt me?” I laughed, a broken, hysterical sound. “You call coming into our home and stripping it of everything I own not hurting me?” Mia paled. Paul finally seemed to notice that nearly every valuable thing that belonged to me was now packed in the moving van outside. “Paul,” I said, my voice dangerously low, “this is the woman who wants to take the five-gram ring you gave me. And you still believe she doesn’t care about your money?” “Paul!” Mia suddenly cried out. “If you believe a word she says, I’ll leave right now. I’ll walk away from everything you’ve ever given me and never look back!” And with that, she spun around, making a show of leaving. Paul grabbed her arm, stopping her. She turned back, her voice thick with righteous indignation. “The only reason I wanted that ring is because I knew you gave it to her! I’m not some magnanimous saint. When I see something you gave to another woman, I get jealous! I don’t care if it’s a worthless piece of paper, I want it gone! But if you’re going to listen to her, if you think I’m just some money-grubbing parasite, then there’s nothing more to say!” I burst out laughing. “She wants to be the whore and the virgin queen all at once.” “I think that’s you!” Paul suddenly roared, turning on me. I froze. Mia, seeing her victory, stopped struggling. Paul pulled her back into his arms, his voice softening as he spoke to her. “Just ignore her,” he murmured, before turning his cold gaze back to me. I stared at him, my heart a leaden weight in my chest. “Paul, in your eyes, am I really that calculating?” He hesitated. But then a cold sneer twisted his lips. “Ava, be honest with yourself. When you tore up that Harvard letter, wasn’t it because you were betting I’d make a comeback, bigger and better than before? Wasn’t it just an investment?” I stared at him, the world tilting on its axis. He held Mia tighter. “Mia might have met me after I was successful, but she refuses every penny I offer her. I have to force gifts on her. Her integrity is real. Yours was just an act.” My voice trembled. “Paul… you think… you think I was pretending?” He sighed. “You know the truth in your heart. I’m doing you the courtesy of not spelling it out. So do me a favor and stop with the hysterics.” “I hope you rot in hell, Paul Moore!” I shrieked, and in a blind rage, I shoved the coffee table over. His first instinct was to shield Mia with his own body from the flying debris. “You’re a psycho, Ava!” Mia screamed, her face contorted with fury. “He’s right, isn’t he? You’re just a gold digger, and you can’t stand being called out!” If Paul wasn’t holding her back, she would have lunged at me. He left with her and the movers, leaving me alone in the wreckage. I collapsed onto the floor, surrounded by shattered glass and broken memories, gasping for breath as tears streamed down my face. He didn’t know. He had no idea. If I hadn’t stayed by his side, the empire I would have built for myself would have dwarfed his. As I began to pick up the pieces, I clutched my mother’s trophy. Fine. Once my new film is cast, we’ll divide the assets and go our separate ways. Just as I finished cleaning up the mess, my assistant called, her voice frantic. “Ava, it’s bad! They just recast the role we fought so hard for. They gave it to Mia Brooks!” The phone nearly slipped from my grasp. I stormed into Paul’s office and slammed the casting documents down on his desk. “You gave my mother’s role to that… that bitch?” He took the verbal assault without flinching, the cigar between his fingers not even trembling. “Mia is an actress with a lot of potential. You don’t need to worry.” “Paul.” I grabbed him by the collar. “My mother was a hero of science. She was finalizing her data on her deathbed! You’re going to let someone who can’t even be bothered to memorize her lines portray her? Is Mia worthy of that?” “How will we know if she’s worthy if she’s never given the chance?” My eyes burned with unshed tears. “She was my mother. No one knows her better than I do. Paul, if you let her play this part, I will use every resource at my disposal to destroy her career. I’m willing to walk away from acting forever. I mean it.” He looked at me then, a flicker of shock in his eyes. He might be the revered Mr. Moore now, but he knew that if I was willing to burn everything to the ground, I could take him down with me. He stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray and sighed. “You’d really go that far?” “Absolutely,” I bit out, my teeth clenched. He nodded slowly and dialed a number. “Cancel the casting change for Ms. Brooks. Yes, the role of Dr. Rhodes will be played by her daughter.” The tension in my shoulders finally eased. “Thank you, Mr. Moore,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. I walked out without a second glance. The next day, I was scheduled for a costume fitting. But instead of a call from the studio, I woke up to my face plastered all over the internet. Private photos. Explicit photos. 365 of them. One for every day of the year. I fell out of bed. Staring at the angles of the pictures, I knew. My hands shaking, I called Paul. Mia answered. “I was the one who told Paul to release them,” she chirped, her voice oozing with fake sympathy. “What was it you said? You’d ruin my career to protect this role? Well, look at you now. Who’s ruined? I have to say, sister… you’re absolutely filthy.” My teeth ground together. “Mia!” The phone was snatched away. Paul’s voice, cold and detached, came through the line. “You can still play the part of your mother, Ava. If you can live with the fact that every time the audience sees her face, the first thing they’ll think of is you, on your back, spreading your legs.” The phone slipped from my fingers and clattered to the floor. I knelt there, staring at my name trending everywhere, and I began to sob, great, gut-wrenching wails that tore through my empty apartment. My phone buzzed. An incoming call. A warm, elderly voice spoke. “Ava, darling? I heard your mother’s film is starting production? When’s the premiere? Your uncles and I are flying back to see your big debut.” My hand trembled violently. “Uncle… they… they put my private photos on the internet… I can’t do the movie anymore…” “They what?!” The calm voice erupted in fury. After I forwarded him the entertainment news links, his voice returned, shaking with rage. “So… so that’s how it is… Does he think all her old comrades are dead? He lets some little canary bully her daughter like this? Ava, don’t you worry. Every single one of your mother’s colleagues is on a plane back to the country right now. We’re coming to back you up.”

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My husband came to regret our child-free life in the twenty-fifth year of our marriage. He was forty-seven that year, a man in his prime—successful, mature, and composed. I was fifty, already stepping into menopause. He knew I wouldn’t risk a high-risk pregnancy at my age, so he asked for a divorce, offering to give me the lion’s share of our assets as compensation. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just calmly accepted. Of course, he would never know that I had regretted our child-free arrangement long ago, back in the year of his first emotional affair. And in that year of regret, I had taken matters into my own hands. By the time his own regret finally bloomed, my child was already in middle school. 1. When Trevor brought up the divorce, his demeanor was cold, almost detached. I stood there, stunned, the world tilting on its axis as I struggled to quell the storm raging inside me. My first instinct was to ask him why. Our relationship had cooled in recent years, it was true, but we were getting older. I’d assumed the fiery passion of youth was meant to mellow into a quiet companionship. Hearing my question, Trevor finally looked up from his phone, his eyes darting away from mine. “Eleanor, I’m forty-seven this year. My parents are in their seventies…” He talked in circles, a long, winding speech that all boiled down to one simple, brutal point: He didn’t want his parents to die without grandchildren. He wanted a child, and now, he finally had the time and the means to raise one. To put it plainly, Trevor had changed his mind about being child-free. At forty-seven. I am three years his senior. At fifty, my health is my priority. I would never risk my life to have a baby at this age. Trevor knew me well enough to understand that. A flicker of guilt crossed his face. “Ellie, I’m sorry,” he said, before twisting the knife. “If only you were three years younger than me instead.” The same words he once used to woo me—”an older woman is a treasure”—had now become his sharpest weapon. My expression must have been grim, my silence too long. He sighed, leaving me with a final command. “Just think it over. But I don’t want to drag this out.” With that, he turned and walked out of our home. 2. Once the initial shock subsided and a cold calm settled over me, my first call was to a private investigator. It didn’t take long to uncover the real reason for Trevor’s sudden change of heart. He had a new woman. He’d been having an affair with an intern at his company for the past two years. Now, the girl was demanding a ring on her finger, and conveniently, Trevor was demanding a baby in a crib. Staring at the stack of glossy photos spread across my desk, I felt a strange numbness. This wasn’t his first time. His first betrayal was a decade into our marriage—an emotional affair. He chose to come back to me then, and I chose to forgive him. It’s true what they say: once a cheater, always a cheater. He’d learned from his mistakes. For two years, he had hidden this affair so perfectly that I hadn’t suspected a thing. I didn’t bother contacting Trevor. Instead, I focused all my energy on gathering every last piece of evidence of his infidelity. The divorce was inevitable. My only goal now was to secure the maximum benefit for myself. The company we’d built from the ground up was now a thriving enterprise. Twenty-five years of marriage had woven our lives and finances into a complex tapestry; pulling a single thread could unravel everything. No matter how deep the love once was, in the end, it always comes down to assets. It was more than two weeks before Trevor came home again. “Have you thought about it?” were the first words out of his mouth. We hadn’t spoken a word in that time. He had a new home now, a new life. He was clearly lost in it, not giving his old one a second thought. I met his gaze and calmly slid the stack of photos across the table. “The divorce is fine. Let’s talk about the division of assets.” His eyes fell on the pictures, and the color drained from his face. “Eleanor, you had me followed?” A cold laugh escaped my lips. “If I hadn’t, how long were you planning on making a fool out of me?” 3. Trevor was not a generous man. He hadn’t grown up poor, but his family was far from wealthy, and a frugal mindset was etched into his soul. His first offer was a fifty-fifty split. Absolutely not. Betrayal has a price. When I demanded 80%, he balked, his face turning a dark shade of red. “Eleanor, this company is our life’s work! You can’t just erase all my years of dedication because of this one thing.” “Just one thing?” My voice was dripping with contempt. “Need I remind you how many times this has happened, Trevor?” His hands, hanging by his sides, clenched into tight fists. But he was guilty, and he knew it. He had no defense. I decided to press my advantage. “I’ve seen the pictures. Your taste hasn’t changed a bit. She looks just like Clara.” Clara. The object of his first emotional affair. The one that got away, who had since been enshrined in his memory as his untouchable goddess. This new girl not only resembled her, but even her name was an echo. “Clara… Cara.” I fished a solo shot of the new girl from the pile and tossed it in front of him, my smile a mocking slash. “All these years, and you’re still so devoted.” He glanced at the photo, a flash of shame and anger warring on his face before he smoothed it over. “Eleanor, even if you know, what does it matter?” It mattered because I had the proof. And that proof would get me what I deserved in the divorce settlement. Trevor’s refusal didn’t worry me. I had the law on my side. “I hate this side of you—so calculating, fighting over every last penny!” He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. A cheater having a meltdown. It seemed I’d been far too easy on him over the years. As I began preparing the paperwork to file for divorce, my seventy-something mother-in-law showed up unannounced. It had been a long time since we’d seen each other. After she had defended Trevor and blamed me during his first affair, I knew exactly what kind of family I had married into. She beat around the bush for a while before finally getting to the point. “Eleanor, darling, I’ve heard about you and Trevor,” she said, sighing dramatically. “He’s at that age, you know, I can’t control him. In the end, I suppose it just wasn’t meant to be.” She rambled on, her words a thinly veiled accusation—if only I had listened to her and had a child years ago… I cut her off. “It was Trevor’s idea not to have children.” She fell silent, abandoning that line of attack and pivoting to the finances. “…You’re fifty years old now, Eleanor. What are you going to do with all that money?” The implication was clear: at my age, unable to have children, who would I even leave it to? Anyone but her scumbag son, that’s who. I’d rather throw it into a river just to hear the splash. My refusal to budge infuriated her. As she left, her cloudy eyes fixed on me with a venomous glare. “Eleanor, a woman who’s too stubborn in a marriage never ends up happy.” As if the alternative was to beg him to stay. 4. Faced with my unyielding stance on the assets, Trevor resorted to his old trick: the silent treatment. It was a conditioned response for him; whenever things didn’t go his way, he would freeze me out. But this time, it didn’t last long. His new girl, Cara, had given him an ultimatum: make her an honest woman, or she was gone. A woman in her early twenties has options, after all. Another man could provide for her just as well. Trevor couldn’t bear to lose her. He was still haunted by the loss of Clara, and Cara was a second chance, a near-perfect replica. So he came back, ready to negotiate, even trying to use our shared history to emotionally blackmail me. I held firm, my resolve like iron. When he wouldn’t let up, I finally unleashed years of pent-up rage, dressing him down with every harsh truth I had swallowed. He stood there, his face a mask of fury, but he couldn’t refute a single word. Because everything I said was true. When he ran out of arguments, he resorted to a desperate, twisted logic. “Eleanor, I never demanded fidelity from you in this marriage.” Ah. That was the line I’d been waiting for.

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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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