Category: English

My mom sent me on an errand to my brother’s place, to drop something off for his girlfriend. So I did what any sister would do: I barged right in. And was greeted by the sight of a half-naked god with abs so sharp they could cut glass. My brain short-circuited. But, hey, love is love. With a quavering voice and tears welling in my eyes, I managed to stammer, “So… you’re the lucky lady? Hi!” My brother’s voice, dripping with venom, echoed from behind me. “Full points for politeness, Ellie. But my actual girlfriend is standing right behind you.” Me: ??? 1. Oh. My. God. I whipped around to meet the gaze of my brother’s actual girlfriend—a woman with stunningly beautiful eyes. My face instantly went supernova-hot. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole, to randomly teleport me to another dimension. Anywhere but here. My brother, Ethan, grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, his voice a furious whisper in my ear. “Ellie, what in the hell is going on inside that head of yours?” Then he bent down, snatched a white T-shirt from the sofa, and chucked it at the guy. “Put this on, man. My girlfriend can’t stop staring.” A pang of grief shot through my heart. I couldn’t speak for his girlfriend, but my eyes were definitely glued. And I hadn’t gotten a good enough look yet! The man just let out a low, amused chuckle. He casually pulled the shirt over his head, and a few drops of water from his damp hair flicked onto the back of my hand. They felt cool against my skin. “What are you doing back so early?” he asked Ethan. Ethan shot him a glare. “Mom called and said my little sister was on her way. I was worried her overactive imagination would conjure up some home invasion scenario, so I came back to make sure you were safe.” He paused, his voice dropping an octave. “Turns out, she imagined a boyfriend-in-law instead.” The last words were ground out between clenched teeth. I was being publicly shamed and didn’t dare utter a single word in my defense. The guy, however, looked completely relaxed. He sized Ethan up with narrowed eyes. “Ethan, buddy,” he said, his tone laced with amusement. “Even if my tastes suddenly took a sharp left turn, you’re not exactly the kind of prize I’d be after.” “So, relax.” 2. Clearly, this was just their normal brand of banter. I’d actually heard about this Adonis before. He was my brother’s best friend and roommate from all four years of college—Raymond. After graduation, Ethan had proudly joined the 9-to-5 grind, while Raymond, thanks to his stellar academic record, landed a coveted spot in the graduate program at Bridgewater University, the top-ranked school in our state, which just happened to be near our home. Originally, Raymond had just asked Ethan to help him apartment-hunt. But then, as they were passing a coffee shop, some girl apparently “accidentally” twisted her ankle and stumbled right into Raymond’s arms, spilling her latte all over his jacket. She’d looked up at him, all apologies. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry about your jacket! Let me get your number, I’ll totally pay for the dry cleaning.” Her intentions were as transparent as glass. But Raymond was a walking, talking heart-shredder. He’d deadpanned, pulled out his phone, and opened his Venmo QR code. “That’ll be eight hundred and fifty-seven dollars.” The girl’s face went pale. “For a jacket? Are you kidding me? That’s robbery!” So Raymond simply pulled up the online receipt. After confirming the price, the girl decided to play dumb, turned on her heel, and practically sprinted away. Ethan recounted the story with theatrical flair, clearly enjoying every second of Raymond’s romantic misfortune. “The guy’s a total clean freak, so he was losing his mind over the coffee stain. My apartment was close, so I brought him up to take a shower. I even generously offered him one of my own shirts,” he said, puffing out his chest. I shook my head with a sigh. “That was a close one. He almost got a girlfriend.” It just goes to show, when God builds a man that perfect, he’s got to leave a screw loose somewhere. It was so obvious the girl wanted to hit on him, not pay for damages. Ethan put on a deep, thoughtful voice. “You don’t get it. This kind of thing happened to him constantly in college.” “He’d start the semester with a full wardrobe, and by the end, half of it would be ruined by coffee, wine, you name it.” That actually made sense. There are a million ways to show someone you’re interested. Damaging their property has to be the dumbest one. I nodded in agreement and muttered under my breath, “That’s got to be the oldest trick in the book. If it were me, I’d never do something so lame.” But my quiet little comment didn’t go unheard. A glint appeared in Raymond’s eyes. His smooth voice drifted down from above me. “So how do you do it?” “Me…?” I was at a loss for words, my gaze locking with his dark, intense eyes. His expression was curious, and genuinely serious. Staring up into that perfectly sculpted face, a face without a single flaw from any angle… My heart did something funny. It skipped a beat. 3. Raymond ended up renting the apartment directly above my brother’s. It was only two miles from the university campus and two miles from my parents’ house. Despite the proximity, in all my time at school and around home, I had never once run into him. Zero times. The new semester started with a chaotic whirlwind of activities that left my head spinning. Among them was the soul-crushing news that I had not only flunked Calculus last semester but had just flunked the makeup exam as well. I wasn’t sure whether to question my own intelligence or blame my terrible luck. Seeing me sobbing like my life was over, my roommate, Chloe, had to physically restrain herself from laughing. To lift my spirits and pull me out of my academic death spiral, Chloe dragged me to a party her friends were throwing. It was a mix of students from all the universities in the area, a big crowd of people our age, and everyone was having a blast. Everyone except me. After losing three out of four rounds of party games and being forced to take shots, I was nearing my alcohol limit. I wisely waved the white flag and opted for a dare on the next round. One of the senior girls pointed a lazy finger toward a dark figure sitting at a corner table. “See that guy over there? The hot one. Go ask him if he wants to make out.” The dare was insane. And the atmosphere instantly exploded with excitement. I followed her finger, peering through the dim, shifting lights and hazy smoke. From this distance, surrounded by a sea of people, I couldn’t make out his face. But I could tell from his broad shoulders and the elegant, long-fingered hand wrapped around a glass that he had an… undeniable presence. Dozens of expectant eyes were on me. My stomach churned with a mix of dread and desperation. I didn’t want to be a buzzkill. It’s not like we were actually going to kiss. Steeling myself, I stood up. To hide my terror and not ruin the mood, I threw my shoulders back and marched over, my stride so determined that I could see the reflection of a soldier heading into battle on the glass cabinets. I reached his side, shut my eyes, and blurted it all out in one breath. “Hey, you’re really cute. Wanna make out?” Before he could even answer, I spoke again, my words tumbling out at twice the normal speed. “No? Okay, never mind then.” I spun around to leave. But just then, someone completely wasted stumbled past, bumping hard into my back. I lost my balance. My entire body pitched forward, and I landed, with impeccable, mortifying accuracy, right in the man’s lap. In a panic, I looked up and met a pair of eyes that were both achingly familiar and impossibly handsome. My lipstick brushed against the side of his face, leaving a faint, shimmering red mark. The dim lights swirled around us, casting his gaze in shadow as he looked down at me. We were so close I could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with mine. My heart went into overdrive. It wasn’t until a large, warm hand settled on the small of my back to steady me that reality crashed back in. My heart plummeted into a black hole of despair. My face felt like stone. I was ready to say goodbye to this beautiful world. I screwed up. I screwed up big time. I just hit on my brother’s best friend. 4. Every cell in my body went rigid. The embarrassment was so total, so absolute, I just wanted to cease existing. But Raymond, it seemed, had no intention of letting me play dead. “Ellie,” he asked, his voice a low murmur. “Who exactly were you planning on kissing?” That simple question jolted me back to my senses. I shot up from his lap like a spring, pressing my palms together in a desperate plea. “Raymond, please! It was just a dare, I swear! Don’t tell my brother, okay? Please?” His eyes scanned me, his cool expression unreadable as he considered my request. But his reply had nothing to do with it. “You shouldn’t throw a word like ‘brother’ around so carelessly.” “Got it?” In the dim light of the bar, his deep voice seemed to take on a seductive, mesmerizing quality. The air around me suddenly felt thin. My heart was a chaotic mess. I nodded dumbly, but when I opened my mouth, the same stupid word came out. “But, bro, can you just…” I caught myself halfway through, cutting the word off. He turned his head slightly, extinguishing the half-smoked cigarette between his fingers. I couldn’t see his expression clearly in the shadows, but I heard it. A soft, almost imperceptible laugh. The alcohol must have been starting to really kick in, because my head was spinning faster. “You’ve been drinking,” Raymond stated. It wasn’t a question. Terrified he would report my drunken antics to Ethan, I tried to sound tough. “Just a little. Nothing I can’t handle.” He didn’t seem to get my underlying plea. “Just sit for a minute. Your brother’s on his way over anyway. You can have him take you back to your dorm or go home with him.” “My brother?” Every ounce of dizziness and that strange flutter in my chest vanished instantly. I was starting to think Raymond was threatening me. Blackmailing me. He was going to wait for Ethan to get here and then rat me out. He’d tell him how I behaved when I was drunk. How I’d shamelessly hit on him. My voice trembled. “He can’t know I’m here. I have to go, before he arrives.” I was in such a rush that I slammed my shin hard against the corner of the table. His hand shot out and closed around my wrist. A steady warmth seeped into my skin. “Don’t panic,” he said, his voice low and soothing. But then, a hint of amusement crept into his tone, the sound of someone enjoying the show. “I think you’re a little too late for that, Ellie-gator.” And right on cue, a familiar voice growled from behind me, each word dripping with menace. “Ellie. You’ve got some nerve. How is it that I run into you everywhere I go?” Oh, no. My life is over. Again. And again. And again. 5. I think I’m sick. Ever since that night, I can’t get Raymond out of my head. The ghost of his smirk, the way the light played in his dark eyes, the feeling of my lips brushing against his cheek… it all replays in my mind like an endless loop of pop-up ads. And with those memories comes this strange, electric current that zips through my chest. A wild, terrifying thought surfaced: Am I… developing a thing for my brother’s best friend? The realization sent another wave of horror through me. I was snapped out of my trance by my roommate, Chloe, grabbing my arm, her voice buzzing with excitement. “Ellie! The game’s over!” she squealed. “See that guy in the blue jersey? Number 9? That’s my crush. Isn’t he gorgeous?” She sighed dramatically. “I’m so bummed we missed him playing. I bet he looks amazing on the court.” Today was the Bridgewater University intramural basketball championship. Chloe had scored us passes to get onto campus, put on a full face of makeup, and dragged me along to be her personal cheerleader. But my Calculus professor had scheduled a last-minute review session, making us miss the entire game. By the time we rushed over, it was already ending. Chloe, a lovesick smile on her face, pulled out her phone. She was trying to zoom in on her crush’s face when the frame froze on another figure. She gasped. “Oh my god, it’s Raymond!” Her voice was a whirlwind of teenage angst and awe. All my distracted thoughts immediately evaporated, replaced by a sudden, sharp anxiety. “Wh-what?” Chloe didn’t notice my strange reaction. She excitedly shoved the phone into my hand. On the screen, a guy with perfectly messy hair stood bathed in the afternoon sun. His features were flawless, his tall frame lean and muscular under a white jersey. The golden hour light seemed to set him apart from the world, making him glow. My heart hammered against my ribs. Chloe was still babbling in my ear. “You seriously don’t know who he is? He’s basically a campus legend at Bridgewater. The hottest guy in the grad program. But he’s super aloof. They say the line of girls he’s rejected could circle the track three times. He’s the definition of ‘look but don’t touch’…” “Oh! My crush sees me! I gotta go give him his water! Talk later!” The power of love. This was a girl who acted like she was dying after running a hundred meters in gym class, yet in the blink of an eye, she had vanished into the throng of people on the court. She’d even forgotten her phone. My eyes fell back to the screen. Just as the phone was about to go dark, my finger tapped it awake. I zoomed in on the picture, my thumb swiping unconsciously. His eyes, the kind that seemed full of soul even when looking at a stray dog, filled the entire screen. It was almost like he was looking right at me. And in the next second, those very eyes were right in front of me. “Taking my picture?” I spun around in a panic. My hand jerked, and Chloe’s phone went flying. Time seemed to slow down as it tumbled through the air. I lunged for it. But it landed securely in a hand with long, elegant fingers. And my hand… …had latched onto the strong, steady wrist connected to that hand. His skin was warm beneath my palm. He tilted his head down, his eyelids slightly lowered. For a second, I thought I saw the corner of his mouth twitch into a smile. “Ellie, were you trying to destroy the evidence?” The slight curve of his lips sent my head spinning. “No, that’s not it.” Chloe’s phone was the newest model, top of the line, worth more than my tuition. I was just relieved. “I would never.” The words were out of my mouth before I realized how they sounded. I bit my lip. “I wasn’t taking a picture of you.” “Oh,” he said, his tone perfectly calm. But the amused glimmer in his eyes told me he didn’t believe a word of it. “Well then—” Raymond drew the word out, his expression deceptively pleasant. “—are you planning on letting go of my wrist anytime soon?” Me: !!! Seriously. I’m done. This is the end for me. I snatched the phone back like it was a hostage and bolted, my feet moving faster than they ever had. As I fled, one of Raymond’s friends squeezed out of the crowd, a water bottle in hand. He nudged Raymond, watching my frantic escape with a look of bored familiarity. “Another one bites the dust? Seriously, man, you’re a one-man heartbreak machine.” Raymond’s reply was quiet. “She wasn’t.” His friend laughed. “What, is the world ending? Did hell freeze over?” “Or did the great Raymond finally decide to show off for someone?” From a short distance away, I heard Raymond’s casual, almost lazy response. “You never know.” My frantic footsteps faltered, as if my shoes were suddenly glued to the ground. A firework of hope exploded in my once-dead heart. He didn’t deny it. He! What did that mean!?

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The knock came at 3 AM. A frantic, desperate sound that sliced through the dead of night. It was Liam, the widower next door. He said his kid was burning up and asked if we had any fever medicine. My wife, Jennifer, a doctor whose shifts blurred day into night, had just fallen asleep after a marathon day at the hospital. Without a second thought, she was up and out the door. Half an hour later, she slipped back in. “Poor Liam,” she murmured, shrugging off her coat. “It’s so hard for him, raising a kid alone. The fever’s finally breaking, thank God.” When I didn’t respond, she sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion. “I know you get tense when I’m around other men, but this was life or death. It’s my duty as a doctor.” Normally, I would have nodded, played the understanding husband. But not tonight. My voice was calm, dangerously so. “I want a divorce.” 1 Jennifer’s hands froze mid-motion, her face a mask of fatigue. But she recovered quickly, closing the distance between us and melting into my arms. “A little jealous, are we?” she cooed, her voice a practiced balm. “My mind is completely full with my work and with you. There’s no room for anyone else.” Her tone was sincere, laced with a familiar, weary patience. “You can be mad at me, Noah, but you can’t say things that hurt like that. You know that, right?” She sounded like she was calming a difficult child. There was a time I found that captivating. Tonight, a wave of revulsion washed over me. I pushed her away. “I’m not being difficult.” My voice was flat. “I’m serious. I want a divorce.” Her eyes locked on mine, a retort forming on her lips before dissolving into another sigh. The silence in the living room was suffocating, broken only by the sound of our breathing. Finally, she broke the stillness, taking my hand in hers, her thumb tracing circles on my skin. “Noah, I admit I’ve been distant lately, but it’s just work. I’ve been so busy. And I didn’t forget your birthday, I swear. The gift is already on its way.” She squeezed my hand. “Once this crazy period is over, I’ll take you on that trip we talked about, just the two of us. Okay? You know I was on my feet for almost twenty hours today. Come on, honey. Don’t do this…” Her eyes were bloodshot—partly from exhaustion, partly, I was sure, from the sting of my words. She was making perfect sense. Pushing this any further would make me look like an ungrateful monster. But I pulled my hand away, a bitter sneer twisting my lips. “Jennifer, I said I want a divorce. Are you deaf?” My words hung in the air, sharp and ugly. “Monday morning. Be ready. I’ve already contacted a lawyer.” Before I could finish, a flush of crimson crept up her neck. With a frustrated cry, she threw her coat to the floor. It knocked over a crystal vase on the entryway table, sending it crashing to the tile in a shower of glittering shards. Just like our marriage. The violent sound seemed to jolt her back to reality. Her anger receded, replaced by a flicker of despair. Still, she persisted, her voice softening. “Noah, this isn’t you. Even if you meant it, you’d at least have a reason, wouldn’t you?” Her voice cracked. “It can’t be because I gave Liam the Tylenol, can it? A child’s fever can be fatal. I’m a doctor. I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.” Her words struck a nerve, a raw, exposed thing inside me. My body tensed, and my hands clenched into fists at my sides. “You’re right. That’s exactly why.” My voice was laced with a venom I didn’t know I possessed. “A man and a woman, alone in a room in the middle of the night. The thought of it makes me sick.” I spat the words out, my eyes narrowed with a hatred so potent it was as if I’d seen them in bed together with my own eyes. The shouting had roused the neighbors. And Liam, of course, was among them. He appeared at our open door, looking utterly lost, before dropping to his knees in front of me. “Noah, man, please don’t misunderstand. Did my asking for medicine cause this?” he pleaded, his voice trembling. “There’s nothing going on between me and Jennifer. It was just so late, I couldn’t get a cab, and I knew she was a doctor… I figured you’d have something to bring the fever down…” Two other neighbors crowded around, piecing together the drama. Their judgment was swift and merciless, all of it aimed at me. “Look at him. So handsome on the outside, but what an ugly soul.” “She’s a doctor, for God’s sake! It’s her job to help people. What kind of petty, insecure man gets jealous over that?” “Dr. Anderson married him? What terrible luck. She must have been cursed.” The chorus of condemnation washed over me. I hung my head, a cold, bitter laugh echoing in the silent chambers of my heart. 2 The crowd grew, the noise escalating until someone called building security. People began to disperse. Jennifer grabbed my wrist, her grip like steel, and dragged me back inside. She wasn’t giving up. “Noah, you were just saying that to get a rise out of me, right? It was a joke?” she pressed, her eyes searching mine for a flicker of the man she knew. “I’ve given medicine to neighbors before. You never cared. I don’t believe you’d—” Her voice was becoming a grating buzz in my ears. I cut her off. Not with words, but with my hand. The sharp crack of my palm against her cheek echoed in the sudden silence. “If your brain isn’t working, go get it checked,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “But stop your damn whining in my house.” I turned away. “Monday. Be ready. Don’t make this uglier than it has to be.” Without another glance, I slammed the bedroom door shut. It was the first time I had ever been so completely, utterly cold to her. Even her legendary patience had its limits. I heard a vicious thud as her foot connected with the door. “Noah, this is insane! You have to stop this!” she screamed through the wood. “I am not agreeing to a divorce. Not now, not ever. So don’t even think about it!” The front door slammed shut, the sound rattling the apartment. But inside me, there was only a profound calm. An unprecedented sense of release. Is it finally ending? I didn’t waste any time. I packed a bag with my essentials and got on my laptop, finding a lawyer and initiating the divorce proceedings online. Sleep never came. As dawn broke, the apartment was empty. Jennifer was gone, but on the coffee table sat a bouquet of roses. It was her peace offering. For years, whenever we fought, she’d buy me flowers. That night, she’d cook my favorite meal, and we’d fall back into our rhythm, the argument forgotten. It was our unspoken ritual of reconciliation. But not this time. This time, there was no going back. I picked up the exquisitely wrapped bouquet. There were supposed to be nine roses, but I counted only eight. I knew exactly where the ninth one had gone. After tossing them in the trash, I headed for the door, only to trip on something lumpy under the rug. I bent down and picked it up. It was a new, unreleased Rolex. A buddy of mine who worked at a high-end boutique had told me about this model just last week. I hadn’t worn a watch in years. My job didn’t allow for it. But I remembered something. Liam loved watches. … My phone buzzed, shattering the quiet. It was one of Jennifer’s colleagues from the hospital. “Noah, you need to get down to the hospital, now,” she said, her voice strained with panic. “Jennifer… she’s had a severe allergic reaction to something. We need a family member to sign off on the procedure.” Her parents lived hours away. There was no time. I drove, my hands steady on the wheel. When I arrived, the scene was chaotic. Her friends and colleagues surrounded me, their faces a mixture of fear and anger. In front of them all, I laid out my terms. “I’ll sign,” I said, my voice clear and steady. “As soon as she signs the divorce papers.” The room erupted. A close friend of ours lunged at me, his face contorted with rage. “You son of a bitch! Have you lost your mind?” “She was only testing that new drug so she could get a few extra days off to spend with you!” another colleague yelled. “And this is how you repay her? Demanding a divorce while she’s lying in a hospital bed? Are you even human?” “We heard what happened last night,” someone else added, her voice dripping with contempt. “She did the right thing. That child could have died. How could you be so cruel?” From the hospital bed, Jennifer looked at me, her eyes wide with a despair that should have broken my heart. “Noah… please,” she whispered, her voice raspy. “I don’t want a divorce. I’ll be better. I’ll pay more attention to you. Please, just… stop this.” She reached a trembling hand toward me, tears tracing paths down her pale cheeks. It was a picture of pure, heart-wrenching devotion. Anyone else would have melted. I remained perfectly still, my expression unreadable. “Sign the divorce papers and the asset division agreement,” I repeated, my voice like ice, “and I’ll sign the surgical consent form.” The room exploded in a fresh wave of fury. “You’re a monster! All you care about is the money!” “I can’t believe this. They should be saving you, you bastard!” Through the storm of insults, another sound reached my ears. A small, almost imperceptible noise from the other side of the room. Ignoring the chaos around me, I strode forward, every eye in the room following my path. With one swift, decisive motion, I ripped back the privacy curtain separating the beds. 3 Liam froze, caught completely off guard. He fumbled with a cup of water, sending it spilling across the bedside table. He scrambled for an excuse, his eyes darting between me and the crowd. “Noah, don’t get the wrong idea,” he stammered. “After the fever broke last night, I was still worried, so I brought him back to the hospital for a check-up.” He gestured vaguely around the room. “The ER is swamped, you know? They’re doubling up patients, just putting dividers between the beds. I had no idea we’d be in the same room as Jennifer.” He looked at me, his face a mask of earnest concern. “I know you don’t like me. I’ll have a nurse move us as soon as he wakes up. I don’t want to cause any more trouble for you two.” He was playing his part perfectly. On the other bed, his young son was sleeping, cheeks flushed. Liam looked like a terrified, devoted father, trying to placate a madman. Before I could say a word, Jennifer spoke up, her voice ringing with false magnanimity. “Liam, don’t be ridiculous. The boy is sick. You don’t need to move. If your conscience is clear, there’s nothing to fear. We have nothing to hide.” Suddenly, the whole charade felt pathetic. The torrent of words I had prepared died in my throat. A cold, mirthless smile touched my lips. “You’re right,” I said, my voice dripping with scorn. “There’s nothing to hide.” I turned my gaze back to her, letting the full weight of my disgust show. “I just find you filthy. And I want a divorce.” The color drained from Jennifer’s face. She stared at me, her expression crumbling from disbelief to horror. “Noah, how long are you going to keep this up over one stupid incident?” she pleaded, her voice rising. “All I did was give a sick child a box of Tylenol!” She was truly furious now, her control snapping. “Just because you can’t have children of your own, does that mean you have to hate everyone else’s?” The words hit the air like a physical blow. A collective gasp went through the room. One of her friends, who knew our history, grabbed her arm. “Jennifer, that’s too far! What are you saying?” She finally seemed to realize what she’d done. Her eyes widened, and she looked at my hands, which were now trembling uncontrollably. Regret flooded her face. “Noah… I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up…” Five years ago, a simple mistake during surgery cost Jennifer a premature infant’s life. The grieving father, mad with pain, stormed the hospital with a knife. I was there, bringing her lunch. In the chaos, as he lunged, she yanked me in front of her. A shield. The fifty-centimeter blade tore through my abdomen. It severed more than just flesh and muscle. It took from me the possibility of ever having a child of my own. After that, Jennifer had knelt by my hospital bed for days, slapping her own face until it was bruised, her voice raw from screaming apologies. “It’s all my fault, Noah, I’m a monster, how could I…” she’d wept. “I swear, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. We don’t need children. I only need you.” Looking at her now, it was all a bitter joke. My silence terrified her. Ripping the IV from her arm, she stumbled out of bed and collapsed at my feet, her body shaking. “Noah… I was just angry, I didn’t mean it…” she sobbed, grabbing at my pants. “Please, don’t divorce me. I can’t imagine my life without you. There would be no point.” For a fleeting second, the scene felt identical to the one five years ago. The only thing that had changed was me. My face was a mask of ice. I kicked her, hard, in the chest. “Get off me.” My voice was low and menacing. “And don’t you ever call me that again. It makes my skin crawl.” “Sign the papers, or don’t. I don’t care. There are a thousand ways I can ruin your life. Go on. Test me.” With that, I turned and walked out of the room, leaving a stunned silence in my wake. Halfway down the hall, I stripped off the jacket she had touched and threw it in a biohazard bin. As I exited the hospital, a voice called my name. “Noah!” I turned. It was Leo, a new friend from my building.

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“Marrying a man with a kid is one step up from dating an ex-con, you know that right?” My best friend, Jenna, was practically screaming, shaking my arm so hard the ice rattled in my drink. I just kept smiling, chewing on my straw like an idiot. “It’s fine,” I’d said, full of a hope that felt foolish now. “A kid will make the house feel more alive.” Back then, I truly believed marriage was an island for two. As long as Leo loved me, nothing else mattered. That belief shattered the night his daughter got sick and his drunk ex-wife showed up, her hand cracking across my cheek twice before I could even register the intrusion. “Leo, is this what you promised me?” she shrieked. “Is this how you ‘wouldn’t let Maddie suffer’? It’s only been a few years and you’ve already found her a wicked stepmother!” The sting on my face brought me back to reality. A hot flash of anger surged through me and I raised my hand to retaliate, but Leo caught my wrist. “Don’t,” he said, his voice low and firm. “Not in front of Maddie. She’ll never forgive you for hitting her mom. Let me handle this.” He moved with a familiar, practiced ease, grabbing Sasha’s coat from the floor, fetching a bottle of water from the fridge, and steering her toward the door. In that moment, I realized Jenna’s warning might not have been an exaggeration after all. Thank God it wasn’t too late. I scrolled through my contacts and pressed a number with no name attached. “Are you still coming home for Thanksgiving? And if so… are you free to go on a date?”

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1 They killed me for stealing bread for my brother, Gerry. Then we both were reborn. Last life, we were orphans with only each other. I took any cash job, scavenged dumpsters, all to get him one hot meal. I thought we meant everything to each other. Until I lay dying and a luxury car pulled up. Our “parents” stepped out, glancing at my broken body with disdain. “In extreme conditions,” my mother said coldly, “you see the difference between noble and vile. Gerry is stronger that way.” Gerry was pure and noble. I was vile, doing anything to survive. I opened my eyes back in that alley, the baker pinning me to the wall, a stale half-loaf in my hand. Gerry stood at the alley’s end, flanked by the same rich parents. Reborn too. His eyes held cold contempt. “Willow,” he spat, “you’re filthy.” “Mom says your kind belongs in the mud. Stay out of my life—don’t contaminate it.” But Gerry, I wasn’t born a thief. … A sharp kick to my shin sent a spike of agony up my leg. The baker loomed over me, his mouth open to unleash a torrent of abuse. Ignoring the throbbing pain, I shouted, my voice clear and steady. “I’m not a thief! I’ll pay for it!” The baker and Gerry both froze, their expressions a mixture of shock and confusion. Slowly, I reached into my tattered pocket and pulled out a few coins. I spread them on my palm, carefully counting them under their stunned gaze. A penny, a dime, another nickel… Gerry used to collect cans and bottles for these coins. He gave them to me, saying we’d save up to buy me a pair of shoes that actually fit. I’d treasured them, refusing to spend a single one. I looked up, letting the tears I couldn’t stop fall freely down my cheeks, and held my hand out to the baker. “I’m sorry I took your bread,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “This is all the money I have. Please, take it as payment.” The alley fell silent. The baker stared at the small pile of change in my hand, speechless. He’d probably never seen a thief try to apologize, let alone pay. A delicate, derisive snort came from the end of the alley. It was Miranda, my so-called mother. “What a pathetic little show. You can’t change what’s in your bones.” Gerry said nothing, but the tight line of his jaw told me everything. He must have wanted me to scream, to beg, to make a scene like I did last time—a perfect, ugly backdrop to his own quiet dignity. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I pressed the coins into the baker’s hand and turned my back on him. In our last life, to make sure my fifteen-year-old brother never went hungry, I’d worked grueling, off-the-books jobs. I’d hauled heavy crates before sunrise, the weight crushing my small frame until I could barely breathe. I could endure the physical pain, but the humiliation, the constant looks of disgust from others because I had no money—that was a wound that never healed. Once, when a crate of rice went missing from a warehouse, the foreman’s wife instantly accused me. She screamed at me in front of everyone. I swallowed my pride and my tears, because I knew I had to keep that job to feed Gerry. This time, I was done swallowing anything. I looked at Gerry one last time. My gaze traveled past his expensive clothes, his perfectly handsome face, and settled on the cold, selfish void where his soul should have been. As I died for him in our past life, my last thought was a prayer that we wouldn’t be brother and sister in the next. It was just too hard. Now I understood. The hardship was mine alone. For him, I felt nothing. No love, no reliance, no lingering affection. Only a vast, empty space where it used to be. I turned away and limped toward a different alley, one that was deeper and darker. It led to the place we once called home, and to the separate worlds we now inhabited. Behind me, Gerry’s voice rang out, laced with confusion and anger. “Willow! Stop right there!” “Don’t think this little act changes the stench that clings to you. You and I will never be the same.” He paused, his tone shifting to one of magnanimous pity. “If you behave, I might even ask Mom to take you in, too.” I didn’t turn back. I heard Miranda’s sharp voice cut through the air. “Gerry, darling, a little thief like that has no place in the Ashworth family. Leave her be. She’s just a stray dog. How could she ever compare to you?” A stray dog who kept him alive for fifteen years. I knew this dark, winding alley by heart. I’d walked it a thousand times. I remembered once, I’d managed to buy him two hot meat pies. It was so dark I tripped and fell, but I shielded the pies with my body. My arm was scraped raw, leaving a scar that’s still there today. Gerry had cried, calling me an idiot, and promised that one day he’d install lights all along my path home so I’d never fall again. But the lights were never meant for me. I arrived back at our familiar shelter under the bridge. The air was thick with the smell of the stagnant river and rotting garbage. This was the home Gerry and I had shared for fifteen years. In a corner sat a one-eyed teddy bear. I’d pulled it from a dumpster for his eighth birthday, washed it a dozen times, and carefully stitched its torn seams myself. I grabbed the bear, walked to the edge of the bridge, and without a moment’s hesitation, hurled it into the murky water below. Goodbye, Gerry. Goodbye to the fool I used to be. The gash on my leg burned. I dragged myself to a scrapyard and sold everything we owned. With the meager earnings, I bought a bottle of cheap antiseptic and some bandages from a corner store, along with two of the hardest bread rolls they had. Back under the bridge, I bit down on my sleeve and poured filthy river water over my wound to clean it, then followed with the antiseptic. The pain was a blinding, white-hot flash. My body shook uncontrollably, sweat soaking my back, but I clenched my jaw and refused to cry. Once the wound had scabbed over, I started looking for work. For days, I was met with nothing but slammed doors, suspicious glares, and harsh dismissals. Then, passing a small diner, a familiar name on the TV inside caught my eye. The headline blared across the screen: “BILLIONAIRE CEO RICHARD ASHWORTH HOSTS LAVISH GALA TO WELCOME SON, GERRY ASHWORTH, HOME FROM CHARACTER-BUILDING EXCURSION.” There he was, dressed in a tailored suit, looking every bit the refined, aristocratic heir. And here I was, still in rags. We were finally what the world always intended us to be: parallel lines, never to cross again. Just as I was about to collapse from hunger, I found a job at a greasy spoon diner in a rough part of the warehouse district. The owner, a tough-looking woman named Clara, gave me a long look, taking in my ragged clothes, my pale face, and the poorly-tended wound on my leg. “You know how to wash dishes?” she asked, her voice gruff. “Yes!” I nodded frantically. “Thirty bucks a day, plus one meal. You in?” “Yes! I’m in!” I finally had a job. I was a dishwasher. The diner was always busy, and the greasy plates piled up like mountains. Clara was one of those people who hid a kind heart behind a stern face. Seeing how hard I worked, she started packing up some leftovers for me at the end of my shift. “Here,” she’d grumble, pushing a small bag into my hands. “You’re skinny as a stray cat.” “Thank you, Clara.” It was the first kindness I’d received since my new life began. My relentless work ethic didn’t go unnoticed. In less than two weeks, I was promoted from the back-kitchen dishwasher to a server’s assistant, allowed to bring food out to the customers in the main dining area. The staff meals were simple, usually made from leftover ingredients that couldn’t be sold. But even these scraps were a feast compared to what Gerry and I used to eat. I started experimenting, combining the unwanted vegetable ends and meat trimmings with the simplest of seasonings. The meals I created were surprisingly delicious. “Willow, you’ve got a gift! This is way better than what my wife makes!” one of the cooks exclaimed. “Seriously, kid, that flavor is unreal! You’re wasting your talent back here!” Their praise was a balm, slowly rebuilding the confidence that had been stripped from me. One day, Clara took a phone call and her face went white as a sheet. Her son had gotten into a fight at school and badly injured another boy. She needed a lot of money, fast, to cover the medical bills and settlements. But business at the diner had been slow lately. I found her crying silently in a corner. I walked over. “Clara,” I said softly. “Let me try.” “Try what?” she asked, her eyes red and swollen. “Let me try cooking. A new menu item.” “You?” She looked at me, her expression full of doubt. I didn’t waste time with words. I walked straight into the kitchen. In my past life, to make something out of nothing, I learned to turn scavenged day-old rice, cheap soy sauce, and nearly expired eggs into a dish I called “Golden Fried Rice.” There was no complex technique, just the muscle memory of making it hundreds of times because it was Gerry’s favorite. It was our special occasion meal. Whenever he was sad, I’d find a way to get my hands on an egg and make him a bowl. I used to love hearing him say, “Willow’s fried rice is the best in the world! I could eat it forever!” Thinking about it now felt like a bitter joke. I used my own money to buy fresh ingredients and the right kind of soy sauce. The moment the rice hit the hot wok, a rich, savory aroma of soy and egg filled the entire diner, even drifting out onto the street. “What is that amazing smell?” Everyone in the diner turned, drawn by the scent. I scooped a bowl and brought it to Clara. “Clara, try this.” Hesitantly, she took a bite. Her eyes widened. The rice was perfectly cooked, each grain separate and coated in a golden sheen of egg and caramelized soy sauce. It was simple, yet so delicious it could make you cry. “Clara,” I said, pressing my advantage. “Let’s launch a five-dollar ‘Community Bowl’.” “We’ll sell it to the construction crews and laborers around here. They need something cheap, filling, and delicious.” Clara looked at me, a flicker of hope igniting in her eyes. “Okay,” she said, her voice firming. “Let’s give it a shot.” The “Golden Fried Rice” was an instant sensation. Five dollars for a huge bowl, served with a free cup of soup. For the first time, a line formed outside the diner, stretching down the block. The fried rice brought people in, and they ended up buying other things too. Clara solved her financial problem, and I saved up my first bit of “seed money.” The next time I saw Gerry, I was a whirlwind of motion, wielding a spatula in front of a roaring stove, sweat dripping down my face. My cheek was smudged with grease, my hair was plastered to my forehead, and I was a mess. His face darkened the moment he saw me. He stood there in his pristine school uniform, looking down his nose at me. “Willow, can’t you find a decent job? Stop embarrassing me in public.” I ignored him, flipping the rice in the wok. “I’ll give you money,” he said, his voice tight with irritation. “Just quit this job.” I continued to ignore him. He was losing his patience, but my focus was on the line of customers behind him. “Next!” I called out, my voice ringing clear and loud. “You want an egg in that?” I had completely, utterly dismissed his presence. Gerry froze. The eyes of everyone in line were on him—a mix of curiosity, amusement, and confusion. A wave of humiliation, hotter than any stove flame, washed over him. “You don’t know what’s good for you,” he hissed, turning to leave. I didn’t care. Not knowing what was “good for me” was putting food in my stomach, and I didn’t have to beg him for it. Before he left, he stopped and looked back, his eyes glinting with malice. “Willow,” he said, his voice low and threatening, “I will make you regret not listening to me.” A cold knot tightened in my stomach. I shook it off, my arm aching from the repetitive motion of the wok. Life didn’t stop for his threats. My fried rice became famous in the district. With the money I saved, I rented a small storefront in the same neighborhood and hung up a sign: “Willow’s Corner.” I dedicated my little eatery to serving the local laborers—the cheapest, most delicious, and most filling meals they could find. It quickly became their go-to spot, a comfort after a long day’s work. They called me “Boss Willow,” their faces breaking into warm, genuine smiles whenever they saw me. But some people can’t stand to see others succeed. A few days later, a group of men who had just eaten at my restaurant suddenly started clutching their stomachs, foaming at the mouth, and collapsing. They were rushed to the hospital. “Mass Food Poisoning!” Health department officials arrived within the hour, slapping a closure notice on my door without asking a single question. The media descended like vultures. “POISON KITCHEN! OWNER’S GREED PUTS LIVES AT RISK!” Vicious headlines spread across the city. The same workers who had smiled at me just yesterday now stood outside my shuttered shop, their faces contorted with rage. They were the victims’ families. They surrounded me, screaming the foulest words imaginable. “You money-grubbing witch! Give me back my husband!” “Murderer! Give us our money back!” Rotten vegetables and eggs rained down on me. I stood there, unable to defend myself, my mind reeling. I couldn’t believe it. I had hand-picked every vegetable, washed every grain of rice myself. It couldn’t be my food. Just as the shoving crowd was about to knock me off my feet, a path suddenly cleared. Gerry had arrived. He was in his crisp school uniform, Miranda at his side. Behind them was a pack of reporters, cameras flashing. One reporter recognized him and shoved a microphone in his face. “Mr. Ashworth! We understand you’re the brother of the owner of this… establishment. Do you have any comment on this tragic incident?” I looked at Gerry. A tiny, ridiculous spark of hope flickered within me. I didn’t expect him to help me. I just prayed, for the sake of the fifteen years we’d shared, that he wouldn’t kick me when I was down. Gerry met my gaze, then turned to the cameras. His voice was cold, clear, and carried across the chaos. “I am ashamed of her,” he declared. “She will do anything for money. This isn’t the first time she’s done something like this.” “I tried to warn her,” he continued, a note of sorrowful resignation in his voice. “I told her to walk a righteous path, but she wouldn’t listen.” He paused for dramatic effect. “As of today, I have no relationship with her whatsoever.” His words were the spark that ignited the powder keg. His words were the final straw that broke me. An enraged man grabbed a nearby trash can, full of rancid, slimy rainwater and garbage, and dumped it over my head. Slimy, stinking liquid ran through my hair, down my face, drenching me from head to toe. I just stood there, motionless. I smelled the stench on my own body and looked at Gerry’s handsome, clean face. A laugh escaped my lips. A broken, hollow sound. And then the tears came, hot and unstoppable. The most important thing I had wasn’t this little restaurant, or my reputation. It was that last, pathetic shred of trust. And now, Gerry—the brother I once would have died for—had utterly destroyed it. A twisted, triumphant smile spread across his face as he watched me in my miserable state. Pinching his nose with one hand and waving away the foul air with the other, he stepped toward me, his eyes gleaming with the same look one might give a piece of roadkill. “Sis—oh, sorry. Ma’am,” he began, his voice dripping with condescending pity. “You can’t live without a conscience. It’s clear this restaurant of yours is finished.” “But,” he continued, as if bestowing a great mercy, “I can’t bear to see even a stray dog starve on the street. I’ll offer you a way out. Come work for our family as a maid. You can clean my toilet every day. See? I’m being good to you, aren’t I?” He was offering me scraps from his throne. I couldn’t understand. He was already living a life of unimaginable privilege. Why did he need to grind me into the dust? “Why?” my voice trembled. “Why are you doing this to me?” I was just trying to live, just trying to survive. Why couldn’t he just let me be? He faltered for a second, the raw emotion on his young, unseasoned face betraying him. His eyes were filled with a shocking, deep-seated hatred. “If it wasn’t for you,” he snarled, “do you think I would have spent fifteen years of my life digging through trash?” “You owe me. This is your penance. You have to atone for your past!” All the memories of our life together, every sacrifice I’d made, flashed through my mind. All my love had somehow twisted into fuel for his hatred. I said nothing, just stared at him, my eyes burning. “I regret ever taking care of you!” I finally screamed. The words struck him like a physical blow. In a blind rage, he grabbed a nearby folding table and swung it at me. There was a sickening crack, and the world went dark. When I came to, my cheek was pressed against the filthy pavement. He had one foot planted firmly on my face. “If you don’t come with me,” he said, his voice a low, terrifying growl, “I’ll make sure you go to prison.”

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On my wedding day, my fiancée—who had been missing for over a month—crashed the ceremony on the arm of my gardener’s son to demand I call the whole thing off. I had to hide a smile. My bride isn’t even you, so how can you call it off? She was still completely in the dark, clueless that she wasn’t the real Hamilton heiress at all. My intended bride had already been quietly switched to the family’s true-born daughter, Nancy, who had only recently returned to the fold. 1 It was the day of my wedding. The church was packed, the air buzzing with excitement. Suddenly, the grand doors burst open. Standing in the doorway was my fiancée of two weeks ago, Ava Hamilton, who had vanished without a trace. She was clinging to the arm of Aaron, my gardener’s son, who was, inexplicably, also wearing a tuxedo. A hush fell over the entire congregation. Every head turned to stare at the intruders. Ava’s expression was one of grim determination, like a martyr marching to her execution. She raised her voice, addressing the stunned guests. “Everyone, Aaron and I are in love. I cannot go through with this wedding to Bob.” Her gaze then locked onto mine. “Bob, I’m so sorry,” she declared. “My heart belongs to Aaron. Please, agree to break our engagement and let him be the groom today.” Aaron, for his part, adopted the look of a tragic hero fighting against a cruel world. “Mr. Sinclair, please don’t blame Ava,” he pleaded. “If you must blame someone, blame me.” Ava squared her shoulders. “Love isn’t a crime. We’ve done nothing wrong.” I couldn’t help but laugh, cutting them off. “Are you two done with your little performance? My bride was never you to begin with, so how can you call this off?” Ava froze. “What does that mean?” Nancy glided to my side, her elegance effortless. “What Bob means,” she said, her voice calm and cool, “is that this is our wedding. All irrelevant parties should leave immediately.” “And who are you?” Ava stammered. I wrapped an arm around Nancy’s shoulders. “She is my bride. The real Hamilton heiress. You can stop being the center of attention now.” Aaron’s voice, soft and wounded, piped up. “What Hamilton heiress? Isn’t Ava the only daughter of the Hamilton family?” Ava looked to Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton for confirmation. “Dad? Mom?” Mrs. Hamilton waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, dear, did we forget to tell you? You’re not our biological daughter. There was a mix-up at the hospital all those years ago.” Mr. Hamilton’s face was a mask of annoyance. “The two of you need to leave now. Don’t ruin Bob and Nancy’s big day.” It was true. Just two weeks ago, Ava had been my fiancée. And it was just two weeks ago that the Hamiltons made the shocking discovery that Ava wasn’t theirs—that they had been raising another family’s child all this time. At the time of the discovery, Ava was off shacked up with Aaron, having completely ghosted everyone. Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton, already at their wits’ end with her behavior, decided to let their wayward, fake daughter fend for herself. And just like that, my betrothed was quietly switched. To their real daughter, Nancy, who had returned to the Hamilton family. She had kept her original surname because it was her mother’s maiden name. As the heir to the Sinclair Corporation, my marriage to the Hamilton family was a long-standing agreement. Marrying a counterfeit heiress was, of course, out of the question. We had all assumed Ava would stay hidden until the wedding was over. 2 But here she was, showing up on my wedding day with the audacity to think she was still the Hamilton heiress, the bride of the day. She even planned to have Aaron, dressed in a cheap tux, replace me at the altar. It was utterly absurd. Ava was so stunned she seemed to have gone deaf to the world around her. She looked around in a daze, her eyes finally landing on the welcome board at the entrance. It featured a photo of Nancy and me. We looked like a perfect pair, a match made in heaven. There was no trace of Ava anywhere. “What a shameless couple. Crashing a wedding after it’s already started.” “And look at that guy, all dressed up like he thinks he’s going to marry into money. What a joke.” The whispers of the guests grew into a low murmur. Aaron clutched the hem of his jacket, his head bowed. His face was ashen, as if he’d swallowed poison. Nancy shot them a single, cold glance and signaled the security guards. “Please escort these two uninvited guests out.” This was the most important day of my life. My stage. I wouldn’t let anyone else ruin it. Head held high, I proceeded with the ceremony. At the altar, Nancy and I exchanged rings. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ava and Aaron whispering furiously in the distance. A smirk touched my lips. A wave of relief washed over me. I had finally gotten the right fiancée. Though Nancy and I had been fierce rivals on the university debate circuit, I had to admit she outshone Ava in every conceivable way—poise, intelligence, and ambition. To have cast aside an incompetent fiancée who was cheating with a conniving flirt, only to marry a brilliant and stunning woman of true class… How lucky could I be? But then I saw it. The way Aaron looked at Nancy. There was something unnervingly familiar in his eyes. That look, brimming with a hunger and ambition that threatened to spill over. I remembered when his father, our head gardener Mr. Evans, first brought him to our house. He had put on an act of being obedient and sweet, sticking to my side like glue, desperate to be my best friend. I hadn’t minded having another friend around, so I let him come and go as he pleased. Ava lived next door and was always over at my house. Somehow, Aaron got to know her. He was always fawning over her, calling her name, and she absolutely lapped it up. He knew she was a terrible student, but he’d still bring his homework over when she was around, feigning confusion. “Ava, I don’t quite get this problem. Could you help me?” Then, when we were sixteen. Aaron took advantage of me being out of the house. He sweet-talked Mr. Evans into giving him the key to my room, snuck into my walk-in closet, and started trying on my clothes. I had forgotten something and came back early, catching him in the act. He immediately burst into tears. “I’m so sorry, Bob! We’re so poor, I’ve only ever worn my cousin’s hand-me-downs. I’ve never even touched clothes this nice. I just lost my head for a moment.” 3 “Cut the crocodile tears. Does being poor give you the right to do whatever you want? Does being sheltered give you a free pass to steal other people’s things?” I inspected the clothes he had worn. Every piece reeked of the cloying scent of cheap cologne. One shirt even had a suspicious, disgusting yellow stain on it. I have never been a particularly forgiving person. “This clearly isn’t the first time you’ve done this. Now, you and your father can get out of my house. And you will pay me back for every single piece of clothing you’ve ruined.” Ava, hearing this, flew into a rage and stood protectively in front of Aaron. “Bob, that’s too far! Look at him, you’ve scared him so much he can’t even speak.” I found the whole situation ridiculous. “He’s crying because he got caught, not because he’s sorry. Do a few tears absolve him of his crime? Does it give him the right to wear my clothes and leave them in a mess?” “It’s my fault,” Aaron sobbed. “I was foolish to think you saw me as a brother.” “Don’t be afraid,” Ava soothed him, then turned to me, her brow furrowed. “You rich boys are all the same, looking down on everyone. Not everyone is born with a silver spoon in their mouth. Aaron is already so pitiful, what’s the big deal if he tried on one of your shirts?” The look of disdain and confusion she gave me that day is still burned into my memory. It was as if I was the tyrannical villain in their little drama. Pathetic. Mr. Evans begged for my forgiveness and gave Aaron a harsh scolding. My father, out of respect for our long history, let the matter of compensation drop. When Mrs. Hamilton heard about it, she was disgusted by Aaron’s actions and warned Ava to stay away from him. But I saw them together on campus, closer than ever, multiple times. Before that incident, I had always seen Ava as the girl next door, my childhood friend. I even had a bit of a crush on her. After that, I wanted nothing to do with her. Even if she had been willing to go through with our marriage, I would have been a runaway groom. Fortunately for me, I didn’t have to be. Thanks to Aaron and his expert manipulation of that useless heiress. The wedding ended, and the guests began to disperse. Nancy held out her hand to me, the diamond on her finger sparkling. “It’s time to go, Mr. Sinclair.” I took her hand. Once upon a time, we were rivals on the debate stage, representing our different universities. She beat me every single time. I used to despise her so much I’d argue with her in my dreams. Who would have thought we’d end up married? Life is truly unpredictable. My new in-laws were beaming behind us. “Mom, wait! What about my wedding with Aaron?” Ava cried, rushing after them. Mrs. Hamilton looked at her as if just remembering she existed. 4 “Oh, just do whatever you want. It has nothing to do with us anymore,” Mr. Hamilton said, waving her away with contempt. Tears welled in Aaron’s eyes. “Thank you, sir, for your blessing,” he choked out. Ava let out a sigh of relief. “Don’t call him sir,” she said brightly. “You’re going to be my husband. You should start calling him Dad, Aaron.” Aaron started to speak. “Hold on,” Mr. Hamilton cut in, his smile vanishing. “I wouldn’t be so quick to accept that honor. Ava is no longer part of this family, so whatever the two of you do is your own business. Don’t go claiming relatives you don’t have.” He then turned, took my hand, and looked at me meaningfully. “Besides, Bob is the only son-in-law I have. Don’t get any ideas.” Aaron’s face soured, as if he’d just swallowed a fly. Ava shielded Aaron, glaring at my father-in-law with defiance. “Since you’ve found your real daughter, the least you can do is tell me where my birth parents are.” “Don’t worry,” Mr. Hamilton said coolly. “They’ll be here shortly.” Hope flickered in Ava and Aaron’s eyes. Aaron squeezed Ava’s hand, his face alight with excitement. “See, Ava? I’ll be right here with you until they arrive.” How pathetic. He was clearly convinced her real parents were some other wealthy, powerful family. He looked like a giddy fool. Nancy turned to me. “Mr. Sinclair, are we staying for the rest of this farce, or shall we go home?” “Let’s wait a little longer. The best part is yet to come.” Just then, two vehicles pulled up. One was a sleek, black Rolls-Royce. The other was a battered, rusty van. “They’re here!” Ava cried, pulling Aaron toward the Rolls-Royce. The chauffeur, who was actually our family’s head of staff, got out. She walked right past them without a second glance and came directly to my parents. “Sir, Madam, the car is ready.” She treated them like they were invisible. I almost felt embarrassed for them. My father-in-law pointed to the van. “Ava, your parents are over there.” A middle-aged couple, dressed in worn, simple clothes, got out of the van. They were weathered and stooped. A skinny little girl, who bore a striking resemblance to Ava, followed them. The three of them rushed toward Ava and Aaron. “My darling daughter! Mom and Dad have missed you so much!” They threw their arms around Ava, sobbing dramatically. “You must have missed us too! Why didn’t we find out about the switch sooner?” 5 Ava stood frozen in their embrace, as stiff as a board. Aaron asked in disbelief, “Excuse me, are you really Ava’s birth parents?” Ava’s mother grabbed Aaron’s hand excitedly. “Yes, young man! You must be my daughter’s boyfriend.” Aaron forced a smile. “Yes, ma’am.” She then shoved a blue cloth bag into his arms. “What’s this?” he asked. “Fresh vegetables from our garden. A little welcoming gift for you.” “What? Vegetables?” Aaron looked bewildered. “Oh, no, you don’t have to, ma’am.” “Just take them. We’re all family now. I know you city folk can’t get produce this fresh, so I brought some just for you.” The scene should have been touching. Instead, it was just comical. I glanced at Nancy and saw a frosty expression on her face. She clearly had no memory of these people. Sensing my gaze, her expression softened instantly, a small smile playing on her lips. “Seen enough? It’s time to go.” “You’re right. This kind of drama gets old fast.” Mr. Hamilton said to Ava, “Go with your parents. We’ve packed up all your things and will have them sent over in a few days. That’s all.” Her mother was still chattering away at Aaron. “So, when are you two planning to get married? I can start arranging things as soon as we get back.” “We haven’t decided yet,” Aaron said, his brow furrowed. “By the way, where do you live?” “Back home in the country, of course.” Aaron’s voice cracked. “The country?” Nancy and I went to our new home. The day’s events had put me in a fantastic mood. I was humming as I walked into the bedroom. The modern, minimalist room was filled with a festive atmosphere. I heard the door click shut behind me. Nancy was taking off her jacket, revealing a form-fitting evening gown that perfectly accentuated her figure. “Tired?” “Not at all. Actually, I’m pretty excited.” She let out a soft laugh, her slender fingers toying with an earring. “Oh, really? I’m quite excited, too.” There was something incredibly alluring about the way she looked at me. I swallowed hard. I had a feeling we weren’t talking about the same thing. This being my first marriage, I was at a bit of a loss. I scrambled for something to talk about. Suddenly, an arm wrapped around my waist from behind. Nancy was hugging me. “Bob, you’ve given enough of your attention to irrelevant people today. Don’t you think it’s my turn?” Her warm breath tickled my ear, and my heart hammered in my chest. I was about to speak, but her soft lips silenced me. 6 Our lips met in a long, lingering kiss. She whispered against my mouth. “Care for something a little more… exciting?” “Sure,” I said, trying to act cool. I went to the closet for my pajamas, but ran right into Nancy at the bathroom door. It was a little awkward. “You can go first.” Before I could finish, she grabbed my wrist. The bathroom door clicked shut, and her lips were on mine again. She looked up at me. “Bob. From this day forward, we are husband and wife.” I could still vividly picture her on the debate stage. Sharp, eloquent, and exuding an air of cool, untouchable elegance. Had that all been an act, or had she truly changed? That question was soon drowned out by a night of passionate lovemaking. The next day. Nancy was dressed and ready for work while I was still dead to the world. We’d been up until the small hours of the morning, and my eyes felt glued shut. “Honey, I’m off to the office.” I mumbled a response and vaguely felt her press a kiss to my forehead. I slept until noon. When I woke up, the first thing I saw was a news report about Ava’s family reunion. Ava’s expression was as stiff as a plank of wood. But the reporter was narrating, “From Miss Hamilton’s emotional expression, we can feel how deeply she is moved by this journey to find her roots.” What a joke. The spoiled princess had probably never set foot in such a humble place in her life. She was likely still in shock. Her birth parents’ home was a rundown, two-story house in the countryside, surrounded by squat, one-story buildings. Chickens clucked and scratched in the yard. Ava, in her expensive designer clothes, looked ridiculously out of place. She scowled at the camera. “Stop filming.” Her father chimed in, “Don’t be silly, girl. Being on TV can make you money.” The camera panned to Aaron, who was standing beside them. The smile on his face was more painful than a grimace. Ava’s mother grabbed his hand. “This is my daughter’s boyfriend! Isn’t he handsome? And he doesn’t even mind that we’re poor. Such a good boy.” Ava immediately jumped in. “Aaron doesn’t care about material things. But I am more than capable of giving him the best life. I won’t let him suffer for a second.” At this, Aaron’s expression relaxed slightly. “I love Ava for who she is, not for her family background.” The narrator’s voice came on, describing Ava as “a successful young woman” and Aaron as “a rare, pure-hearted young man in this materialistic world.” Hearing this, both my father-in-law, who was watching with me, and I burst out laughing. Ava’s luxury cars, mansion, and credit cards all belonged to the Hamiltons. 7 She still thought she was the heiress born with a silver spoon in her mouth. She had no idea that my in-laws had already reclaimed the properties, vehicles, and bank cards in her name, as well as the subsidiary company she had been “managing.” The only thing left was the Porsche she was currently driving, which they hadn’t gotten around to repossessing yet. My father-in-law looked relieved. “Thank God she’s not our real daughter. Otherwise, I’d have to disown her myself. All those years of investment and effort, and this is what we get? A spoiled brat who only knows how to waste money.” After my wedding to Nancy, the Hamiltons gifted us a luxurious villa in the city center. It was in a quiet, yet convenient location. As Nancy and I pulled up to the gate, we saw two familiar figures standing there. It was none other than the self-important Ava and her little boyfriend. I got out of the car, and Nancy and I walked over. “Can we help you?” Aaron hid behind Ava, looking like a frightened rabbit. Seeing this, Ava’s protective instincts flared. “This villa was a gift from my mother. What are you two doing here?” Just then, the villa’s butler came out to greet us. “Sir, Miss, welcome home.” Before I could say anything, Ava tried to push past him, pulling Aaron along. The butler immediately blocked their path. “Miss, please do not enter a private residence uninvited.” “Lee, have you lost your mind? This is my villa! I was just here a few days ago! Are you trying to get fired?” “Miss Ava,” Lee said, his voice firm, “this property has changed ownership, and the locks have been changed. If you insist on entering, it will be considered trespassing. Furthermore, you no longer have the authority to determine my employment.” “Well said,” Nancy interjected coolly, then said to the butler, “I’ll see to it you get a raise.” Ava had been spoiled her whole life. Everyone had always catered to her, which led her to believe she was someone truly special. Being publicly humiliated like this left her speechless. Aaron peeked out from behind her, his eyes wide and pitiful as he looked at Nancy. “Miss Hamilton, Mr. Sinclair, we are so sorry. We didn’t mean to intrude, we just…” Nancy cut him off. “If you know you’re intruding, then leave.” I didn’t even have to lift a finger. Nancy had the situation completely under control. I smiled, took her arm, and led her into the front yard. Ava could only watch as the iron gates closed, leaving her outside. There was a beautiful swing set in the garden. The sun was shining, and the weather was perfect. A little while later, my in-laws arrived. We had planned to have lunch together at the new house. Seeing them, Ava’s face lit up as if she’d seen her saviors. “Dad! Mom! You’re here!”

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The day I came home from closing a deal in Europe, my brother’s latest conquest opened the door. I was used to Leo keeping a revolving door of women, so I didn’t say a word, just moved to head past her up the stairs. But she grabbed my arm, her voice dripping with entitlement. “You the new help? Perfect. Come wash my feet.” A smirk tugged at my lips. I couldn’t be bothered to waste breath on someone so clueless. I tried to step around her. “Stay put!” she shrieked. Before I could react, the sharp crack of a slap echoed in the foyer, and my cheek exploded in pain. “Who told you you could walk away from me? How dare a servant give me attitude?” she sneered, puffing out her chest. “Let me make this clear: I run this house now. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll do as you’re told. Otherwise, I’ll have you thrown out on the street by tonight!” My cheek burned. I gave a cold laugh and pulled out my phone, dialing my brother’s number. “You have ten minutes,” I said, my voice low and even. “Ten minutes to get this woman you brought home out of my house. Or that last handful of stock you’re clinging to? It’s gone.” … My family always favored the son, just not in the way you’d think. They believed in letting him run wild, indulge every whim, while their daughter was molded to carry the weight of the family empire. The result? While I was studying finance, Leo was showering gifts on his latest girlfriend. While I was negotiating international trade agreements, Leo was still showering gifts on his latest girlfriend. My parents weren’t worried he’d turn into a useless degenerate; they were worried his lifestyle would corrupt me. So, the moment I turned eighteen, they shipped me off abroad. They called it “advanced studies,” but it was really just “out of sight, out of mind.” Now, with the family’s entire fortune in my hands, Leo knew better than to do anything but obey my every command. So how dare his flavor-of-the-month try to step on my toes? Just as the call was about to connect, the woman snatched the phone from my hand and smashed it on the marble floor. She ground her stiletto heel into the screen, a contemptuous smile on her face. “Don’t even try it. You’re the tenth girl this week to show up claiming to be Leo Reed’s sister. Do I look like an idiot?” She scoffed. “You clearly don’t know that his sister, Evelyn Reed, is out of the country, do you? Hasn’t been heard from in years. Probably dead in a ditch somewhere. Right now, in this entire estate, my word is law. So if you don’t want to disappear from St. Jude City, you’ll get on your knees and start washing my feet!” I bent down and picked up my shattered phone. Her words were so absurd, I almost laughed. Had Leo really not told her that his entire family, his entire lifestyle, depended on me? “And what, exactly,” I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm, “makes you think you’re in any position to call the shots for the Reed family?” “You ignorant little thing,” Melissa said, tossing her perfectly curled hair as she crossed her legs. “First of all, I’m Melissa Morgan, of the Morgan family. I come from money. And second, I’m here for Adrian Vance. The Reeds’ entire operation is under his control now. That useless waste of space, Leo, can’t even sign a check without Adrian’s permission. Who the hell are you to even bring up his name to me?” Adrian Vance? I froze. Wasn’t Adrian the boy my parents took in when I was a child, the one who was supposed to be my future husband? I had asked him to help my parents with the business while I was away, to lighten their load. Just lighten their load. Since when did he become the man in charge? Seeing my silence, Melissa assumed I was terrified. She viciously kicked the suitcase by my feet. “What are you standing there for? Go get the hot water! If you don’t serve me properly, I’ll make sure you vanish from this city by tomorrow!” I ignored her, my eyes fixed on the familiar necklace around her throat. It was the birthday gift I’d had my assistant give Leo last year. He told me he’d given it to someone very important. So this was his “important” person. A woman using Adrian Vance as a cover to play my brother for a fool, right under my own roof. “Forget the water,” I said, pulling the house’s private intercom from my pocket. My voice was laced with a chill I didn’t even recognize myself. “Where’s the butler? Security? Get this woman out of my sight and tie her up!” I sneered. How dare she toy with my brother’s feelings? Leo could be a hedonistic layabout, but he was my hedonistic layabout. No one else got to play him for a fool. But when I pressed the button, only a dead hiss of static answered. I tried three more times. The security camera in the entryway remained dark, not even a single red light flickering to life. Melissa burst out laughing, snatching the intercom from my hand. “Where did you get this?” She squinted, as if discovering a new continent. “This is an old model, the Reeds retired these ages ago… Wait. Are you a thief who broke in?” I said nothing. I had designed this mansion’s security system myself. A fly couldn’t get through a window crack without tripping an alarm in the central control room, let alone a dead intercom. Why was nothing working? Melissa suddenly clapped her hands. “Oh, I know! You’re that pathetic ex of Adrian’s, aren’t you? The one who couldn’t let go after he dumped you? You actually stalked him all the way here?” Before I could process her words, the heel of her shoe slammed into the back of my knee. My leg buckled, and I crumpled to the floor. “You really think Adrian still has a soft spot for you?” she spat, looming over me. “He can’t even stand the sight of you! Take a good look in the mirror. Do you really think you’re worthy of a man like him?” The pain finally brought clarity. In the three years I was gone, Adrian hadn’t just tampered with the core of my family’s business behind everyone’s back. He had cheated on me. Melissa smirked down at me, then pulled out a newer, sleeker intercom and summoned the butler and guards. Unfamiliar faces appeared. They didn’t even glance at me. They walked straight to Melissa, carefully helping her up. “Please, Miss Morgan, don’t upset yourself. You’re pregnant. You must be careful not to risk the baby.” “Pregnant?” My head snapped up, my gaze locking onto her flat stomach. “With Leo’s child?” “Ugh, please!” Melissa spat on the floor in disgust. “As if I’d carry that loser’s baby!” She cradled her belly, a triumphant glow on her face. “This is Adrian’s. Once our child is born, I’ll be the official Mrs. Vance. Then the entire Reed family fortune—no, the entire city—will be mine!” Adrian’s? A moment ago, I thought he might just be playing around, indulging in a meaningless affair. Now, the disappointment was absolute. The boy who used to follow me around, promising to marry me the day I came back, had cheated on me. The man I had trusted with my family’s legacy, the man I had begged to look after them, had gotten another woman pregnant with his child. “What are you staring at?” Melissa snapped, unnerved by my gaze. She gestured to the guards. “Slap her! The thought of this bitch ever being with Adrian makes my skin crawl!” “I dare you to touch me,” I snarled, my voice ringing with authority. “I am Evelyn Reed, the daughter of this house. Open your eyes and look closely. Leo and I were cut from the same cloth. I am his sister!” My icy demeanor gave the guards and the butler pause. They hesitated, unsure. Seeing their reluctance, Melissa flew into a rage. “Are you really scared of this nobody? Does the daughter of the Reed family travel alone? Pin her down! If you won’t hit her, I will!” “Don’t you dare!” But I was no match for their strength. The guards grabbed my arms, holding me fast. Just as a hand was about to strike my face, the front door swung open. A familiar voice cut through the tension. “What is going on here?” The moment Adrian Vance stood silhouetted in the doorway, I pushed myself up from the floor, my voice shaking with a tidal wave of fury. “Adrian! You better have a damn good explanation for this!” When he saw me, the color drained from his face. The eyes that once held so much warmth were now filled with panic. “Adrian!” Melissa beat me to it, throwing herself into his arms, her voice sickeningly sweet. “You’re finally here! This must be that obsessive ex of yours. She’s so shameless—she was just trying to impersonate the Reed heiress! Don’t worry, I already taught her a lesson for you!” I watched them tangled together and let out a low, hollow laugh. “Ex? Adrian, why don’t you dare tell her what we really are to each other?” My finger shot out, pointing directly at his face, each word landing like a hammer blow. “The boy my family raised to be my husband—have you forgotten that? Or has playing king in my family’s house for three years made you forget your place?” Adrian’s face turned a blotchy, furious red. Melissa recoiled from his embrace, her eyes wide with disbelief as she stared first at me, then back at him. “Raised to be your husband? What the hell is she talking about?” I scoffed. “Use your head, Melissa.” I pointed to the grand portrait hanging in the center of the living room—a photo of me and Leo. “You’ve been telling everyone you’re Leo’s girlfriend. Now you’re pregnant with Adrian’s child. Has he given you a ring? Has he made you his wife?” “If he really held all the power,” I continued, “why would he let you parade around as my brother’s mistress?” Melissa’s face grew paler with every word. She grabbed Adrian’s arm. “Adrian, is it true? Have you been lying to me?” “Shut up!” The last shred of feigned gentleness in Adrian’s eyes vanished, revealing a raw, ugly fury. “You bitch! How dare you try to drive a wedge between me and Melissa!” He pointed at me, his voice sharp as a shard of glass. “You wanted to teach her a lesson, Melissa? Go on. A psycho like her only understands pain!” The guards exchanged uneasy glances, but finally, they closed in on me. I looked at Adrian’s twisted, unrecognizable face, and the last flicker of warmth in my heart turned to ice. This was the man I had entrusted with my family’s future. The man I had waited three years for. “Adrian,” I said, my back pressed against the cold wall, my voice chillingly calm. “If you lay a single finger on me today, even if I can’t do anything to you right now, my brother will make you disappear from the face of this earth.” At my words, Adrian’s sneer deepened, as if I’d just told the funniest joke in the world. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, dragging me out onto the front steps. A searing pain shot through my scalp as my head was yanked back. “Leo?” he hissed, his voice low and contemptuous. “You’re counting on that idiot I have wrapped around my little finger? He’s probably passed out drunk in some club right now, waiting for me to send him an allowance.” He shoved me away. I stumbled backward, barely catching my balance before the guards’ slaps began to rain down. Explosions of pain erupted on my cheeks, my forehead, my lips. The coppery tang of blood filled my mouth. Adrian leaned in close, his voice a venomous whisper only I could hear. “Evelyn, your parents took off to travel the world right after you left. And your useless brother? He’s a lost cause. No one is coming to save you today.” His eyes glinted with a cruel light. “The long-lost heiress of the Reed family, tragically found dead after years abroad. How does that sound for a headline?” “You wouldn’t dare,” I seethed through clenched teeth. “Wouldn’t I? In the years you’ve been gone, I’ve learned every inch of the Reed business. If my family hadn’t fallen on hard times, do you really think I would have ever lowered myself to be your kept husband?”

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Liam Carter, the boy I’d sponsored for ten years, was now Hollywood’s biggest star. That night, as he won Best Actor at the Starlight Awards, I watched proudly from the crowd. When asked who he wanted to thank, he looked straight at me. The spotlight hit my face—I froze. Then he turned to the camera, voice cold with disgust. “I thank this woman for showing me what harassment means.” He called my letters and support obsession, claiming his success was his alone. The audience erupted. Hate flooded online. Then, on the big screen, a promo reel appeared under the title “CEO” — displaying my name, Rebecca Sterling. 1. Public Humiliation “Oh my god, that’s her? She looks so normal. How can she be some kind of psycho stalker?” “Ten years? Jesus, poor Liam. I can’t imagine being hounded by someone like that.” “Gross. Get her away from me. I don’t want to catch her crazy.” I sat frozen in my seat, unable to move. My phone vibrated violently in my pocket. I didn’t have to look to know that my face, branded with the label “psychotic stalker,” was already going viral across the entire internet. On stage, Liam was basking in it. He looked at me, his eyes gleaming with the sweet satisfaction of revenge. The ceremony ground to a halt as security guards started moving toward me. I forced myself to stand, and under a thousand gazes of contempt and morbid curiosity, I walked toward the exit. As I passed the VIP section, a woman in a dazzling pink designer gown suddenly stuck out her foot. I stumbled, pitching forward, my knee cracking hard against the marble floor. “Oh my! I am so sorry… ma’am,” she chirped. Chloe Vance, the studio’s new rising star. She covered her mouth in mock horror, but her eyes were crescent moons of pure glee. “I didn’t do it on purpose. Why were you in such a hurry? Rushing off to find your next victim to harass?” A wave of muffled laughter rippled through the nearby seats. I pushed against the floor, trying to get up, but a sharp, searing pain shot through my knee. A pair of polished leather shoes stopped right in front of my face. It was Liam. He looked down at me as if I were a piece of trash on the sidewalk. “Are you done making a scene?” His voice was quiet, but every word was a dagger to the heart. “You’re embarrassing me, Ms. Sterling.” I looked up at him. His face, flawless under the stage lights, was a mask of cold fury. “I warned you to stay away from me.” Chloe immediately wrapped her arm around his, a clear gesture of ownership. “Liam, honey, don’t get upset,” she cooed, her voice trembling theatrically. “Don’t let someone like her ruin your night. She’s terrifying. What if she has a knife?” Liam patted her hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry. I’m here.” His gaze on me turned three shades colder. “Security, get her out of here.” “And from now on, this woman is banned from any event I attend. Do you understand?” Two guards grabbed my arms, their grips rough and punishing. They half-dragged, half-carried me toward a backstage exit. As we passed an empty dressing room, Liam’s voice cut through the air from behind us. “Wait.” The guards stopped. Liam strode over and waved them away. The door clicked shut, leaving the two of us alone in the cramped space. He tossed a heavy cardboard box at my feet. “This,” he spat, “is all the trash you ever sent me.” “You can have it back.” “I never read a single word.” Spilling out from the box were the hundreds of letters I had written him over the last decade. Every single one held my hopes, my encouragement, my belief in him. And he had just called them trash. He leaned in, his voice a venomous whisper in my ear. “You know what? Every time I saw your self-righteous face, it made me sick to my stomach.” “You thought a little money made you my savior?” “Let me tell you something, Rebecca Sterling. The thing I hate most in this world is being looked at like a stray dog.” “Your cheap charity was the greatest insult of my life.” My entire body went rigid. He knew my name. He’d known it all along. “You…” “Surprised?” He straightened up, a cruel smirk twisting his perfect lips. “I looked you up ages ago. Founder of some small-time production company. What, did you really think you were somebody?” He raised a hand as if to pat my cheek, then seemed to think better of it, as if I were too dirty to touch. Instead, he flicked a piece of imaginary lint from my collar. “Stop dreaming.” “You and I are not in the same world.” With that, he turned and pulled the door open. Chloe was waiting for him, a flash of triumph in her eyes before she plastered on her innocent façade. “Liam, let’s go! The after-party is about to start.” “Yeah.” Liam walked away without a backward glance. The door slowly swung shut in front of me. I stared at the scattered letters on the floor. The pain in my knee, the pain in my heart—it all blended into one unbearable ache. My phone finally stopped vibrating. I pulled it out. The last message was from my assistant. “Rebecca, the company’s website… it’s been hacked.” 2. The Unveiling I didn’t go home. I had my driver take me straight to the office. The high-rise was deserted at midnight, a silent monolith with a single light shining from my office window. My assistant, Sarah, was pacing frantically outside my door. The moment she saw my torn stocking, the raw scrape on my knee, and my disheveled state, her eyes welled up. “Rebecca, you…” “I’m fine.” I pushed open the office door. “What’s the word from the PR department?” “It’s no use.” Sarah’s voice cracked. “This was a planned attack. The sheer volume of bots and trolls is overwhelming. Our official statement was buried in seconds. The entire internet is calling for your head, and someone’s already doxxed the company’s address. They’re planning to protest outside tomorrow.” I walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing down at the river of headlights flowing through the city below. “And Liam?” “The after-party… is still going. He and Chloe are trending number one worldwide. The headline is ‘A Match Made in Heaven.’” How ironic. I built the pedestal he stands on, and the moment he reached the top, he grabbed another woman’s hand and kicked me off, letting the world cheer as I fell. Sarah dabbed antiseptic on my knee, the stinging pain pulling me back to the present. “Rebecca, we have to call the police! This is slander!” “It won’t work.” I shook my head. “He’s too smart for that. He only ever said ‘that woman,’ never using my name. The more I fight back now, the more it will look like I’m just a woman scorned, proving his point.” “Then… then what do we do?” I didn’t answer. My eyes fell on a picture frame on my desk. It was a photo from ten years ago. In it, a scrawny boy in an ill-fitting school uniform stared back, his lips pressed into a defiant line. His eyes, though, were like a wolf pup’s—fierce and untamed. That was the first time I met Liam Carter. No, back then, his name was Jed. In a forgotten, poverty-stricken town in the middle of nowhere, he’d been caught stealing a loaf of bread and was tied to a tree in the town square, being beaten. Everyone called him a no-good orphan, a little thief. I was the only one who walked over and cut the ropes. “Why did you steal it?” I asked him. He just stared at me, silent, clutching the dirty bread to his chest as if it were treasure. I found out later it was his little sister’s birthday. She hadn’t eaten in three days. I took him out of that town. I gave him a new name: Liam Carter. A name that sounded clean, respectable. A gentleman’s name. I sent him to the best schools, paid for all his and his sister’s living expenses, her medical bills. I wrote him letters, telling him to stand tall, to get an education, to see the bigger world waiting for him. The day he was accepted into the conservatory, he called me for the first time. His voice was trembling with excitement. “Rebecca, I got in! I’m going to make so much money one day. I’ll pay you back for everything!” That was the first and only time he called me by my name with anything resembling warmth. I cherished it for years. Later, when he broke into the industry, I worried my role as his benefactor might hold him back, so I founded Sterling Entertainment, pulling every string I had to make him a star. I stepped out of the spotlight and became the mysterious “Ms. Sterling” behind the scenes. I thought I was the one person he trusted above all others. It turns out, the entire thing was a one-woman show. My phone chimed. A direct message from an unknown account. It was Chloe. “Hey, Rebecca. Hope you’re not too upset about tonight. Liam’s just like that. He’s not a bad person, just… principled. He hates being lied to.” “He said people like you, who use a little charity to try and control someone’s life, are the most disgusting of all.” “Oh, and by the way? He also said that just looking at those letters you wrote made his skin crawl. He burned them all in the dressing room after the show.” “You need to learn your place, ma’am. Don’t reach for things that don’t belong to you. You know?” Every word was a needle dipped in poison, aimed directly at my most vulnerable spots. I turned off my phone. “Sarah,” I said, my voice steady. “Get Legal and PR on the line. I want a full executive meeting tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock sharp.” Sarah stared at me. “Rebecca, are you going to…?” I looked out at the black, starless sky and spoke each word with chilling precision. “I’m going to take back everything he ever got from me.” 3. The Counterattack At 8:50 a.m. the next morning, I walked into the lobby of Sterling Entertainment. It was swarming with reporters. A frenzy of camera flashes blinded me. “Ms. Sterling, do you have a comment on Liam Carter’s allegations?” “Can you confirm that you have been harassing him for a decade?” “Rumors say you’re the secret CEO of Sterling Entertainment. Is that true?” I wore dark sunglasses, my face an impassive mask as security cleared a path for me through the mob to the executive elevator. Just as the doors slid shut, I heard someone shout, “Don’t let her get away! Freaks like her deserve to be exposed!” At nine o’clock on the dot, I pushed open the door to the boardroom. Every senior executive, including the heads of Legal and PR, was present. My seat, at the head of the table, was empty. Instead, Liam, his manager Marcus, and Chloe were sitting beside it, looking perfectly at home. The moment Marcus saw me, his face hardened. “What are you doing here? Who let you in?” Chloe shrieked and scrambled to hide behind Liam. “Liam, honey, it’s her! How did she find us here? Is she going to try and hurt you?” Her voice was so sickeningly sweet it was practically dripping sugar, as if I were some kind of rabid animal. Liam patted her back, then looked up at me, his eyes full of annoyance and disgust. “You again. What the hell do you want now?” “Wasn’t humiliating yourself in front of the entire country enough? Now you follow me to the office? Have you no shame at all?” I ignored him and walked toward the head of the table. Marcus immediately jumped up to block my path, puffing out his chest. “Ma’am, this is a private executive meeting. Unauthorized personnel need to leave immediately, or we will have you removed.” “Yeah, get her out of here!” Chloe added, peeking out from behind Liam. “She’s a psycho! The real CEO will be here any minute. We can’t have someone like her tarnishing the company’s image!” “The CEO?” I repeated the words slowly, a bitter smile playing on my lips. I scanned the room. The executives seated around the table either stared at their notes, avoiding my gaze, or watched with smug amusement. They all knew who I was. But in this moment, not a single one of them moved to defend me. It’s human nature to side with the powerful. And right now, Liam Carter was the company’s golden goose, their cash cow. I was just a social pariah, the “stalker” the whole world was laughing at. Liam, clearly accustomed to this level of deference, leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, speaking to me with the magnanimity of a king addressing a peasant. “Look, I’ll admit you helped me out a few times in the past. So I’m willing to let last night go.” He pulled a black credit card from his wallet and tossed it on the table. “There’s a million dollars on this. Take it, and get out of my sight. I never want to see you again.” A million dollars. The bone marrow transplant I’d paid for his sister cost more than that. Chloe let out an exaggerated gasp. “Oh, Liam, you’re too kind! After everything she did to you, you’re still giving her money? You’re just too good for this world!” She picked up the card, walked over, and held it out to me like she was feeding a dog. “You hear that, ma’am? One million dollars. That’s more than someone like you could spend in a lifetime. Take the money and get lost before you embarrass yourself further.” She tried to shove the card into my hand. I didn’t take it. Her hand hung in the air, a flush of anger creeping up her neck. “What’s your problem? Not enough? A million is a gift. Don’t be so ungrateful!” Liam’s patience finally snapped. “Security!” he roared. “Get this woman out of my building! I don’t want to see her face for another second!” Several guards rushed in and moved toward me. The entire boardroom watched in cold silence. In their eyes, I was about to be thrown out like a dog, kicked out of the very empire I had built from the ground up. I finally lifted my gaze, looking past them all to my assistant, Sarah. “Sarah.” My voice was quiet, calm. Sarah understood immediately. She picked up the internal phone on the conference table. “Please send Mr. Albright from Legal and Ms. Davis from HR to the main boardroom. And notify building security to escort these gentlemen out.” She gestured to the guards who had just stormed in. The boardroom fell silent. Utterly, completely silent.

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When my father heard his first love had died, he was shattered. He immediately donated his million-dollar fortune and renounced the world to join a secluded monastery. He left my mother to raise two children on the streets. We nearly starved. Later, my mother clawed our way back. She collected cans, started a small food cart, and not only fed my brother and me but eventually opened a restaurant and bought a house. The day we moved into our new home, the father who had been gone for ten years came back. He had cancer. He wanted us to pay for his treatment. 1 I was at work when my aunt Brenda called. “Mia, honey, I have the most wonderful news! Your father is back. Aren’t you just thrilled?” Her cheerful voice made me freeze. That man. The one who, ten years ago, abandoned his wife and children for a dead woman and disappeared from our lives. Why was he back now? My throat tightened. “Where is he?” “Oh, he’s almost at your front door! You must have missed him so much all these years!” she chirped. “Don’t you worry, he’s back for good this time. Your family can finally be whole again! You should come home right now, Mia!” I hung up, my heart pounding. Did Mom know? She was the kindest, most soft-hearted person I knew. It took her years to recover after he left. Our lives were finally stable. I couldn’t bear to see her hurt again. I immediately called her. On the other end, I could hear her haggling cheerfully at the market. “Mia? Honey, I’m in the middle of stocking up. What’s up?” Her voice calmed me a little. It seemed she didn’t know he was back. There was still time. I had to get rid of that man before she came home. “Mom,” I said, forcing my voice to sound casual, “I’m craving shrimp for dinner tonight. After you’re done, could you pick up a couple of pounds? The big ones.” “Oh, shrimp! They’re not easy to find this time of year, but don’t you worry, sweetie. I’ll see what I can do after I’m finished here.” “Great. No rush, take your time.” I hung up, asked my boss for a half-day off, and grabbed a cab home. 2 A man and a woman were standing in front of our townhouse. I had no idea how they’d gotten into our gated community. The middle-aged man was dressed in simple linen clothes and a beanie. He was staring at the house with an impatient frown. “Didn’t you call her? Why isn’t she back yet? This is ridiculous.” He had aged. The face that was once handsome was now sallow and puffy, but his air of self-importance was the same as ever. He still thought the world revolved around him. Looking at him, a bitter feeling rose in my chest. Back then, he’d been a literature grad with a superiority complex, constantly looking down on my mother and belittling her for being an uneducated housewife. He openly carried a photo of his first love, Eleanor, writing poems and painting portraits of her. When he heard she had died, he stood on the balcony and smoked all night. I was little, but I remember him clutching her picture, tears streaming down his face, whispering, “Eleanor, I’m coming to join you.” The next day, he sold our house, donated every penny of his million-dollar fortune, and left to join a monastery. While the media ran stories about their tragic, epic love, my mother and I were being evicted, homeless on the streets. No one gave a damn how we would survive. I truly had no idea how he had the gall to show his face again. “Mia! You’re back!” Aunt Brenda saw me and waved excitedly. “Come over here, sweetie! What’s wrong? Are you just too happy to see your father to move?” My father followed her gaze. He blinked, and his face soured. “What took you so long? Do you have any idea how long we’ve been waiting?” I ignored him and asked coldly, “What are you doing here?” My lack of enthusiasm clearly annoyed him. “What are we doing here? Who do you think we are? Has it been so long you’ve forgotten how to greet your own father? You have no manners. What has that idiot Helena been teaching you?” Hearing him insult my mother sent a hot wave of fury through me. Did he still think he was the king of this family? Who was going to put up with that now? “Who’s the idiot calling someone an idiot?” I snapped back. “I’m calling your mother an… you little brat! How dare you speak to me like that!” He realized what I’d said and, sputtering with rage, raised his hand to strike me. Brenda quickly grabbed his arm. “No, no! Don’t! You two have just been reunited, why are you fighting already?” She held him back, giving him a sharp look, then turned to me with a strained smile. “Mia, don’t be like that. I know you’ve missed your father terribly all these years, and you’re hurt. But he’s missed you too. He came back to make things right…” “Make things right?” I said, my voice sharp as glass. “When he donated every cent we had and left us homeless, did he ever think about what would happen to Mom? To my brother and me? And now he wants to ‘make things right’? Who needs it!” My father stared at me, genuinely shocked. “What do you mean, I left you homeless? That was my money. I earned it all. Don’t I have the right to do what I want with my own property?” He puffed out his chest. “Besides, I was grieving! As my daughter, why couldn’t you have a little compassion for what I was going through? Is money more important to you than love?” I had thought, hoped, he might feel a shred of guilt. But he was so brazenly self-righteous. I almost laughed. There was no point in arguing. “I’m not getting into this with you. Please leave. You’re not welcome here.” Sensing things were escalating, Brenda quickly intervened. “Mia, your dad didn’t mean it like that. Why don’t we all go inside and talk? Let’s calm down. We don’t want to make a scene for the neighbors.” “You are not setting foot in this house today. If you have any shame, you’ll leave now. Don’t make me call security.” “How dare you talk to me like that! I’m your father!” he roared, lunging for me again. Brenda held him back, frantically signaling him with her eyes. He took a breath and lowered his hand, a cold smirk on his face. “Fine. Just fine. I see you’ve grown into a heartless, ungrateful monster. I won’t waste my breath on you. I’ll wait for your mother. Let’s see if she dares to lock me out.” I clenched my fists. His confidence wasn’t baseless. Years ago, my mother had been the one to admire and pursue him. He only reluctantly agreed to marry her. Throughout their marriage, she had been submissive, catering to his every whim. She forgave his affairs and never once blamed him. If she saw him now, she might just soften and forgive him all over again. I couldn’t let that happen. “I said you’re not welcome! Get out of here! Security! Security! There are intruders! Help!” I shrieked, grabbing a nearby garden broom and swinging it wildly, like I was chasing off a stray dog. If they wouldn’t leave, I would drive them away. “Mia, are you crazy?!” my father yelled, dodging my swings, his face streaked with dirt. “How dare you treat your own father like this! You’ll be struck by lightning for this!” “My name is Thorne! After my mother!” I screamed, then noticed a small pile of dog mess near the curb. I jabbed the broom into it and lunged at them. “Get out! Get out! Get out!” In the middle of the chaotic scene, I heard a familiar voice. “Mia?” I froze. At the end of the street, holding grocery bags, stood my mother. She was staring at us, her expression one of utter shock. Why was she back so early? 3 I tried to block her view of my father, but it was too late. Her eyes landed on him. He froze, too. The woman before him wore an elegant silk dress, her makeup subtle, her posture graceful. She was a world away from the dowdy, overweight housewife he remembered. He looked flustered. Wiping the grime from his face, he forced an awkward smile. “Helena. I’m back. And this time, I’m not leaving.” I looked at my mother anxiously, terrified she was about to have her heart broken all over again. But she just smiled faintly. “Oh, it’s you, Arthur.” Her calm smile confused me. I rushed to her side. “Mom, let’s call security and have them removed!” But she gently chided me. “Mia! What are you saying? That’s so rude. He is your father, after all.” Hearing my mother defend him, my father visibly relaxed. He’d clearly been worried she would be resentful, that he’d have to work to win her over. Now, it seemed his worries were for nothing. The woman was probably just thrilled to have him back. A smug expression crept onto his face, and he slipped back into his old, condescending demeanor. He pointed at me. “You see the kind of daughter you’ve raised? She’s a real handful.” My mother glanced at me and shook her head with a smile. “That’s just Mia’s way. Don’t mind her.” Not wanting to look petty, my father forced a laugh. “Why would I mind?” He reached for her hand. “Helena, these past few years…” But she smoothly sidestepped his touch and smiled at me. “Mia, open the door. Let your father in.” “Mom! Why should we let him in?” “Open the door. Are you going to disobey your mother?” I bit my lip and reluctantly took out my keys. My father watched her walk towards the house. He was slightly annoyed she’d avoided his touch, but he figured she was entitled to a little tantrum after all this time. It wasn’t worth arguing about. His good mood returned, and without waiting for an invitation, he strode into the house. 4 Our new home had been professionally designed. It was minimalist and spacious, and it always impressed visitors. My father looked around, a satisfied expression on his face. “Not bad, not bad. It’s big and bright. It’ll be a good place for me to read. The décor is a bit tacky, of course. You women have no taste. But that’s fine, I can change it later…” My mother said nothing. She carried the groceries to the kitchen. “It’s almost six. The realtor said our first meal in a new house should be eaten by seven. We’re running late. Mia, come help me peel the garlic.” “Mom…” I whispered, glaring at my father and aunt. Why were they here? Why was she cooking for them? “Mia,” she said in a warning tone. “Don’t make me angry.” “Coming,” I grumbled. I stomped into the kitchen and sat on a small stool, furiously peeling garlic. My mom was just too nice, too accommodating. That’s why people always took advantage of her. In the living room, my father and aunt made themselves at home on the sofa. “This house is amazing,” Brenda whispered to my father, clutching his arm. “Just amazing.” “It is. Spacious, good location, plenty of rooms.” My father spread his legs, already acting like the man of the house. “We don’t even need all these rooms. You and your son can move in with us. No more renting for you. We can all live together as one big, happy family.” “Oh, yes! Yes!” Brenda beamed, looking around as if the house were already hers. She glanced nervously toward the kitchen. “You were right, Arthur. Helena really doesn’t hold a grudge.” My father scoffed. “Of course she doesn’t. You think I don’t know her?” He grabbed a handful of sunflower seeds from a bowl on the coffee table and started cracking them, whispering with Brenda. When they ran out of things to say, he glanced at his watch and called out to the kitchen, “Helena, where’s our son? Did you tell him I was coming?” My mother was busy with the shrimp. Without turning around, she replied, “He’ll be home soon. Leo has class until late.” My father nodded proudly. “That boy, Leo… he’s a good kid. Got into a top university, even got accepted into a master’s program. Didn’t waste my good genes. Thank god he’s not like you. If he were, he probably wouldn’t even be able to do basic math.” He grew more pleased with himself as he spoke, having completely forgotten that my mother was no longer the dependent housewife she once was. I was about to snap back when the front door opened. “Son!” My father jumped up from the sofa and rushed to embrace him. “My boy! You look just like me!” he said, overjoyed, holding my brother at arm’s length to get a better look. My brother, Leo, stiffened, taking a hesitant step back. “Dad?” “Yes, son, it’s me! I’m back for good. Aren’t you happy?” Leo stared at him, his expression a mixture of confusion and shock. “What are you doing here?” He looked from me to my mother. “Mom? Mia? What’s going on?” My father turned to my mother, annoyed. “Helena, why didn’t you tell him I was coming? You should have given him a chance to prepare. Look at him, he’s speechless with joy.” My mother didn’t turn around. “It wasn’t a big deal. Nothing to talk about.” “Not a big deal? My return isn’t a big deal? Fine…” He turned back to Leo. “Just got out of class? You’re a senior, why do you still have so many classes?” “Lab work,” Leo said flatly. After a long, tense silence, he walked into the kitchen. “Mom, let me help. The fumes are strong, I don’t want you to breathe it all in.” “It’s alright, honey, everything’s done. You and Mia go sit at the table. It’s time to eat. Here, take this.” She handed him a dish and patted my shoulder, telling us to go wait in the dining room. When the food was on the table, my father sat down immediately. “Not bad, Helena. You may not have much else going for you, but you can certainly cook.” Aunt Brenda hesitated, but my father waved her over. “This is your home. Don’t be a stranger.” He sat with his legs spread, waiting to be served. Then, my mother came out with the rice. Three bowls. Three sets of cutlery. There was nothing in front of my father or Aunt Brenda. My father blinked, then laughed awkwardly. “Oh, right. Appetizers first, then the main course. You still remember my habits, Helena.” His eyes landed on the platter of shrimp, and he reached for one. “It was sweet of you to remember I love shrimp…” “Don’t touch that.” My mother, who had been so quiet, extended her chopsticks and slapped his hand away. She sat down, her voice calm. “Those are for Mia. I had to call three different friends to find shrimp this big. If you eat them, what will she have?”

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The rain was relentless the day Bradley Astor’s new love knelt at the gates of my mansion, a picture of delicate sorrow. “Mrs. Astor, I swear, there’s nothing between Bradley and me. You have to believe us.” And my husband, Bradley, stood just inside the floor-to-ceiling windows, his eyes filled with a tenderness I had never seen reserved for me. Everyone was waiting. Waiting to see how I would tear this brazen mistress to shreds, how I would cement my position as the one and only Mrs. Astor. They had all forgotten that when this man married me, he had promised to protect me for a lifetime. “This is my wife,” he’d said. “From now on, you’ll show her the proper respect.” They all thought I would furiously tell her to get lost. But I was just so tired. I walked past her, got in my car, and drove to the family estate. Pushing open the door to the old man’s study, I faced the chairman. “Grandfather,” I said, “this arrangement… I don’t want to continue it.” “Let me go.” 1 There’s an unwritten rule among the paparazzi in New York City. If a photographer was having a slow month, they knew just where to go: stake out Bradley Astor, the CEO of the Astor Corporation. He was guaranteed to have a new flame every month, and he made no effort to hide it. A few easy snaps were always in the cards. A man like him having a few scandals was normal, of course. But his wife? His wife had to maintain a pristine reputation, a dignified front. If you caught her husband in the act, you could take the evidence straight to her. Name your price, and she’d pay it without a fuss. But while the story was old, the players were new. A rookie from a fledgling tabloid, clutching a video, was sent my way by Bradley himself. I had just gotten home from the office. From my mansion perched atop a hill overlooking Central Park, the entire glittering expanse of the Manhattan skyline was mine to command. The voice on my phone droned on, a clumsy yet audacious attempt at extortion. “Mrs. Astor, two million is nothing to you. It’s the price of a handbag. Just two million to make your husband’s latest scandal disappear. It’s a bargain, really.” “When you’ve made up your mind, just call this number…” This one wasn’t very bright. The first time he’d been subtle. The second time, he’d brazenly tapped on Bradley’s car window. Bradley’s cars were hard to track; he changed them constantly, with hundreds in his collection. But for some reason, he’d been driving the same one for the past few days. In the video the paparazzo sent me, Bradley rolled down the window. A scantily clad woman was pouting in the passenger seat. Last month, when I’d received a similar package, that seat had been occupied by a rising starlet from Hollywood. Bradley took off his sunglasses, revealing a face of almost criminal perfection. He beckoned to the camera with a lazy finger. As the rookie got closer, Bradley’s voice was smooth, almost seductive. “Newbie? You’ve got a lot to learn. You take this kind of thing to my wife. You won’t get a dime out of me.” “Don’t have her number?” He scribbled a few digits on a piece of paper and tucked it into the photographer’s shirt pocket. Then, he turned to the woman beside him and clicked his tongue. “Get out.” She leaned in closer, her voice a sugary purr. “Bradley, darling, didn’t you say three days? It’s only been a few hours…” Bradley tossed a black card at her and hit the door unlock button. “A few hours and you’ve already gotten us photographed. Get out before I have to throw you out.” I shut off the video, my face a placid mask as I sat at the dining table. The servants laid out dinner, dish by fragrant dish. The grandfather clock in the hall chimed eight. 2 I glanced up at it. A gift from Bradley, brought back from France seven years ago. Now, it just looked old, its pendulum swinging with a tired, feeble motion. I was seventeen when I was accepted into Columbia. I met Bradley when I was eighteen. Back then, apart from his face, he was the picture of understated quietness. He knew everything but pretended to be a charmingly lost student, always claiming he’d forgotten what he’d learned in class and needed me to teach him. Within a few weeks, someone who knew him pulled me aside. “You think he’s just a pretty face? He’s the son of the Astor Corporation. His father is running for senator.” After that, Bradley left the university scene but made the daily drive between Columbia and Midtown, ignoring all advice to the contrary. Those years were a blur of occasional fights and constant, dizzying love. My heart, a fortress, was breached and rebuilt, over and over. At twenty-five, after a thousand trials and tribulations, I married Bradley Astor. Our wedding was the event of the century. You can still find the newspapers from that day. One small tabloid, desperate for attention, ran a headline so sensational it overshadowed the major papers. It was flashy, but deeply disrespectful. The morning after our wedding, Bradley saw it. He read it, then calmly placed his water glass on top of it. I found out later that that issue was the last one the tabloid ever printed. Remembering these small moments, one by one, it hits me with the force of a revelation: Bradley and I were once so deeply in love. How did it all end up like this old clock, too weary to even swing? The silence of the grand hall was broken by the soft ding of the elevator. The display showed it had arrived at the third floor, and the doors slid open. Bradley stood there, his suit jacket draped over his arm. The harsh overhead light did nothing to diminish the sharp, handsome lines of his face. I glanced at him once, then returned my focus to the food on my plate. A minute later, I heard the soft thud of his jacket hitting the sofa. Then, the scent of expensive cologne and the warmth of his body enveloped me. Bradley stood behind me, his hands braced on the table, effectively trapping me in his embrace. His voice was a careless drawl. “Good evening, Mrs. Astor. Let’s see… what’s the price tag on this little scandal?” My phone was on the table. He tapped the screen a few times, opening my messages. “Two million? The press has a smaller appetite than you do for dinner. Anyone would think my net worth has depreciated.” I set down my fork, my back straight, maintaining a careful fist’s-width of distance between me and his chest. I ignored his question, changing the subject. “I’m not approving Karen Miller’s transfer to head of marketing. I’ll be rejecting her application.” As expected, the moment he heard her name, Bradley straightened up. The cloying closeness vanished. He sat down across from me, draping his arms over the back of the chair, his gaze drifting to the beautiful night outside. “You don’t need to worry about her.” “Unless—” his eyes snapped back to mine, his chin resting on his hand as he studied me. “You have a problem with her?” I looked directly into his eyes, searching for something that was no longer there. Outsiders only knew that Bradley Astor changed lovers like he changed shirts. No one knew it was all a smokescreen for Karen. Two years ago, he’d sent her abroad to get a fancy degree, all so she could parachute into a top position at the company. It wasn’t that I had a problem with her, personally. It was a matter of fact. The Astor Corporation had extremely strict hiring criteria. A degree from anywhere other than a top-tier Ivy League or equivalent wasn’t even considered. Karen had a high school diploma. At eighteen, she was working in a department store. The school she “attended” abroad was a known degree mill. There was no loophole, no exception that could justify her placement. My voice was faint. “I’m discussing business with you. I’m not letting personal feelings get in the way.” Bradley didn’t answer. A moment later, a voice message played from his phone. It was breathy, seductive. “Bradley, honey, I think I left my panties in your car. When can I come get them?” The volume was deliberately turned up, the sound echoing slightly in the vast dining room. Bradley watched me, bringing the phone to his lips. His voice was lazy. “Wrong number, sweetheart.” I looked at his cool, indifferent expression, trying desperately to remember the man who had once loved me. 3 In the beginning, Bradley would at least pretend to be sorry. The gifts he sent Karen were obscenely expensive, and one of them inadvertently took a spot I had reserved for a custom piece. The world of the ultra-rich is small; the tiniest clue can unravel the biggest secrets. That time, Bradley had raced home, handing over his phone, his credit cards, every password to every account he owned. “She helped me with a small thing. My cousin picked out the gift. I’ll deal with him later.” He offered a flimsy explanation, and I believed him. There was no reason not to. But then, somehow hearing that we’d had a huge fight, Karen appeared. On a rainy day, she knelt at the gate of our mansion. “Mrs. Astor, there’s really nothing between Bradley and me. You have to believe us.” Her desperate denial was the most damning confession of all. Rage burns away reason. At that moment, I didn’t see the flicker of pity in Bradley’s eyes as he looked down at her from the window. When a man feels pity for a woman, it’s the beginning of a romance between two people. Between three, it’s the beginning of a disaster. But even that was nothing. The hardest days were long behind me. If I remembered correctly, today was November 27th. The three-year term I’d agreed to with his grandfather was almost up. I looked at Bradley, about to speak. Suddenly, his phone rang. The voice on the other end was faint, but I could make it out. It was Karen. “The power’s out at my place. It’s completely dark, and I’m a little scared.” “Stay put. I’m on my way.” Bradley stood up. He glanced at me. I swallowed the words on the tip of my tongue. He didn’t wait for me to speak again, just turned and walked out. After he left, I drove to the Astor family estate. The old mansion was a century-old colonial, its interior a mix of Western and Eastern decor, half-ancient, half-modern. When I entered, Bradley’s mother, Eleanor, was on the sofa, a maid massaging her shoulders. She heard me, glanced over, then closed her eyes again. I didn’t want to annoy her, so I went straight up to the second-floor study. “Grandfather—” I began, choosing my words carefully. “The three years are up. I want to leave the Astor family.” I had known back then. Bradley had sent Karen away, ostensibly, but he was really funding her education abroad. I knew that while I was in the hospital, his private jet was making trips between New York and Australia. That was when my heart finally died. I went to his grandfather at a time when the family was facing both internal and external threats. He asked me to stay for three more years. If, in that time, Bradley didn’t change his ways, he would personally grant me my freedom. The old man rocked in his mahogany chair, opening his eyes to look at me. “I thought that after three years, you would have gotten used to it. Why do you still want to leave?” When I didn’t answer, he sighed. “When you insisted on marrying into this family, you should have expected this. Look at Eleanor. She was more fiery than you in her youth, but in the end, didn’t she hold on to the title of Mrs. Astor? All those illegitimate children couldn’t make a ripple. The son she bore, Bradley, is still the sole heir.” Eleanor, Bradley’s mother, the woman who now spent her days chanting Buddhist sutras, had been a force to be reckoned with in her youth. “Do you know how she did it?” “How?” “Because I backed her. As long as I approved, no one could take her position. With my support, those other women were no threat to her.” “Besides, I’m not talking to you about love. I’m talking about a deal. You’ve done an excellent job these past few years. The company, the family—you’ve held it all together. It would take too much time and effort for us to groom someone new. You leaving is a bad deal for us. You’re smart enough to see that.” If we set aside love and only talked business, it was undeniably the best deal I could ask for. I poured him some tea. “You know,” I said softly, “if it wasn’t about love, I wouldn’t be sitting here today.” I had considered it. Holding on to the title, ensuring no outsider could ever cross the threshold of the Astor family. But I didn’t marry Bradley to become Mrs. Astor. I became Mrs. Astor because I married Bradley. I remember pushing him away once, telling him he wasn’t free to marry whom he pleased, so what was he doing dating me. Bradley had frowned. “What do you mean I’m not free? If I want to marry you, I have plenty of ways. But you, if I’m out of your sight for one day, you’re ready to marry someone else. Do you think I’m useless?” I didn’t believe him. What brilliant plan could overcome so many obstacles? He never brought it up again, just slowly took over the corporation, embedding himself in the heart of the family’s power. After I graduated, I joined the company as an intern. During the day, I learned the ropes at work. At night, Bradley gave me private lessons. I grew at a staggering pace. By the time the topic of marriage came up again, he was so powerful in the family that no one dared to object. But out of respect for his grandfather, he came up with a little scheme the next day to force the old man to face reality. “That little brat,” the old man chuckled now. “Did he really think I was old and senile?” “He grabbed some dolled-up pretty boy from some entertainment company and pretended they were going to get married. He thought he could scare me. You thought that pretty face was all he had? He’s the son of the Astor Corporation. His father is running for senator.” The old man shook his head, a wry smile on his face. “These past few years, he’s been trying to force a divorce.” “Let me be clear. Once you leave the Astor family, I will not let you come back. Think carefully before you decide.” I lowered my head, the seven short years of our marriage flashing before my eyes like a fleeting dream. “Leaving this family,” I said, “is something I have been waiting three years for.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Finish up your work. Someone will contact you when the time comes.” When I came downstairs, Bradley’s mother was still sitting on the sofa. I walked to the door, then turned back. “I won’t be able to wish you well in the future, so I’ll do it now. I hope you enjoy a long and healthy life.” With that, I turned and left. The lights in the Astor living room were dim, shrouding Eleanor in shadow as she looked up. It seemed as if all the light in the room was being carried away by the figure hurrying out the door. For a moment, she saw herself as a young woman, walking out into the world. Lena, her maid, leaned in close. “Ma’am, it’s late. You should rest.” The room plunged back into darkness as Eleanor averted her gaze. “Let’s go.” 4 Sitting in the car, I remembered I had to tie up loose ends. I called the paparazzo and told him to come by for his check in the morning, buying the rights to all of Bradley’s latest indiscretions. It was several days before I heard from Bradley again. After Karen’s return, he had become much more discreet. Remembering my deal with his grandfather, I had my driver make a detour to pick Bradley up. The door to the apartment was open. Inside, a group of people were playing cards, Karen among them. She had just won a hand. The man across from her was laying it on thick. “You’re on a roll tonight, Karen! Cleaning us all out. I’m about to lose my shirt. Have mercy on us!” Karen smiled, about to speak. Then Bradley looked up and saw me standing in the doorway. He took a drag from his cigarette and cursed. “The woman at the door is your actual sister-in-law. Are you blind? No wonder you can’t win a hand tonight.” The man saw me and shot to his feet, flustered. “Mrs. A… Mrs. Astor…” Karen’s face went pale. I knew immediately that Bradley had done this on purpose. He was always pulling stunts like this, trying to provoke me into demanding a divorce, yet he would never agree to one. His reasoning was infuriatingly simple: “She’s young and naive, fun to have around for a while. But who would seriously marry her? One Mrs. Astor is more than enough.” I scanned the room, then left my driver with instructions to bring Bradley home later. With a polite nod, I turned to leave. I had just reached the door when Karen blocked my path. The eighteen-year-old girl from two years ago was now twenty, still fresh-faced and vibrant. She was slightly out of breath, her voice a delicate whisper. “Mrs. Astor, I’m sorry. I never meant to destroy your family. I tried to leave, to forget him, but I couldn’t.” “I can’t forget Bradley. I love him so much. But please believe me, I truly, from the bottom of my heart, never wanted to break up your home.” “Between Bradley and me… we just met too late. If he had met me back then, I would be Mrs. Astor too…” “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I sincerely want to apologize to you. If there’s a next life, I’ll spend it atoning for what I’ve done.” “But in this life, I can’t give him back to you. I’m so sorry.” I looked her up and down. The girl who used to wear ten-dollar dresses was now draped in understated luxury. The shoes on her feet were worth more than three years of her old department store salary. So many sparrows, hoping to become phoenixes. I was one, once. Now, it was her turn. I didn’t say a word. I wouldn’t dignify her with a response. I wouldn’t try to appeal to the conscience of a woman like her. If she had any understanding of morality, she wouldn’t be so thrilled to be a rich man’s mistress. “Just divorce him!” her voice called after me. “Let him go!” Inside, the others exchanged uneasy glances. Someone dared to look at Bradley’s stone-cold expression. “Bradley, man, aren’t you going after her? When a woman gets that angry, she starts talking divorce.” Bradley stared at the image of the two-million-dollar check on his phone, his thoughts a mystery. After a long moment, he laughed. “Divorce? What’s so bad about that? It’d be a relief.”

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The ninety-ninth time Carter’s clinically depressed stepsister tried to kill herself was the ninety-ninth time he left me at the altar. “As her psychologist,” he’d said, his voice tight with a sense of duty that had long ago curdled into a weapon against me, “I have a responsibility to my patient.” And just like that, the System declared my mission a failure. The penalty was a plunge into a profound depression of my own, a systematic stripping away of every last shred of my will to live. From that day forward, all I wanted was to die, to get it over with so I could finally go back to my real life. By the time Carter finally realized I was serious, it was too late. He threw the entire weight of his profession at me, every therapeutic technique he’d ever learned, desperate to “cure” me, to coax a single spark of love for him from the ashes, to anchor me to this world by force. But I was already gone. I didn’t want him anymore. 1 We were about to exchange rings when the call came. Of course, it was his stepsister, Chloe. Carter’s hand, which had been holding mine so tightly, went slack. “Carter,” she whispered breathlessly into the phone, her voice a fragile, childlike thing. “There’s… there’s so much blood, Carter. My prince is gone, so I have to become a mermaid now. I’m going to sleep forever at the bottom of the ocean…” A theatrical pause. “When you look at the sea, will you think of me?” His voice trembled. “Chloe, baby, tell me where you are. I’ll come watch the sea with you, okay? Just… don’t do anything reckless. I’m on my way. I’ll be right there.” He hung up, his gaze falling on me, already clouded with that familiar, pre-emptive apology. “Chloe’s not stable. I have to go.” “The wedding,” he added, a pathetic afterthought. “We can do it another time, right?” “No.” The word was ripped from my throat. I grabbed the sleeve of his tuxedo, oblivious to the sea of curious, judging eyes in the pews below. My control finally shattered. “Is there no other goddamn therapist in the world? Why is it that every single time we try to get married, she decides to kill herself?” I was pleading now, my voice cracking. “This is the ninety-ninth time, Carter. Have you ever considered that maybe a different doctor would be better for her treatment?” The warmth in his dark eyes vanished, replaced by a steely glint. His handsome mouth, the one I had loved to kiss, pressed into a thin, unforgiving line. He looked at me as if I were the one being unreasonable. Chloe was his sacred ground. You couldn’t criticize her. You couldn’t even touch the subject. 2 I couldn’t stop thinking about the first time I met her. She had stolen a necklace Carter had made for me by hand. Before I could even process my anger, Carter had stepped in front of her, a human shield. “It’s the depression,” he’d explained, his voice low and serious. “It can manifest as kleptomania. Don’t be angry with her, Alice.” He’d offered a placating smile. “I’ll make you another one, exactly the same. Since she likes this one so much, just let her have it, okay?” I opened my mouth to say that you can’t make two handmade things exactly the same. I wanted to ask, And what if she decides she likes you, Carter? Am I supposed to just let her have you, too? But the words wouldn’t come out. How could I, a perfectly healthy person, argue with someone who was sick? It felt cruel. Later, while Carter was upstairs getting her anti-depressants, Chloe, whose features were an uncanny, softer echo of my own, shot me a look of pure triumph. “You’re just a cheap substitute, you know,” she’d said, her voice dripping with condescending sweetness. “He only picked you because he can’t cross that line with me. He’d never forgive himself if he touched me.” She giggled, a light, airy sound that was completely at odds with her diagnosis. “He studied psychology for me. I’ll always be number one in his heart. You can’t compete with that. Ever.” Looking at her then, I finally understood why Carter had pursued me with such single-minded intensity, claiming love at first sight. I managed a polite, tight smile. “Of course,” I said, my own voice gentle as I reminded her of the one barrier she couldn’t overcome. “After all, you’re his sister. Legally.” As long as they were siblings on paper, as long as Carter’s rigid, old-money father was alive, there was no universe in which he would permit a relationship between them. The first thing Mr. Hayes had done when he found Chloe’s embarrassingly florid love letters to Carter was to try and force her to officially change her last name to Hayes. She’d fought back with hunger strikes, sleeping pills, a dramatic leap into the ocean—anything to resist. The old man was immovable. The stalemate only broke when Carter introduced me into the picture. For a family like the Hayeses, appearances were everything. Chloe’s triumphant expression curdled. In an instant, her mood snapped. She snatched a water glass from the coffee table and hurled it down. It shattered with a percussive crack, sending shards flying. Several splinters embedded themselves in the back of her hand, drawing long, crimson lines. I flinched back, startled. But Chloe didn’t even seem to feel it. She just smiled, a wide, wild grin. “Guess who he’s going to blame for not taking good care of me?” 3 A moment later, panicked footsteps thundered down the stairs. Carter rushed into the room and shoved me aside so hard I stumbled and fell. “Why weren’t you watching her?” He scooped Chloe into his arms, carefully setting her down on the sofa before starting to tend to her hand. His eyes, cold with fury, were locked on me. “Do you have any idea how serious this is? She’s severely depressed. She could have a suicidal episode at any moment.” My own palm, which had hit the floor, was stinging from the glass fragments embedded in it. But I didn’t dare say a word, terrified of setting Chloe off again. She, in turn, wrapped her arms around Carter’s neck, burying her face in his chest and starting to sob in a breathy, childish way. The sound was laced with a victory I was sure only I could hear. “Carter, it hurts… It hurts so much.” He sighed, and the look he gave her was pure, undiluted sympathy. He gently wiped a tear from her cheek, then took her injured hand and brought it to his lips, softly blowing on the cuts. “There, all better. You’re being so brave.” He never once looked down to see the blood pooling around my own hand on the floor. I told myself it was okay. She was the patient. It was natural for him to give her more attention. But it was always Chloe. Over and over. Ninety-nine times she staged a suicide attempt. Ninety-nine times he abandoned me for her. He left me on deserted mountain roads, in blinding blizzards on the interstate, on the shoulder of a highway with cars screaming past, in the middle of nowhere late at night, and here, now, at the altar of yet another wedding that would never happen. Because of Chloe’s depression, I never had the right to say no. This time, I couldn’t give in. I just couldn’t. I held onto his sleeve, my knuckles white, refusing to let go. The System’s warning from the night before echoed in my mind. If Carter abandons you for Chloe one more time, the mission will be classified as a failure. You will be terminated. To give me a fighting chance, the System had also let me in on a secret: Chloe was faking it. She would never actually kill herself. Carter’s face was a mask of anxiety. “She’s my sister, Alice. I can’t just ignore her.” He lowered his voice, trying to reason with me. “And I’m her doctor. I have a professional responsibility. We can get married any other day, but if something happens to her today… I’ll never forgive myself.” He squeezed my arm. “I promise you, next time, it will be perfect.” I shook my head, my throat raw. “Carter, if you walk out that door, there won’t be a next time.” His patience finally snapped. He pried my fingers from his arm, his touch rough. His brow furrowed, his voice dropping to an icy whisper. “I am going to marry you, and I am going to save Chloe. The two are not mutually exclusive. Why do you have to be so stubborn?” His voice rose slightly. “This is a life-or-death situation. Are you really going to be this irrational right now?” The air froze. I could feel the mocking stares of our guests from every direction. I opened my mouth to tell him. She’s faking it, Carter. She’s not going to die. But the words wouldn’t form. The System had been clear: telling him its secrets was cheating. I tried again, desperate. If you leave, I’m the one who’s going to die. Before I could speak, his phone rang again. He answered, his voice instantly softening as he murmured reassurances to Chloe. Then, without another glance at me, he turned and walked away. A cold, mechanical voice filled my head. “Host, you have failed the mission.” “You are now free to choose your method of death.” “Upon termination, you will be returned to your original world.” Go back? Suddenly, it didn’t sound so bad. In my real life, I was sick, chronically ill, but at least I had my mother. A mother who loved me. In this world, aside from a healthy body I was about to lose, I had nothing. I considered my options. “Okay,” I transmitted to the System. “Let me develop real, severe clinical depression. And let me die at Carter’s hands.” If I had to die anyway, I wanted him—the expert psychologist—to see what the real thing looked like. And it looked nothing like Chloe. 4 After Carter left, the wedding reception devolved into chaos. Normally, I would have forced a smile, played the gracious hostess, and endured the pitying and scornful looks from our guests. Not today. I stood there, a statue in white, and watched Carter’s stepmother round on his father, her voice shrill. “Are you trying to drive her to her death? You know how much Chloe loves him!” she shrieked. “If anything happens to my daughter, I swear I’ll die too! Then we’ll see what’s more important—your precious family name or me and Chloe!” She shot a venomous glare in my direction. “You shameless bitch.” Then she stormed out, as if I were the other woman who had come between Carter and Chloe. The irony was suffocating. She was the one who’d had the affair, the one who’d ruthlessly driven Carter’s real mother to her death. But that, too, was a secret from the System. I couldn’t tell him. God, what I wouldn’t give to see the look on his face if he knew the beloved stepsister he’d coddled his whole life was the daughter of his mother’s killer. Mr. Hayes sighed, stepping toward me and patting my hand. “I’m sorry you have to go through this. Chloe’s illness… it will get better one day. You just have to be patient.” I numbly pulled my hand away and nodded, feeling nothing. Carter had said the same words to me a hundred times. Be patient. Don’t hold it against a sick person. I used to feel anger, grief, despair. Today, I felt nothing. The System had explained it. This is what severe depression does. It robs you of normal human emotion, strips away your will to live, and leaves you with nothing but endless pain and the unwavering resolve to die. “But if Chloe’s depression is so different from mine,” I asked the System, “how could a professional psychologist like Carter not see she was faking it?” There was a long pause before it answered. “Who says he couldn’t see it?” The air left my lungs. If Carter knew all along… then her “depression” was just an excuse. An excuse to spoil her without limits, to force me to yield to her again and again, to allow her to cross every conceivable line with him without consequence. It’s not the lies that kill you. It’s the truth. My chest felt like it was being pricked by a thousand tiny needles. I walked out of the chaos, through the gossiping crowds, and went home in a daze. I signed the organ donor forms, swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills, and curled up under the covers, waiting. Soon, I’d be with my mom again. The truth is, people who truly want to die do it quietly. They don’t broadcast it to the world like Chloe did. They just slip away. 5 The phone rang, dragging me from the deepening fog. I answered. Chloe’s cheerful, singsong voice came through the line. “Carter, what brand is your mattress? It’s so comfortable.” Of course. She was in our marital home. In our wedding bed. A bed I had never even slept in. A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. “Your sister-in-law picked it out,” Carter’s voice replied, distant. “I don’t know. Don’t lie on it, Chloe. Alice hasn’t even used it yet. She’d be upset.” “Carter,” Chloe purred, “have you ever slept with her?” A long, damning silence. Then, his honest answer. “No.” “Hee hee,” she giggled. “I knew you didn’t love that clingy bitch. If you really loved her, you wouldn’t have been able to keep your hands off her for this long, would you?” My mind drifted back through a haze of memories. So many times we’d been lost in the moment, skin on skin, on the verge of going all the way. And every single time, Carter would pull back, breathing heavily, stroking my hair and whispering that he wanted to save the most precious memory for our wedding night. I thought it was because he cherished me. It turns out he was saving himself for Chloe. I was about to hang up, disgusted, when I heard it. The unmistakable sound of a kiss, followed by a soft gasp. Chloe’s voice was breathy, broken. “Carter… please… don’t push me away again… If you do, I think… I think my depression will come back and I’ll want to jump off the balcony.” Carter’s normally cool voice was husky. “Chloe, I’m getting married. I can only be your brother. Do you understand?” “Stop lying to yourself,” she murmured. “You decorated this whole apartment to my tastes.” It was true. We had fought endlessly over the decor. Our aesthetics were polar opposites. Exhausted from the arguments, I had finally given in and told him to just do it his way. I never imagined his way was Chloe’s. “Carter, I dare you,” she whispered, her voice a challenge. “Touch my heart, right here, and swear you’ve never had a single improper thought about me. If you can swear it, I promise I’ll never bother you again.” She took a deep, theatrical breath, waiting for her victory. And on my end of the line, so was I. I needed to know. For five years, had I been nothing more than her stand-in? The answer came in the form of a long, heavy silence that crushed the last flicker of hope in my chest. All those moments I had treasured, all that manufactured magic… it was all just me, fooling myself. Chloe’s voice, now a sultry whisper, shattered the quiet. “Let me be your first, Carter. Please? I want to see what you’re like when you finally let go…” His response was a weak protest. “Stop it! This is my marital home!” “Doesn’t that just make it more exciting?” she purred. Listening to them, my mind spiraled. All those nights he’d left me to rush to her side… what had they been doing? An involuntary, wrenching dry heave escaped my throat. I don’t know if I imagined it, but I could have sworn I heard Chloe let out a soft, triumphant laugh. As if to say, I win. Again. Suddenly, Carter’s voice was in a panic. “Alice? Alice, listen to me, it’s not what you think!” A bitter, hopeless laugh escaped me. “Then what is it?!” “It’s a long story. Stay there. I’m coming to you right now, I’ll explain everything—” “Get lost,” I spat, my voice thick with revulsion. “Don’t you dare come near me.” Before he could reply, I used the last of my strength to end the call and block his number. The cold was spreading through my limbs now. My eyelids felt impossibly heavy. The world dissolved into a welcoming darkness. I saw my mother, as if from a childhood memory, wearing her slightly faded apron, standing at the entrance to our old alleyway. She was waving, her voice soft and warm. “Sweetheart, come inside now. Time to wash up for dinner.” … Just before I lost consciousness completely, I heard a frantic pounding on the door. “Alice! Open the door! I swear, there’s a reasonable explanation for everything!” It was Carter’s voice. Too late.

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