Category: English

1 Fairness was the golden rule in our house. My twin older siblings, Austin and Katherine, would throw absolute tantrums if they suspected Mom and Dad favored one over the other even a little bit. To keep the peace, everything in our home was divided into two equal shares. One for Austin, one for Katherine. Once, when I was little, I asked Mom a simple question. “What about mine?” Mom snapped at me. “Do you really think we don’t have enough drama with your brother and sister? Why can’t you just be quiet for once?” Then came the day we got a new car. It was a six-seater SUV. There were five of us in the family. On the morning of our big family road trip, I stood outside in the pouring rain, watching them load up. The two extra seats in the back were occupied. One held Katherine’s cat carrier. The other held Austin’s golden retriever. I stood by the open door, shivering and squeezed out. Austin protectively shielded his dog. Katherine rolled her eyes and shrugged. “We agreed on absolute fairness. No one touches my cat’s space.” Dad looked at me with deep irritation as the rain soaked through my jacket. “Don’t you have anything else to do?” Shivering from the biting cold, I forced a small smile. “Actually, I do. I am not going.” I turned around and walked away, immediately pulling up my phone to submit my study abroad application to my college advisor. If the fairness I had waited twenty years for was never going to come, there was no reason for me to keep standing in the rain. By the time I walked back to our empty house, I was soaked to the bone. As soon as I stepped inside, my phone buzzed. Mom had tagged me in the family group chat, asking how I planned to feed myself while they were away for the weekend. For a fleeting second, a warm ache bloomed in my chest, and my eyes welled with tears. I thought she cared. But before I could type a response, her next message flashed on the screen. “Do not touch anything in the fridge. It is fully stocked for Austin and Katherine, split perfectly down the middle. If you eat any of it, you will ruin the balance.” The tiny spark of warmth vanished instantly. I stared at the screen, desperately wanting to reply with a simple question: “What about me?” In the end, my fingers merely tapped out two words. “Got it.” I had asked that question a thousand times growing up. No one ever cared. It was as if everyone, including myself, had accepted that nothing in this house would ever belong to me. I pocketed my phone and searched the pantry, eventually finding a forgotten, stale loaf of bread at the very back. I ate a few dry bites, curled under my thin blanket, and finally drifted off to sleep, cold and exhausted. In the middle of the night, I was violently jolted awake by a heavy, wet bundle slammed onto my face. I gasped, pulling the cold fabric off my head. The hallway lights were blazing, and the living room was a chaotic mess of muddy boots and loud voices. Mom and Dad were grumbling about a sudden storm that had flooded the highway, forcing them to turn back. Katherine stood at my doorway, her arms crossed, glaring down at me. “What are you staring at? Are you deaf? Get up and wash my jacket.” Her designer coat was caked in thick, wet mud. The dirty water had soaked through my hair, leaving a sticky, disgusting residue on my forehead. Blinking away the heavy sleep, I whispered, “Katherine, please. I am exhausted. Can I do it first thing in the morning?” Katherine’s voice instantly spiked. “If you don’t want to help, just say so. Don’t make pathetic excuses!” Austin walked up behind her, tossing his mud-covered sneakers onto my floor with a dull thud. “If you are doing hers, you are doing mine too. Get moving.” Mom walked past the door carrying a basket of laundry, casting a brief, uncaring glance at my disheveled state. She frowned and immediately scolded me. “There are three kids in this house, and we believe in equal contribution. Your brother and sister have been traveling all day while you sat at home relaxing. The least you can do is help with some laundry.” Looking at their demanding faces, I wanted to laugh. It turned out their precious fairness was highly selective. When it came to dividing resources, only the twins got a share. But when it came to burdens, I was suddenly a full member of the family. Without another word, I quietly knelt on the floor, gathered the pile of muddy clothes and shoes, and walked to the laundry room. It took me nearly four hours to scrub the mud out of their clothes. By the time I finished, my vision was blurring, a warning sign of low blood sugar from hunger. I leaned against the wall and stumbled into the kitchen for a glass of water. Just as I poured it, Dad walked in through the front door, carrying a bag of hot takeout. The moment he saw me, he instinctively hid the bag behind his back. A fleeting, awkward smile crossed his face. “The portions were perfect for four, so I didn’t get you anything. If we tried to split it five ways, Austin and Katherine would have started fighting again. Oh, but the place gave us some complimentary roasted peanuts. The twins don’t like them.” I forced a polite smile and gently pushed his hand away. “Thanks, Dad, but I am severely allergic to peanuts.” Dad froze for a fraction of a second, but the realization barely registered. Before he could say anything, Katherine called out for him from the living room. He quickly turned his back on me and walked away. As he walked away, I clutched the kitchen counter, my fingers digging into the wood. A sharp, physical pain stabbed at my heart, but I didn’t even have the energy to cry. After choking down some water to settle my stomach, I walked back to the utility room to sleep. But when I pushed the door open, my heart sank. The small space was crowded with the suitcases they hadn’t bothered to unpack. 2 There was so much luggage that they had run out of floor space. To my horror, Katherine’s dirty plastic litter box had been tossed right onto my bed. My head throbbed with a sudden, sharp ache. I turned around and looked at the bright, laughter-filled living room. Mom happened to glance over. For a split second, our eyes met. I knew she saw my humiliation and distress, but she merely shifted her gaze back to the TV as if I were invisible. This was nothing new. I used to have my own bedroom. But when we were twelve, Katherine cried for weeks because her room was a tiny fraction smaller than Austin’s. To resolve the dispute, Mom and Dad sliced my bedroom in half, turning one side into Katherine’s walk-in closet. Austin had stormed out of the house in a rage when he heard the news. When he returned, the remaining half of my room was converted into his private gaming den. That was how I was relegated to the drafty, cramped utility room, freezing in the winter and sweltering in the summer. Outside, the rain continued to beat against the window, water pooling on the cracked sill. It occurred to me then that I was just like that puddle, something inconvenient, pushed aside, and left to dry up. They had taken my room first, and now they were taking the last square inch of my sanity. I quietly pulled the door shut, locking out the warmth and laughter that would never belong to me. I didn’t sleep at all that night. There was simply nowhere to lie down. Early the next morning, my academic advisor, Mrs. Gable, called me to her office. She had wonderful news. My study abroad application to Australia had been approved. But there was a catch. “Since you are going overseas, the university requires a signed parental consent form,” she said, looking at me gently. “Have you discussed this with your parents?” I squeezed the hem of my shirt, my knuckles turning white. Then, I managed a bright smile. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Gable. I will get it taken care of.” As I walked out of the administration building, I ran straight into Mom. Beside her was Katherine, whose eyes were red and swollen from crying. She was clinging to Mom’s arm, whining loudly. “Mom, it is not fair! Austin got the MVP trophy for his basketball tournament, and I have absolutely nothing. Everyone is going to laugh at me!” Seeing them like this used to make me ache with jealousy. Now, I merely glanced at them and tried to walk past. But Mom suddenly grabbed my wrist, her grip tight and demanding. “Gemma, didn’t you win that national design competition last month? Give the medal to Katherine.” She spoke as if it were the most natural request in the world. “You know how competitive she is with her brother. She will be miserable for weeks if she doesn’t get something to show off.” For a second, my mind went entirely blank. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. “Mom,” I whispered, my throat tight and dry. “I worked on that project for six months…” Mom cut me off with an impatient wave of her hand. “I know you studied hard, but what good is that medal doing you anyway? It means more to your sister. If you keep holding onto it, are you just trying to ruin the peace in this family?” My eyes widened. A torrent of suppressed anger and grief rushed up my throat. Why was the peace of this family always built on my sacrifice? What about me? What about my hard work? But then, my fingers brushed against the parental consent form in my bag. The anger instantly crystallized into cold resolve. “Fine,” I said, my voice flatter and colder than it had ever been. “I will hand over the medal. But only if you sign this document right now.” Mom didn’t even hesitate. She grabbed the paper from my hand, hastily scribbled her signature on the line, and turned back to Katherine with a triumphant smile. She didn’t even look at the words “Study Abroad Program” printed in bold letters at the top of the page. Katherine stopped crying and beamed, deliberately bumping her shoulder against mine as they walked away. She cast a smug look over her shoulder. “You should have just agreed in the first place instead of making me cry.” She spoke with absolute certainty, secure in the knowledge that half of everything in this world belonged to her by default. I didn’t say a word. I simply clutched the signed consent form close to my chest like a lifeline. 3 The moment Katherine got her hands on my design medal, she posted a picture of it on Instagram. Naturally, Austin couldn’t let her have the spotlight. He demanded a party to celebrate his MVP trophy, so Mom and Dad decided to throw a joint celebration for both of them. They scheduled the party for the exact day of my twentieth birthday. It was a milestone birthday, and I had been looking forward to it for months. I had confirmed weeks in advance that everyone would be free. But all my quiet hopes felt utterly pathetic now. In the private dining room of the upscale restaurant, Mom and Dad offered me a hurried, dismissive explanation. “We can always celebrate your birthday next week, Gemma. If we don’t do this joint party now, your brother and sister will start fighting again. They are just competitive. Try to be the bigger person.” I forced the corners of my mouth up in a stiff nod. The words “This is likely the last birthday I will ever spend with you” remained locked behind my teeth. The waiters wheeled in a massive, elaborate cake. Austin and Katherine stood side by side behind it, their faces glowing with pride. The room was filled with relatives cheering and laughing. A distant aunt spoke up. “Wait, isn’t today Gemma’s twentieth birthday too? One cake might not be enough for three of them.” Hearing this, Dad immediately stepped up and sliced the cake cleanly down the middle, dividing it into two giant portions. He gave me an apologetic, strained smile. “Splitting a cake into three equal parts is too complicated, Gemma. We will get you your own next time.” I had heard some variation of that excuse my entire life. I should have realized long ago that my parents’ love was a finite resource, strictly reserved for two. There was never going to be a share left over for me. Mom, still worried that I might throw a tantrum and ruin the atmosphere, pulled me aside and told me to help the staff with the dirty dishes and serving. For the rest of the evening, I ran around the room like an unpaid waitress, clearing glasses and wiping tables. During a brief moment of rest, I overheard Mom chatting with my Aunt Sarah near the buffet. “You know, you two really hit the jackpot with the twins,” Aunt Sarah said, sipping her wine. “They are gorgeous and full of life. But Gemma is such a sweet, quiet girl too. It isn’t right to always leave her out.” Despite telling myself I didn’t care, my body tensed. I held my breath, waiting for Mom’s response. A long pause followed before Mom sighed. “You don’t understand, Sarah. Of course she is my daughter, but the twins brought so much joy into our lives. Gemma is just different. She is always so gloomy, never smiling. It is hard to feel close to her.” My hand trembled, and the heavy metal pitcher of boiling water slipped from my grip. Searing hot water splashed across the back of my hand, but the burning pain on my skin was nothing compared to the sudden, suffocating ache in my chest. Before I could make a sound, a pair of warm, frail hands gently took mine. It was Nana. She smiled softly, slipping a delicate silver bracelet onto my wrist. “Gemma, happy twentieth birthday, my sweet girl. I didn’t forget. This is old and not worth much, but I have worn it for twenty years. I want you to have it.” The silver was slightly tarnished, worth perhaps fifty dollars at best, but I knew it was the most precious thing Nana owned. The dam inside me broke, and tears flooded my eyes. I tried to say thank you, but only a choked sob came out. Looking around, I saw several relatives staring, and I felt Mom’s sharp, disapproving gaze land on me. I couldn’t even cry in peace. I hugged Nana tightly, then hurried to the restroom to wash my face and compose myself. It took me a long time to stop shaking. When I finally walked back into the banquet hall, I reached into my purse to check on the bracelet. It was gone. Panic seized me. I rushed back to our table, my eyes frantically searching the floor. Then, my gaze drifted toward the stage, and my heart stopped. There was a familiar glint of silver resting against Katherine’s wrist.

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On the third day of dating, my boyfriend lost his memory. My reaction: … This was the man I had chased for three grueling years. I’m exhausted. Let’s just burn it all down. I honestly didn’t have the energy to try and win him over again. So, when he looked at me, his eyes blank, and asked who I was, I simply replied, under the silent, tense gazes of his family, “I’m your assistant.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt a collective sigh of relief. Including me. And, perhaps, even him. 1 Alexander stared at me, as if trying to discern a lie on my face. But I met his gaze calmly. Are you kidding? He was such a pain to chase. If I had to do it all over again, it would literally kill me. I weighed the pros and cons for all of three seconds. Then, I decided: I was out. There are plenty of handsome men in the world. I wasn’t going to waste another three years on him. When I first started pursuing him, it was purely because of his face. So, I interviewed at his company and landed a job as his assistant. After chasing him for a year, I actually fell in love with him. He had this quiet gravitas, a self-possession I lacked. Two years in, I almost gave up. He was so emotionally distant. But I felt like I’d invested too much to quit then. It would be a waste. By the third year, I was completely drained. I was ready to throw in the towel. But right when I was about to walk away, he finally agreed to be with me. I basked in three blissful days of happiness. And then, poof, amnesia. I let out a bitter laugh. Amnesia. How perfect. His younger brother, Cody, stayed by his bedside, his eyes glued to me. I placed a folder of documents in front of Alex. “Mr. Alexander, please review this contract. If everything looks good, it’s ready for your signature.” Cody frowned. “My brother just woke up.” I handed Alex a pen. “And? Are we abandoning the company? Giving up on profits? Should the employees starve?” Alex picked up the contract, read it for a good fifteen minutes, and then signed. He handed it back to me. “Thank you for your hard work.” I shook my head. “It’s nothing.” I checked my watch. “Mr. Alexander, Mr. Harrison, the Vice President, will handle all other matters that don’t require your direct approval. So, I won’t need to disturb you during your recovery. Get well soon. I’ll return to the office now.” I gave a polite bow, then turned and walked away without a single backward glance. “Ms. Joanna.” I paused, turning to face him. “Is there anything else, Mr. Alexander?” Alex stared at me. “You are just my assistant, right?” I froze for a split second, then plastered a wide, toothy grin on my face. “Yes, Mr. Alexander.” He nodded. I said nothing more, turning to leave. It wasn’t until I reached the parking garage and settled into my driver’s seat that the smile finally fell from my face. Damn it. If he wanted to break up, why the hell did he have to fake amnesia? It’s not like I haven’t seen what real amnesia looks like. His acting was terrible. Plus, that whole memory loss act felt straight out of a cheesy soap opera. It was so fake. I grabbed the tin of candies from the passenger seat, popped one into my mouth. Life was too bitter. I needed some sweetness. The first thing I did when I got back to the office was write a letter of resignation. I was done playing his games. Even if I lived to be ninety, I’d wasted a thirtieth of my life on him. Not only did I not make any money, I couldn’t even recoup my investment. This deal was a complete loss. Forget it. I submitted my resignation request through the internal system. With Alex in the hospital, I had transferred my approval authority to Mr. Harrison. Alex would never even see my resignation. Mr. Harrison burst into my office the moment he saw it. “Ms. Joanna, what’s going on?” I took a sip of my coffee and spun a ridiculous lie. “Well, Alex is in the hospital, right? He needs constant care. I’ve decided to dedicate myself to looking after him. And after he’s discharged, I’ll still need to be home, taking care of him. His health is paramount.” Mr. Harrison was one of the few people who knew about our relationship. So, he completely bought my story. “Is Mr. Alexander’s condition serious?” I waved a hand dismissively. “Not serious at all. Physically, he’s fine. Just a little memory loss. When you visit him, don’t mention my resignation. I wouldn’t want him to get agitated, thinking I quit just to take care of him.” Mr. Harrison nodded vigorously. “I understand, I understand.” “So, I’m counting on you to hold down the fort. I’ll spend the next month transitioning my responsibilities. I’ll still go to the hospital to brief Alex on critical matters. This month, I’ll gently prepare him for my eventual departure. By the end of it, he should be ready for me to officially leave.” As Mr. Harrison left, I gave him one last reminder. “Oh, and Mr. Harrison, please make sure to approve my resignation on the system, okay?” “No problem.” I breathed a sigh of relief as he walked away. Actually, when I was contemplating giving up on Alex before, I had already delegated most of my work. Then he suddenly told me he wanted to be together, and I put the brakes on the transition. Looking back, I was incredibly farsighted. My replacements were already trained. Handing over the remaining tasks should be a breeze. 2 When I got home that evening, I felt utterly drained. Just as I was about to eat dinner, a text popped up from my friend. Jake: [Wanna come out?] Me: [For what?] Jake: [? I’m just asking. You always say no when I ask.] Me: [Then why bother asking?] Jake: [Just in case, you know? It’s been three years since you set foot in my club. Someone asked about you recently, so I figured I’d try again.] Me: [Where?] Anyway, I didn’t have to stay up late organizing documents for Alex anymore. My evenings were wide open. Jake: [My club, of course. We have a new dancer. He’s incredibly hot. Reminds a lot of people of you back in the day. Come check him out.] I grabbed my car keys. [Half an hour.] Jake: [Alright, perfect. I’ll get your usual drink ready.] Five years ago, Jake and I opened that club together. Back then, all I wanted was a carefree life. Jake managed it, and I collected my dividends. I made a decent living. To get the party started, I used to hit the dance floor myself. Those were the days. Life was amazing. I had suitors lining up around the block. Then I ran into Alex at the club. One look, and I was smitten. The next thing I knew, I was interviewing to be his assistant. Now that I’d quit, I could go back to my old life of just chilling and enjoying myself. The moment I stepped into the club, Jake enveloped me in a bear hug. “Waaah, I missed you so much! You were slaving away at that godforsaken company every day. It was impossible to even see you.” I patted his back. “It’s fine now. I quit. I’m with you from now on.” Jake’s sobs abruptly stopped. “Quit? What do you mean?” I laughed. “We broke up.” Jake: “But it’s only been three days?” “He had a change of heart.” Jake: “What the f***, that son of a b****! He’s a complete a******! You poured your heart out for a dog! That piece of s***! I’m gonna find someone to break his damn legs!” I clamped my arm around his neck. “Still so volatile, man. It’s fine. In a month, I’ll be officially gone. He’ll be out of my life for good. I’m just a little bummed. Never even got a proper kiss. You have no idea what a hellhole the last three years have been. I’ve been starved for action.” Jake: “You? There are a hundred hot people in this club. If you want, you could kiss every single one of them tonight.” I burst out laughing. “Alright, alright, enough about that. So, who’s this dancer you mentioned? Let’s see if he’s got anything on my old moves.” 3 The moment I saw Dylan, I was captivated. “Wow, someone actually hotter than me.” Jake looked exasperated. “Dude, you’ve gotten more narcissistic over the last twenty years.” I laughed, patting his shoulder. “Where did you find him? He looks pretty young.” “He’s got a sad story. Graduated high school, no money for college, so he came out to work. Started as a server. I noticed his good looks and moves, so I paid for him to take dance lessons. Six months later, he was incredible. So, I gave him a raise, hehehe.” I frowned. He hadn’t gone to college after high school? “Tell him to come to my private booth after his set.” Jake’s eyes widened. “What are you planning? Are you going to take advantage of him?” I kicked him. “Get lost.” When Dylan entered the booth, I was sipping my drink. Seeing him, I raised a hand, motioning for him to sit on the sofa opposite me. “Boss.” I choked on my drink. “Just call me Jo. I don’t actually run anything here. No need for ‘boss’.” Dylan looked wary, sitting precariously on the edge of the sofa as if ready to bolt. His caution amused me. “What are you scared of? I’m not going to eat you.” Dylan’s lips curved into a small smile, but he didn’t speak. “Jake told me you couldn’t afford college after high school. What’s your situation now?” Dylan bit his lip. “I started freshman year, but I couldn’t afford to continue, so I took a leave of absence. My family also needs money, so I’ve been working ever since.” “How long have you been on leave?” “Two years.” I leaned back against the cushions. “How much money does your family need?” “About six thousand. My younger brother is still in the hospital. The doctors said he needs surgery that costs twelve thousand. I’ve saved six thousand, so I still need another six thousand.” I nodded. “I’ll cover the six thousand. I’ll also pay for your four years of college tuition. You go back to school.” He looked up abruptly, his eyes wide. “Jo, I…” “Just tell me if you want to go back to school.” He nodded again. “More than anything, Jo.” “Then go back.” “I’ll consider it a loan from you. I can work part-time while studying to pay you back.” I stood up, adjusting my shirt. “Alright. But you only start paying me back after you graduate. While you’re in school, if you want to work part-time, fine, but don’t pay me back yet. You’ll likely need money for other things.” “Thank you, Jo. Thank you.” “Add me on social media. Send me your bank account details, and I’ll transfer the money.” Dylan pulled out his phone and handed it to me. After transferring the funds, I drained my glass, then left the booth amidst his heartfelt thanks. It had been a while since I’d truly let loose. I motioned for the DJ to crank up the music. Then, I shucked off my blazer and tossed it into Dylan’s arms. Back in college, I was president of the dance club for two years. Over a decade of practice wasn’t for nothing. The moment the beat dropped, I sprang onto the stage. I tore off my tie, then unbuttoned the top two buttons of my shirt. The dark red silk shimmered under the lights, like spilled wine staining my skin. My movements were broad and fluid. The hem of my shirt pulled free from my waistband. I tilted my head, grinning at Dylan. Kid, let me show you how to really seduce an audience. I let out a low chuckle, my fingertips tracing a path from my Adam’s apple, down my collarbone, across my chest, finally resting at the edge of my jeans… The roar from the crowd threatened to blow the roof off the club. When the song ended, I leaped off the stage. It had been far too long since I’d danced with such uninhibited passion. I took my blazer back from Dylan and draped it over my shoulders. “So, what do you think?” Dylan’s face was flushed, his voice trembling with excitement. “You’re even better than my dance instructor, Jo.” Jake clapped enthusiastically from the side. “The Dance God returns! You’ve still got it, man. Not a day over twenty.” “Screw you, I’m twenty-six. I’m in my prime, alright?” As we bantered, my phone rang. I picked it up and saw the caller ID. Alex? I frowned. What did he want this late at night? I answered. “Mr. Alexander.” “Come to the hospital.” Me: … I took a deep breath. “Mr. Alexander, it’s after hours. And there are no contracts requiring your signature.” “Someone told me you’re dancing at a club.” I froze. Damn it. I’d forgotten. The first time I ever met him was here. He was with his usual group of friends. Even though Alex rarely came to the club anymore, his friends were still regulars. “I am at a club. Is there a problem?” “You…” Alex fell silent. After about ten seconds, he hung up. I stared at the phone, bewildered. Jerk. Jake glanced at my screen. “What the f***, your ex? Does he have no shame? He broke up with you, why is he calling?” Hearing him say that made my teeth ache. “Don’t even mention him. He’s a pain.” Dylan stood rooted to the spot, looking a little shocked. Great. I scared the kid. Well, he was only twenty. He probably hadn’t seen this kind of drama before. Jake, ever the instigator, piped up, “Oh, our Jo gave his heart to the wrong man, but luckily he’s seen the light now!” I kicked him. “Don’t say everything in front of the kid.” Dylan’s lips curved into a small smile. Damn it, I’m being mocked by a brat. Just as I was about to scold Dylan, I saw him looking at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He said, “You’re amazing, Jo. Everyone should like you. It’s that guy’s loss for letting you go. Anyone you choose to love would be the happiest, luckiest person in the world.” My heart skipped a beat. Before I could figure out how to respond, my arm was suddenly grabbed. 4 I turned around, utterly confused. It was Alex’s brother, Cody. What was he doing here? Cody’s gaze swept over Jake and Dylan, then he pulled me out of the club. “My brother sent me to pick you up.” Jake: “Hey, hey, what are you doing? Is this a kidnapping in broad daylight?” I waved a hand at Jake. “It’s fine, little bro. You guys carry on. I’ll see you later.” Dragged out of the club, I was then shoved into a car. “What is wrong with you? Your brother lost his memory, and you’ve lost your mind? Didn’t your whole family want us to break up? Now that we have, what else do you want?” Cody’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Why don’t you choose me instead?” My brain crashed. “What the hell are you talking about? Choose you for what?” “My brother and I look pretty similar, don’t we?” Me: … “Are you serious?” Cody grit his teeth. “We came to this club together that night, when we first saw you dance. It was me who saw you first. I regret ever pointing you out to my brother.” “I never thought you’d fall for him so hard.” “When you chased my brother, I respected your choice.” “But he treated you badly.” He turned to look at me. “I thought you’d give up after he pushed you away. I was waiting for you to walk away, so I could pursue you. But you actually kept going for three years, and then you actually ended up together.” “I was completely desperate. Then my brother lost his memory.” He looked at me with intense seriousness. “Joanna, will you give me a chance to pursue you?” Me: ? What in God’s name? In the end, all my complex thoughts condensed into one simple question: “Are you okay?” Cody lowered his head, composing himself. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know what else to do. You liked my brother for three years. I’ve liked you for three years. I just want to fight for a chance.” I leaned against the car window, watching him. “Did your brother send you here, or was this your own idea?” “My brother. Someone sent him the video of you dancing.” I scoffed. “And your brother told me to go to the hospital?” “My brother told me to drive you home.” I crossed my legs. “So you’re trying to steal his ex?” “My brother treated you badly. Besides, you two are over. There’s no future there.” 5 “What do you like about me?” He kept driving, his voice steady. “You’re beautiful, you have a great personality. Being with you is so easy. Every time you came to our house, I was genuinely happy, even if it was for my brother.” “I’m not telling you all this to cause you trouble. I just want to seize an opportunity for myself. You don’t have to feel pressured.” I sighed, then sat up straight. “Don’t bother. We’re not going to happen.” He nodded. “I know. I just wanted to try.” I was about to say more, but my phone rang again. I pulled it out. It was Marcus, Alex’s best friend. We’d hung out a lot over the past three years. “Weren’t you just dancing at the club? How’d you disappear after I went to the restroom?” I cleared my throat. “I went home.” “So early? I was planning on buying you a drink.” “Another time.” The other end was silent for three seconds. Then, “I heard you and Alex broke up?” I hummed in affirmation. “Can I pursue you?” My hand twitched, losing its grip. My phone clattered, sliding into the seat gap. As it dropped, it accidentally switched to speakerphone. “Why aren’t you saying anything? You two are over, so I’m not stealing anyone. I actually fell for you the moment I saw you, but since you liked Alex, I couldn’t say anything.” “Is it okay if we meet up tomorrow? I’ll pick you up.” Me: … I finally managed to fish my phone out of the gap, sweat trickling down my back. Oh my God. Am I the protagonist of some reverse harem novel? Seriously, I’m a magnet for trouble. I stole a glance at Cody. He didn’t say anything, but his jaw was clenched so tight I thought his teeth might shatter. “Uh, that’s not really convenient.” “Just to talk. No pressure. What if we actually hit it off? I know you’re into looks, and I’m just as handsome as Alex.” “Haha, we’ll see. I’m busy with work these days.” “Alright then. Come to the club more often. You danced incredibly well tonight, just like three years ago. Without Alex weighing you down, you’re finally living again. Congratulations on your new lease on life.” What exactly did I dance three years ago? The cold sweat wouldn’t stop. After I hung up, the car fell silent. A minute later, Cody spoke. “That jerk. I knew he had a thing for you. He stared at you blankly just as much as I did these past three years. You don’t hit on your friend’s partner. Does he have no shame?” Me: … I couldn’t help but think: Then what does that make you, hitting on your brother’s ex-girlfriend? This conversation was going nowhere. After he dropped me off at my place, Cody got out of the car too. I stood at my front door, watching him. Was he expecting to come in for tea? Given our current situation, it really wasn’t appropriate. Cody seemed to sense my discomfort. “Just making sure you get in safely. Go on.” Oh, okay. I nodded and went inside.

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1 My ex-husband Henry talks to birds. On our divorce reality show, he spent ten hours venting to a sparrow about my suffocating possessiveness and the horror of me constantly wiring him money. Overnight, he became the pampered canary, cashing in on viral fame with streams and brand deals. Jealous, I tried to ride his coattails, only to be mocked by his co-host on air. Can the ex-wife stop clout-chasing? she smirked. Henry came home crying over her. His rabid fan base tore me apart online until I was afraid to check my phone. That night, drunk by my open window, I slurred my misery into the dark, unaware a bird was listening. It flew straight to Henry to report my breakdown. The next day, as his co-host started her stream, a passing flock bombed her perfectly styled hair with droppings. Henry appeared on camera, a smug finch perched on his shoulder. Rumors are trash, he declared, his voice ringing with righteous indignation. We are not a couple. I didn’t even go home last night, but apparently, my ex-wife spent the evening crying her heart out to my birds. … It all started on the show when Henry told the cameras, “My ex-wife is emotionally constipated. She is like a motorcycle; one twist of the throttle, and she zooms right out of your life.” I was so incredibly furious that I chased him out of the interview room, screaming. Our shouting match was captured live on camera as we dragged each other from the set to the backstage corridors. Naturally, the footage of our explosive toxic dynamic spread across the internet like wildfire. To the public, we were the couple most guaranteed to fail the show’s marriage counseling phase. Honestly, I agreed with them. That night, feeling defeated, I went to the director’s office to officially withdraw from the production. But the director looked at me with a strange, amused expression. “Your ex-husband predicted this. He knew you would try to quit tonight, and he asked me to deliver a message.” Before I could ask what it was, the director stood up, placed one foot on his office chair, raised his middle finger at me, and squeaked in a high-pitched, mocking voice: “Ex-wife, you are pathetic! If you want to admit defeat, do it to my face instead of sneaking away like a coward!” After finishing his theatrical performance, the director coughed into his hand, cleared his throat, and offered me a sheepish smile, returning to his usual polite self. My chest rose and fell with hot anger. I turned on my heel, ready to hunt Henry down and rip his hair out. But as my foot crossed the threshold, a sudden realization hit me. If I confronted him now, my pride would be completely ruined. Henry would think I was crawling back to admit defeat. To protect my sky-high dignity, I swallowed my anger, gritted my teeth, and went back to my room. The next morning, filming resumed as scheduled. The producers arranged for the couples to sit face-to-face in a quiet, neutral room to have an honest conversation. A highly perceptive relationship counselor sat between us, tasked with translating our passive-aggressive remarks and untangling our deep-seated emotional knots. Because of our violent history, Henry and I were securely strapped to our chairs with heavy ropes before the cameras started rolling. The crew was terrified we would tear each other apart if left unrestrained. I stared coldly at the faint red mark my palm had left on Henry’s cheek the day before, letting out a sharp, dismissive scoff. Henry ran his tongue over his inner cheek, his dark eyes radiating pure annoyance. We clearly detested the very sight of each other. Even the veteran counselor looked intimidated, struggling to find a way to break the icy silence. Following the script, we were asked to answer the opening question: “What made you choose your partner in the beginning?” I hesitated for a fraction of a second. Henry, however, didn’t hesitate at all. “Because she is filthy rich,” he blurted out. The veins on my forehead throbbed. He had literally treated me like a sugar mama. The counselor cleared his throat awkwardly, turning his gaze toward me. “And you, Kathryn?” I glared at Henry, my voice dripping with venom. “Because he was the cheapest option on the market!” Henry’s eyes flared with anger. He began thrashing against the ropes, practically dragging his heavy wooden chair across the floor. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Kathryn?!” Seeing him lose his cool brought a sudden rush of satisfaction. I leaned back, let out a slow, appreciative whistle as my eyes scanned his tense, well-toned torso, and added, “Well, his body isn’t half bad. Excellent value for my money.” Henry froze. He slumped back into his chair, suddenly quiet, his cheeks flushing a faint pink. “If the love is gone, is it really necessary to humiliate him like this?” An indignant female voice broke the silence. We both looked over to see Hailey, the personal assistant Henry had hired for the show. Her fists were clenched, her eyes burning with fury as she glared at me. The smirk vanished from my face. Henry, seeing my mood drop, crossed his legs triumphantly, clearly thrilled that someone from his camp had come to defend his honor. A wave of discomfort washed over me, but I couldn’t put it into words. Revealing my jealousy would make me feel inferior, so I chose to shut down completely, staring blankly at the floor. As I retreated into my usual silence, Henry’s triumphant smirk faded. He leaned forward as much as the ropes allowed. “Hey, say something.” “Giving me the silent treatment again?” “If you are upset, just say it. Playing the silent martyr won’t make me feel sorry for you.” His gaze was intense, searching my face as he tried to coax a response out of me. “Why are you mad, Kathryn?” My lips parted slightly, my defenses starting to crumble under his persistent gaze. But before I could speak, Hailey stepped forward, cutting off the cameras. She placed her hands protectively on Henry’s shoulders. “Henry, you don’t need to grovel to her!” I closed my eyes, turning to the counselor. “Are we finished here?” Due to the interruption, the shoot had to be paused. The crew rushed over to untie us. I rubbed my sore wrists, stood up without a word, and walked back to my room. I skipped dinner entirely, lock keying myself inside as a heavy cloud of misery settled over me. Had agreeing to come on this show been a massive mistake? I didn’t expect the production team to edit that exact argument and post it online. A clip of me walking away from the table was turned into a viral GIF with the caption: The runaway motorcycle zooms out of your life! In an instant, relationship bloggers and meme accounts flooded the internet with commentary. The producers, realizing our toxic chemistry was a gold mine for ratings, poured more resources into capturing our drama. To protect my pride and avoid admitting defeat, I endured the daily torment of filming. Besides, Henry didn’t have the money to pay the contract termination fee. If I walked away, I would have to cover his fine as well, which was a financial loss I refused to accept. So, I spent the remaining days of filming with a scowl on my face, refusing to engage with anyone. I didn’t say a single word to Henry, mimicking the agonizing silence of our court-mandated divorce waiting period. We were like two strangers occupying the same space. Despite the crew’s best efforts to force a reconciliation, our icy wall remained unbroken. This silent war persisted until the very last day of the show, the final decision ceremony. Henry and I were placed in two separate cars, driving from opposite ends of a long, sun-drenched highway. If we wanted to give our marriage another chance, we had to step out of our cars and embrace in the middle of the road. If not, we would stay in our vehicles, driving past each other into separate lives. As the car began to move, my heart hammered against my ribs. We had been through this cycle so many times. We were like oil and water, constantly clashing, entering cold wars, separating, and then, driven by some inexplicable magnetic pull, passionately reconciling, only to remarry and start the cycle all over again. Our safe held a stack of marriage and divorce certificates, yet we could never seem to end this chaotic dance. This time, I wanted to end it for real. As the car approached the middle of the highway, the host beside me asked, “Kathryn, what is your choice going to be? The viewers are dying to know if this is truly the end.” I ordered the driver to stop. I stepped out of the vehicle, standing on the asphalt under the blazing sun. The heat radiated through the soles of my shoes, making my eyes water. The host beside me gasped in pure shock. “Unbelievable! We honestly thought you would be the last person to get out of the car.” Yes, even I thought I wouldn’t. I was the runaway motorcycle. If I could easily walk away, we would have ended years ago. If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t have agreed to do this show. I could scream, I could ignore him, but when faced with the absolute end, I simply couldn’t let him go. Just as I prepared myself to spend the rest of my life tangled up with this idiot, Henry’s car slowly rolled past me. The window was rolled down. Henry was resting his chin on his hand, staring blankly at the passing landscape. When his eyes met mine, flushed red from the heat and the sun, his eyes widened in sheer horror. The car didn’t stop. It carried him away, his shocked face vanishing as the vehicle sped down the highway. A dull, heavy ache bloomed in my chest. My pride and dignity lay shattered on the hot asphalt, baking under the merciless sun. I stared at the disappearing car, my throat tight with confusion. How could he not get out? Did he really want to let me go? My voice was dry as I turned to the crew. “Can I go home now?” The host remained dazed for several seconds before quickly calling for a production car to take me back to the hotel. I packed my bags immediately, called a private car, and fled back to my empty house. I shut off my phone, disconnected my computer, and hid from the world. When I finally stepped back into the public eye, it was for the show’s post-finale reunion interview. I showed up disguised in a large face mask and dark sunglasses, looking incredibly ridiculous on camera. Henry arrived a moment later, looking relaxed, with a long-tailed finch perched happily on his shoulder. The sight of him looking so carefree made my blood boil. How could he be in such a good mood while I was drowning in misery? “Look at her,” Henry whispered to the bird on his shoulder. “She is brooding again.” The bird let out a series of cheerful chirps as if agreeing with him. Our usual host cleared his throat, trying to suppress a chuckle as he pointed the microphone at me. “Kathryn, did you… pfft… did you not watch the final episode after you left?” Seeing them laugh at me made me want to rip my mic off and leave, but the crew quickly held me back. “Wait! Don’t go! We aren’t laughing at you. There is a piece of footage you missed after you drove away.” They played the clip on the monitor. The video showed that the moment I had gotten into the production car and driven away, Henry had leaped out of his moving vehicle, sprinting down the highway in a desperate attempt to catch me. When he couldn’t keep up, he stopped, panting heavily as he glared at the camera crew. “She is unbelievable! She is going to be furious with me now. I am officially on death row!” “Why does she have to be so stubborn? She had a resting bitch face for days, so I honestly thought she wouldn’t step out of the car. I figured it was too hot anyway, so I didn’t bother getting out to prove my devotion, but of course she actually got out!” Henry had paced back and forth, muttering a laundry list of nicknames for me: “her royal highness, the drama queen, the runaway motorcycle, the queen of emotional suppression, the unpleasable dictator.” Since the show was over and no one wanted to listen to his rants, he had sat under a tree and complained about me to a flock of sparrows for ten hours straight. His assistant, Hailey, had recorded the entire thing and posted it online, which was how Henry had become a viral sensation. Looking closely, I realized his clothes and watch were significantly more expensive than before. Along with his fame, the internet had started shipping Henry and Hailey, calling them a match made in heaven. Knowing that he was doing well, the heavy knot in my chest loosened. If leaving me allowed him to thrive, then our separation actually had a purpose. After a few brief questions, the crew let me go, keeping Henry and Hailey behind to film more promotional content. Soon, my company was preparing to launch a new product line. The marketing department asked if I could leverage my connection with Henry to secure a brand collaboration, hoping to ride his viral wave. Remembering how much money I had spent on him over the years, I agreed without any guilt, sending a team to pitch the proposal to his agency. Instead of a business response, I was met with a massive wave of online hate. Hailey had started a live stream, displaying our business proposal to the camera while mocking me. “The ex-wife needs to stop clout-chasing,” she sneered. “Henry came home last night and cried in my arms because of her constant harassment.” The internet tore me apart, and the brand’s reputation plummeted. Our public relations department told me that only a direct statement from Henry could save our launch. But since they were working together, I assumed Henry had authorized her stream. Unable to sleep, I sat by my open window, drinking wine and cursing Henry’s ancestors to the sky. I didn’t know his avian spy was listening. The next day, as soon as Hailey began her live stream, a flock of birds descended from the sky, pooping repeatedly on her head. Shortly after, Henry launched a stream of his own, holding up a termination contract. “Rumors are trash, and we are not a couple!” Henry announced. “My former assistant violated our contract by publicly humiliating a business partner for personal clout. She has been fired.” He then held up the familiar finch, offering a helpless smile. “I haven’t even been home yet, but apparently, my ex-wife was crying to my birds last night.” The tide turned instantly. Our product launch was a massive success, and the shipping community went wild over our toxic, chaotic dynamic. I love this messy, obsessive, dysfunctional couple! They are perfect for each other! Healthy relationships are great, but toxic drama is peak entertainment! The runaway motorcycle and her pampered canary, I am begging you to get back together! Eventually, Henry invited me to his studio. It was small, cluttered with samples, and barely had any space to walk. I frowned, looking around. “I have a much larger studio space in my building…” Henry cut me off with a lazy grin. “I am a pampered canary now, Kathryn. If you keep feeding me sugar-mama cash, how am I ever supposed to stand on my own two feet?” He handed me a beautifully crafted birdcage with a bird inside. “After failing a thousand times, I finally found the root of our problem,” he said, his voice softening. “It is not that I am bad, or that you are bad. We just suck at communicating. Communication is key, Kathryn.” I stared at him, startled, as his slender finger gently tapped my lips. “If you can’t bring yourself to say the truth to me, say it to the bird. Nobody else can understand bird language anyway. That way, only I will ever hear your secrets.” When an emotionally suppressed girl meets a man who can literally speak to birds, she really has no escape.

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My husband was on his way to the attorney’s office with his mistress to finalize our divorce when a car crash turned him into a vegetable. Now, in the sterile hospital room, his mistress was sobbing over his bed, playing the role of the devoted wife far better than I ever did. I scoffed under my breath. “Serves you right.” Shut up! I stared at my comatose husband in absolute shock. I could actually hear his inner thoughts. A chill crawled up my spine. Terrified, I instinctively shrank back, bumping right into the chest of the tall, broad-shouldered man standing behind me. 1 Through the thin fabric of his cotton shirt, I could feel the hard, defined lines of his abs. “Nice build,” I blurted out before I could stop myself. Rowan cleared his throat, taking a shy step back as a faint flush of pink crept up his pale neck. Rowan was a junior partner at a law firm. I had originally hired him to handle the asset division for my divorce, but after the accident, he had insisted on accompanying me to the hospital. We had only communicated through emails and phone calls before today. Seeing him in person, I realized he perfectly fit the modern ideal of a man, built like a predator but with the gentle, protective demeanor of a golden retriever. Right then, a furious roar echoed in my ears. Joanna! We are not divorced yet! The realization hit me again. I had somehow awakened a telepathic connection, but only with my brain-dead husband. Victor had always been so stingy with his words during our marriage, treating every conversation with me like a chore. Who knew turning into a vegetable would make him so damn noisy. I glanced at Scarlett, who was practically draped over Victor’s motionless body, and rolled my eyes. What a hypocrite. The doctor had explained that a blood clot was pressing against Victor’s neurological pathways, causing the coma. The good news was that he could wake up. The bad news was the timeline. It could be months, or it could be years. He told us to prepare for the worst. Before leaving the room, the doctor had cast a very knowing look at Scarlett. She was an actress. Back when she was a nobody, Victor’s company had spent a fortune to sign her as their brand ambassador. She had just recently snagged a Best Actress award at an indie film festival. The doctor had definitely recognized her. Seeing a famous actress weeping hysterically over another woman’s husband painted a very clear picture. Scarlett’s sobs hitched in her throat. Catching my stare, she glared at me with venomous eyes. “What are you looking at? If it weren’t for that crash, I’d be the legal Mrs. Blackwood right now.” She wasn’t wrong. Victor had planned to sign the divorce papers with me and immediately drive to city hall to marry Scarlett. Just a few days ago, Scarlett had posted a photo on her Instagram story hinting that her “happily ever after” was coming. The picture showed two hands intertwined, sporting matching diamond engagement bands. It was Victor’s hand. There was a tiny, faint mole on his index finger. It was small, but to me, it had been blindingly obvious. 2 Years ago, right out of college, Victor had big dreams for a tech startup but absolutely no capital. Some arrogant venture capitalists had invited him to a dinner party, expecting him to beg. Victor had walked out, claiming he didn’t need investors who required their egos stroked with expensive whiskey. His arrogance cost him dearly. Soon enough, his little company couldn’t even make payroll. Drunk and defeated, he had collapsed into my arms, asking why no one could see the genius of his business model. Why were there no real visionaries out there? I held him tight and told him they were coming. Not long after, an anonymous angel investor pumped millions into his startup in exchange for thirty percent of the equity. With that lifeline, Victor’s company skyrocketed. I stood by him for three grueling years. He hated corporate networking, so I became the one attending the galas, drinking executives under the table until I was numb. On those nights, he would hold me with red-rimmed eyes, swearing to the heavens that he would never betray me. Together, we turned a third-rate startup into a publicly traded empire. But as the money rolled in, the resentment grew. On countless late nights, he would whisper his frustrations into the dark. “Jo, every time I look at the company ledgers, I think about that thirty percent we gave away for just a few million. It makes me sick.” He always said it with a laugh, but the undertone of regret and blame was heavy enough to make me feel overwhelmingly guilty. So, after we got married, the moment he uttered the words “let me take care of you,” I handed in my resignation. I happily traded my tailored suits for the life of a full-time housewife. I wore my wedding band every single day. Victor, on the other hand, casually tossed his onto his nightstand, claiming it dug into his skin when he typed. That was the cause of our first real screaming match. We were standing under the massive crystal chandelier in our foyer. He was dressed in a bespoke Italian suit, looking every inch the refined billionaire. I was standing there in a stained apron with messy hair, looking like a hysterical maid. He had yanked at his silk tie with a look of pure disgust. “Joanna, let’s just cool off, okay? We’ll talk later.” The roar of his sports car engine echoed through the driveway. He didn’t come home for a week. Eventually, I was the one who caved. It wasn’t that the ring was uncomfortable. He just didn’t want to wear it for me. The ocean took my parents when I was young. I had told Victor time and time again that he was the only family I had left in this world. But his grand promise of forever barely lasted five years. He used to say that if he ever broke my heart, God could strike him down. I just didn’t expect karma to work so efficiently. 3 During the crash, Victor had thrown himself over Scarlett to shield her, taking the brunt of the impact. As soon as the doctor’s footsteps faded down the hall, Scarlett’s tears magically evaporated. She stood up so abruptly that the metal chair scraped violently against the linoleum floor. Trapped in the dark, Victor heard the noise and panicked. Joanna! What happened to Scarlett? Is she okay? Rowan, clearly sensing the toxic atmosphere, mumbled an excuse about checking some paperwork and slipped out of the room. Scarlett grabbed her designer bag and stormed out right after him. Now, it was just me and Victor. When I didn’t say a word, Victor’s internal voice grew frantic, losing any trace of decency. Joanna, I swear to God, if you dare touch a single hair on her head, I will make your life a living hell! “Really?” I pulled up a chair and sat down, staring at the empty space next to his bed. A sudden urge to mess with him bubbled up in my chest. “How exactly is a vegetable going to make my life hell?” I leaned in closer. “Victor, Scarlett just collapsed. She’s lying right here on the floor. But you know what? I don’t think I’m going to press the call button. I wonder how long it’ll take for her to wake up on her own.” His psychic roar nearly shattered my eardrums. You psychotic bitch! You knew she was pregnant, didn’t you? I never realized how utterly evil you were, Joanna. You’d actually kill an unborn child! So Scarlett was pregnant. No wonder he had risked his life to play the hero. Something warm and wet slid down my cheek. I honestly thought I was entirely numb to Victor by now, that his words couldn’t possibly carve any more pieces out of my heart. “Victor.” My voice was ice cold, cutting right through his panicked thoughts. “We had a child once, too. You were the one who killed her.” After the wedding, Victor lived at the office. I hated having maids or strangers in the house, so most days, I was completely alone in that massive, echoing mansion. I just wanted a baby to keep me company. Victor had hated the idea. He fed me a million excuses. He was too busy. He didn’t have time for a kid. We were still young and needed to enjoy our time together. Eventually, I wore him down. He agreed. But after months of trying, my tests kept coming back negative. I secretly went to a fertility clinic, convinced my body was broken. I drank vile herbal teas and took every supplement on the market. Nothing worked. Then, one afternoon, I found a prescription bottle hidden in his gym bag. That was how I learned Victor had been taking male contraceptives the entire time. He couldn’t win the argument with words, so he controlled my body in secret. The betrayal and his deliberate emotional distance pushed me into a deep depression. I threw the bottle at his chest, screaming, begging to know why. “Joanna, I grew up without a father. I know exactly how much that hurts. I refuse to bring a child into this world when I don’t have the time to actually be a dad.” It was a pathetic, disgusting lie. His father had died. Victor just loved his money more than his family. Three years of dating. Two years of marriage. I was exhausted. The Victor in my memories used to take the subway for an hour across town in the freezing snow just to bring me my favorite strawberry tart. He used to spend half his paycheck to buy me a coat just because I looked at it twice in a catalog. He used to say, “Whatever other girls have, my Jo gets double.” Back then, his eyes were full of nothing but pure, unadulterated love. Looking at the man standing in front of me now, I realized I was living with a stranger. I didn’t argue. I walked down to the cellar, pulled out his most expensive bottle of vintage Bordeaux, and poured myself a brimming glass. The wine was unbreathed. It tasted bitter and heavy with tannins. As I swallowed the last drop, I looked him dead in the eye. “I don’t want a baby anymore. And I don’t want you, either. I want a divorce.” 4 “Absolutely not.” Victor snatched the empty crystal glass from my hand and poured one for himself. Tasting of rich wine and desperation, he kissed me. That was the night our daughter was conceived. When I went into labor, he wasn’t there. I lay in the sterile hospital bed, calling his private number over and over. He kept sending me to voicemail. Right as my strength was completely giving out, he finally picked up. “Joanna, I am in the middle of a board meeting.” The line went dead. The delivery nurse held my phone, her face flushed with secondhand embarrassment as she tried to comfort me. The birth was brutal. Trembling through the agonizing pain, I signed my own surgical consent forms. Miraculously, my little girl survived. From the moment she was born, she became my entire universe. She was an absolute angel, always giggling, always reaching for me. Victor had no interest in her. He rarely looked at her, yet her very first word was “Dada.” Something about hearing that word seemed to awaken a tiny shred of humanity in him. For a few rare, fleeting days, he came home early. He would put her on his shoulders and run around the living room while she squealed with joy. Just a few days before her first birthday, I caught a nasty flu. Terrified of getting her sick, I checked myself into a clinic across town and left her in Victor’s care. I never imagined that would be the last time I saw her breathing. The coroner said a sudden, violent spike in fever took her in her sleep. I had cornered Victor in the hallway, gripping the lapels of his suit, screaming until my vocal cords tore. Where the hell was he when she was burning up? He offered absolutely no explanation. He just stood there like a statue, telling me to calm down, looking as detached as if the dead infant were a stranger on the evening news. It took me a long time to uncover the truth. That night, a thunderstorm had rolled through the city. Scarlett had called him, crying that she was scared of the lightning. And just like that, for a woman playing the victim, Victor abandoned his sick, one-year-old daughter. That was the second time I demanded a divorce. Again, he refused. “Victor, is there really any point to this marriage? Just let me go.” “Jo, did you forget? You were the one who taught me the golden rule. Only the person holding more than fifty percent of the shares gets the final say.” A suffocating, endless darkness swallowed me whole. The blood in my veins turned to ice. It was so, so cold. 5 When our company finally went public, Victor and I held an equal fifty percent of the founder’s shares. Over the years, we brought in other board members, diluting our combined stake to exactly sixty-four percent. I remembered smiling at him, shaking my head. “Only the person holding more than fifty percent has absolute authority, Mr. CEO.” Victor had pulled me into his arms, kissing the top of my head. “Jo, we’re getting married. What’s mine is yours.” He had insisted on transferring his shares to my name. Eventually, I compromised. I refused to take his equity, but I made him sign a legal contingency. If we ever divorced, I would take back what was rightfully mine. It was supposed to be a fail-safe, a punishment if he ever broke my heart. He had pinned me to the bed that night, swearing he would never give me the chance to use it. “So, you refuse to divorce me,” I whispered into the quiet hospital room, “not because you feel guilty about me, and not because you feel guilty about our dead daughter. You’re just terrified of losing your precious company.” Victor’s inner voice fell dead silent. He knew I had finally given up my claim on those shares just to buy my freedom. I just hadn’t anticipated he would be so utterly shameless as to schedule his wedding to Scarlett on the exact same day our divorce was supposed to be finalized. Hearing me mention our child, Victor’s aggressive thoughts completely deflated. When he finally spoke in my mind, his tone was pathetic and begging. Joanna, I know I failed you. I know I did. But this is the only child I have left. Please, just leave him alone. It was true. The emergency room doctor had mentioned that the steering column had crushed his pelvis during the crash. Victor was permanently sterile. They always say karma is a mirror. Why should a monster like him get to be a father anyway? His thoughts kept rambling, growing more desperate and frantic by the second. I leaned down until my lips were inches from his ear and let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Oh, Victor, what should I do? There’s so much blood on the floor. I think it’s coming from Scarlett.” Joanna, you will burn in hell for this! People like you deserve to rot in hell! “Maybe I will,” I whispered. “But your kid is already waiting for me down there. Victor, let’s just cool off, okay?” 6 Victor clearly wasn’t cooling off. The heart monitors hooked up to him started blaring a piercing alarm. A team of nurses and doctors sprinted into the room. They rushed around him with syringes and paddles. For a moment, I really thought he was going to die. But after stabilizing him, the lead doctor turned to me with wide eyes, explaining that the massive spike in blood pressure had somehow shifted the clot. He was going to wake up in a few days. What a resilient cockroach. Even before his eyes could open, his consciousness was fully awake, hurling mental obscenities at me. He screamed in his mind that marrying me was the biggest mistake of his miserable life. I almost laughed. I leaned over him one last time, keeping my voice sweet and low. “Do you really think Scarlett loves you? The second the doctor said you might be a vegetable for years, your little soulmate packed up her designer bags and bolted. She’s probably already swiping for her next sugar daddy.” Hearing that, Victor completely snapped. He started mentally screaming for a divorce immediately. In the past, I was the desperate one, giving up everything just to escape. Now, the tables had turned. I was setting the terms. “I want half of your shares.” Impossible. Don’t even dream about it. It’s my empire. “Then we stay married.” You… Ten percent. That’s my final offer. Don’t push your luck. If his eyes were open, I knew exactly what his face would look like. Jaw clenched, veins popping, utterly disgusted. “Half. It was always mine to begin with.” Fifteen. “Half.” Twenty. His mental voice was practically vibrating with rage, signaling he had reached his absolute limit. “Deal. Have your lawyer call mine the second they discharge you.” I didn’t waste another breath on him. I picked up my purse and walked out into the sunlight. I just didn’t expect him to move so fast. Barely two days later, his legal team reached out. Standing on the steps of the courthouse with my fresh divorce decree in hand, I glanced behind him. He was completely alone. Now that he was awake, the telepathic connection had vanished. I couldn’t hear a thing. “What, no double celebration today? Did Scarlett really find herself a new sponsor?” I was only mocking him, but Victor’s face instantly turned the color of bruised plums. He spat out something about me minding my own business and limped to his waiting town car. Turns out, my joke was a prophecy. Scarlett had indeed found a new billionaire backer. And surprisingly, it was someone I knew very well. 7 Following the reallocation of my new shares, the company called an emergency Board of Directors meeting. Victor arrogantly took the massive leather chair at the head of the mahogany table, assuming it belonged to the largest shareholder. The seat to his right was conspicuously empty. His executive assistant nervously announced that the mysterious angel investor, who still held thirty percent of the company, was finally making an appearance today. At the exact moment the clock struck the hour, the heavy oak doors swung open. A man and a woman walked in arm-in-arm. My jaw nearly dropped. Scarlett was clinging to Rowan’s bicep. She whispered something in his ear, and they both let out a soft laugh. “Scarlett!” Victor’s voice cracked like a whip, cutting her laughter short. She froze, staring at him in absolute terror. “V-Victor? You’re out of the hospital?” Her voice trembled violently. A bead of cold sweat rolled down her perfectly powdered temple. I watched her desperately try to yank her arm away from Rowan, but his grip was ironclad. Rowan leaned down, his lips brushing her ear, looking like the picture of an intimate lover. “Babe, you okay?” Victor looked absolutely murderous. His glare could have melted glass. The sheer absurdity of the love triangle was too much. I let out a sharp laugh, which earned me a vicious glare from my ex-husband. Victor stood up, violently grabbing Scarlett’s wrist and yanking her behind his back. He turned his venom on Rowan. “I don’t care who you are, you are trespassing. Get the hell out of my boardroom.” He picked up the intercom to call security. “Take a breath, Mr. Blackwood. I have every right to be at this meeting.” Rowan waved a hand dismissively. So Rowan was the phantom investor. While everyone else at the table was suffocating in Tom Ford suits, Rowan was wearing a crisp white t-shirt and vintage denim, looking like a harmless college frat boy. Victor slammed the phone down, barking at the guards to stand down. As he moved to sit back in the CEO’s chair, Rowan stepped right in his path. “Actually, Victor, your seat is over there.” Rowan offered a polite smile, pointing a long finger toward a chair near the middle of the table. With his other hand, he grabbed the back of the CEO’s chair and casually sat down in it. Leaning back, Rowan gestured to the secretary. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road.” I watched Victor’s face transition from red to purple, finally settling on a sickly, furious gray. He looked like a chameleon having a stroke. But with the entire board watching, he forced his rage down. “I currently hold thirty-four percent of this company. I believe that makes me the majority, Mr. Gallagher.” Victor smiled, though his eyes were completely dead. Rowan didn’t even look at him. Instead, he waved Scarlett over with a bright, charming smile. “Come here, babe. Why don’t you explain the math to your ex-boyfriend.” Rowan emphasized the word ex heavily. The entire room held its breath, eyes darting between the three of them. The secretary leaned down and whispered in my ear that this was better than reality TV. Scarlett looked like she was going to throw up. Trembling like a leaf, she stuttered out a confession. She had gifted half of her personal five percent equity to Rowan. “That makes thirty-five percent.” Rowan grinned, mimicking Victor’s soulless smile perfectly. “Looks like I beat you by one percent. My apologies.” Victor stared at Scarlett, the color draining completely from his face. Scarlett grabbed her stomach, rolled her eyes to the back of her head, and dramatically fainted onto the carpet. Honestly, the Best Actress award must have been bought by Victor. That was a terrible performance. The board meeting was effectively adjourned, but the executives left the room fighting back smiles. Victor was the only one who looked like he was attending a funeral. Once the room cleared, I pulled out my phone and opened a chat window. Great acting today. Proceed to phase two. Almost instantly, a sticker of a golden retriever wagging its tail popped up on my screen. 8 According to the secretary’s frantic gossip, Scarlett’s ambulance had been intercepted by paparazzi on the way to the ER. Desperate to protect her image, Victor had forced his driver to lose the tabloid cars on the freeway, driving recklessly for hours. The stress nearly caused Scarlett to miscarry. Victor had thrown an absolute tantrum. He even hired some thugs to jump the lead photographer in an alley. Desperate to legitimize his relationship and the child, he was planning an exclusive magazine interview to announce their engagement. I couldn’t let him control the narrative. I had to pass the torch on my own terms. I drafted a beautifully devastating post on Twitter and Instagram. I painted a tragic, poetic picture of a man so deeply in love with Miss Scarlett that he abandoned his dying daughter during a thunderstorm just to comfort her. I praised Miss Scarlett’s immense bravery for getting pregnant so quickly to heal his grieving heart. I called myself a bitter, wicked woman who was standing in the way of true love, and publicly announced that I was stepping aside to let their beautiful romance blossom. To ensure nobody thought I was making it up, I attached pristine, high-resolution scans of our divorce decree and Scarlett’s ultrasound report. The dates were impossible to misinterpret. By midnight, the internet exploded. Victor’s reputation was incinerated. Scarlett was canceled globally. The stress sent her back to the hospital, and this time, the baby didn’t make it. At the same time, I reached out to the beaten paparazzi photographer and covered his medical bills. During our chat, he let it slip that the guys who jumped him were wearing boots issued by Victor’s corporate security team. I smiled. Victor was practically handing me the nails for his own coffin. While the internet was still out for blood, I helped the photographer file a police report, gifting Victor a beautiful fifteen-day stay in the county jail for assault. On the day of his release, Scarlett was waiting for him at the gates. I tipped off the tabloids. The photographer was a true professional. That evening, a new hashtag trended at number one. #ToxicSoulmates. The comments were entirely people praying that Victor and Scarlett would stay together forever so they couldn’t ruin anyone else’s lives. Because of the massive PR nightmare, the company’s stock took a nosedive. Millions in market cap vanished overnight. Several international clients pulled their contracts. As the acting CEO, Victor was forced to eat the losses. Desperate for liquidity, he sold his penthouse and his fleet of sports cars just to plug the bleeding holes in the corporate accounts. Stripped of his cash flow, he rented a dingy two-bedroom apartment near the financial district. It was a massive fall from grace, but at least Scarlett was still playing the loyal girlfriend. “You really think she’s staying out of love?” The photographer sneered over coffee, sliding his phone across the table to me. “Her agency dropped her and slapped her with a breach of contract suit. She literally has nowhere else to go.” On the screen, a grainy video showed Scarlett in a cheap apron, screaming at Victor in a cramped kitchen. Victor threw a coffee mug at the wall and slammed the door behind him. His new apartment was a walk-up in a bad neighborhood. Stomping down the dark stairwell, he missed a step and face-planted on the concrete, chipping his front tooth and ripping his cheap dress shirt. The rest of the footage was repetitive. Victor getting blackout drunk, coming home, and engaging in screaming matches with Scarlett. The photographer mentioned that Victor was spending every night at dive bars and cheap steakhouses, drinking cheap whiskey and begging lower-tier suppliers for contracts like a desperate dog. I pushed the phone back across the table, losing interest. I told him to keep a tail on them. Victor was holding out longer than I anticipated. I thought he would have started liquidating his shares by now. He needed a harder push. I opened the chat window with Rowan and typed a quick message. Go comfort your girlfriend. She’s probably missing you.

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1 On my birthday, my best friend Brody gifted me a tabby cat. In the middle of the night, the little thing actually looked at me, shook its head, and sighed. “He looks decent, but how can someone be this clueless? He has no idea his best friend and his girl are stabbing him in the back.” I froze, wondering if I was hallucinating. I was holding a resignation letter I had just pulled from my drawer, planning to quit my job alongside Brody so we could travel the world together. “While he is busy drafting his resignation, Brody is pulling strings behind the scenes to take over his promotion as General Manager of Marketing.” “I have to hand it to his girlfriend, Daisy. Her scheme is viciously brilliant.” “What a shame. The other cats around the block say this firm is about to lock in a massive ten-billion-dollar funding round. The future here is golden.” The voice in my head sounded again. It was coming from the cat. My hand stopped. The pen hovered over the paper, and then I slowly tore the resignation letter into pieces. I had barely tossed the scraps into the trash can when my phone buzzed. It was a text from Brody. Hey bro, let’s set our final day for next Monday! He even attached a photo of his own signed resignation letter. A second later, a message from Daisy popped up: Did you submit your resignation yet? I stared at the screen, my mind racing. I could not bring myself to accept the reality of their betrayal. The three of us had grown up together. Brody had followed me around since we were kids, and I had always protected him like a younger brother. When he struggled to find a decent job, I brought him into my company, mentored him, and even handed him some of my best clients. He used to praise me to everyone we met. And Daisy had been promising to marry me since we were teenagers. She confessed her feelings to me when she turned eighteen, and we had been together for almost seven years. “That luxury watch Daisy gave him for his birthday? It is just Brody’s discarded secondhand piece. There is a tiny scratch at the bottom. You would need a magnifying glass to see it.” “She has been lusting after Brody since they were kids.” The tabby cat’s voice echoed in my head again. I rushed to the closet, pulled out the watch box, and inspected the back of the case under a bright light. Sure enough, etched into the metal was a tiny, faint scratch forming two letters: B.T. Brody Taylor. At that moment, the final shred of hope in my heart shattered. The love and friendship I had cherished for years were nothing but a lie. “But that watch holds a secret three-million-dollar jackpot.” The cat’s inner voice chimed in once more. I whipped my head around to look at it. The tabby hopped onto the windowsill, casually licking its paw as it continued its silent monologue. “According to the fat white Persian cat at the pet store, the watch brand ran a limited-edition serial-number sweepstakes. The winning number matches the code on this exact watch.” “Daisy did not leave her contact details at the store when she got it.” “The deadline to claim the prize is in three days!” I forced myself to snap out of my shock. I quickly scrolled through my chat history with Daisy, found the address of the luxury boutique, and made a mental note to claim the prize after work tomorrow. A few days ago, Daisy had insisted that I put down a million dollars for a house and add her name to the title. Only an idiot would do that now. I was going to buy a penthouse in cash, entirely under my own name. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Daisy. “Lucas, are you asleep? Why aren’t you replying to me and Brody?” “Did you finish writing your resignation letter? Brody says Hawaii is amazing this time of year. I already booked the flights for next week. You can’t back out.” Always Brody. She used to explain it away by saying, “We are a couple, Lucas. Brody is all alone, so we need to look out for him and make sure he feels included.” I had trusted her completely, never questioning her motives. “I just finished it. I was in the shower,” I replied smoothly. “Awesome! We are finally going to live our childhood dream of traveling the world!” Daisy laughed, her voice as sweet and gentle as ever. “Go to sleep, babe. I love you to the moon and back.” If this were yesterday, those sweet late-night words would have warmed my heart. Now, they made my stomach turn. From this moment on, I would not waste another second on a rotting relationship or a fake friendship. The next morning, I arrived at the office half an hour earlier than usual. As I parked my car, I spotted two familiar figures nearby. Daisy and Brody were locked in a passionate embrace, kissing for a solid three minutes before separating. Brody gave her a lazy, satisfied smile. “You were amazing last night.” “Oh, stop it. I am always exhausted because of you. You are like a wild animal in bed,” Daisy giggled, swatting his arm playfully. I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. They had been sleeping together behind my back. “By the way, do you think tricking Lucas into quitting is a bit much?” Brody asked, though there was no real guilt in his voice. “Every man for himself, Brody. Besides, Lucas is resilient. He will find another job easily. He is too sentimental to ever suspect you anyway,” Daisy smiled, adjusting her lipstick in the mirror. “And once we get married, I will use his money to support you.” A cold shiver ran down my spine. This was the woman who had promised to love me forever. She was more toxic than a viper. Fortunately, the tabby cat had warned me. It was not too late. I did not storm out to confront them. Instead, I quietly recorded a video of them on my phone, waited in the car for another ten minutes, and then headed up to the office. “Hey, Lucas!” Brody was already waiting outside my office door, a bright smile on his face as he grabbed my shoulder. “Let’s go hand in our resignations to the boss.” “Sure,” I nodded, playing along with his little game. As we reached the executive suite, Brody suddenly slapped his forehead. “Oh, shoot! I think I left my resignation letter at my desk. You go in first, Lucas. I will run back and grab it.” “Alright.” I walked into the president’s office. I could practically hear the sigh of relief Brody let out behind me. He thought his trap had sprung. Mr. Kane looked up from his desk and gestured for me to sit. “I heard rumors going around that you are planning to leave us. Don’t tell me you are here to hand in a resignation?” It seemed Brody had already started spreading rumors to pave the way for his own promotion. “Of course not, Mr. Kane,” I said, shaking my head. I handed him a sleek folder. Inside was not a resignation letter, but a comprehensive, highly innovative marketing proposal for our upcoming product launch. Mr. Kane scanned the pages, nodding slowly. A broad smile spread across his face, and he gave me a thumbs-up. “This is brilliant, Lucas! Absolutely outstanding!” “To be honest, the General Manager position has been vacant for a while. The board has discussed it, and we want you to take over the department. The official announcement goes out next Monday.” “If this campaign succeeds, the executive vice president position is yours, along with a significant share of company stock.” I stood up and shook his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Kane. I won’t let you down.” As I stepped out of the office, my heart was pounding with a mix of excitement and lingering dread. If I had not heard the cat’s thoughts, I would have walked away from a stellar career. Brody and Daisy would have stepped on my back to climb to the top, laughing at my stupidity the whole way. I returned to my desk. Brody walked in a moment later under the pretense of handing me some files. “How did it go, Lucas? What did Mr. Kane say?” “Not much,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. “Wow, he didn’t even try to convince you to stay?” Brody scoffed, though a gleam of triumph flashed in his eyes. I chose not to expose him just yet. By the time the workday ended, Daisy was already waiting for me in the parking lot. She was sitting in the passenger seat of Brody’s car, her legs crossed high, showing off a lot of skin without a care in the world. Brody slid into the driver’s seat, his eyes lingering shamelessly on her legs with a smirk. I used to think their closeness was just the innocent bond of childhood friends. I had been incredibly naive. “Lucas!” Daisy leaned out the window, offering a sweet smile. “Brody found this incredible new steakhouse downtown. I sent you the address. Let’s go grab dinner.” “You two go ahead. I have some things to take care of,” I replied calmly. Daisy frowned. “Come on, whatever it is can wait. Dinner with Brody is way more important.” “Yeah, bro, don’t be a party pooper!” Brody added, trying to guilt-trip me. In the past, I would have yielded to keep the peace. Now, their manipulation just felt pathetic. “No, really. Something came up at home.” Without waiting for their reaction, I walked over to my car, started the engine, and drove straight to the luxury watch boutique. “Hello, sir,” I told the sales associate, handing over the watch. “Could you please verify if the serial number on this watch won the sweepstakes?” The associate took the watch, typed the code into the system, and gasped. “Yes, indeed! Congratulations, sir! You have won the three-million-dollar jackpot. Please follow me to process the claim.” The entire process took less than half an hour. Shortly after, a notification chimed on my phone. After tax, a cool two point seven million dollars had been deposited into my bank account. I knew Brody and Daisy would find out about this soon because the boutique was going to put up a huge promotional banner outside the store next week. I immediately contacted a real estate agent and bought a luxury riverfront condo I had been eyeing for months. I paid for it in full, cash upfront. After securing the deed, I went home and discussed the situation with my parents. When they learned about Daisy and Brody’s betrayal, they were shocked but stood by my decision completely. Just as we finished dinner, my phone buzzed. I had been added to a group chat with Daisy and Brody. Brody sent a voice note, chuckling: Lucas, since you ditched us for dinner tonight, you are paying the bill! Daisy immediately chimed in: It is only three thousand eight hundred dollars, babe. Just Venmo us. Normally, I wouldn’t have thought twice about sending the money. This time, I put my phone on silent, went to take a shower, and ignored them completely. By the time I got out, there were dozens of missed notifications. Brody: Bro, why aren’t you replying? Daisy: It has been twenty minutes, Lucas. The waiter is standing right here waiting for the card. Brody: Man, I guess our friendship doesn’t mean much to you anymore. Finally, Daisy wrote: Fine, Lucas. If you are going to be this petty, we will just pay for it ourselves! Only then did I reply: Just got out of the shower. Neither of them replied. In the past, I would have sent them each a grand to smooth things over. Looking back, I had been an absolute fool. I didn’t bother trying to appease them tonight. I gave the tabby cat a handful of freeze-dried treats and sat down at my computer to polish my marketing campaign for Monday. The cat jumped onto my desk, staring intently at the glowing screen. “The neighborhood cats say the CEO absolutely loves pets, but he keeps up a cold, professional front to protect his image. He has been complaining that none of his employees have pitched a pet-friendly marketing campaign.” Inspiration struck me like a bolt of lightning. I immediately began integrating pet-centric elements into the launch strategy. I worked through the night. Just as the sun began to rise, my phone rang. It was Daisy. “Lucas, you were way too selfish last night. Refusing to pay the bill really hurt Brody’s feelings.” “He was almost in tears. He saw a designer gold chain at the mall the other day. Why don’t you buy it for him to make up for it?” I almost laughed out loud. She really was dedicated to using my money to pamper her secret lover. “It is for the sake of our trio, Lucas. A little compromise won’t kill you,” Daisy continued. “If you cover the cost, Brody will forgive you, and I won’t be mad at you anymore.” If I were still in the dark, I would have done anything to save our relationship. Too bad for them, I knew the truth. “I stayed up all night working. I don’t have the energy to go to the mall. Why don’t you go pick it up?” I said, keeping my voice flat. “Perfect!” Daisy squealed, assuming I had agreed to pay, and hung up happily. A moment later, Brody sent a text: You are the best, bro! I am not mad at you anymore. Love ya! I ignored the message, tossed my phone onto the nightstand, and went to sleep. When I woke up in the evening, my phone was flooded with texts from Brody. I found a better one! It is eighteen thousand eight hundred dollars. Buy this one for me! Daisy: Since you didn’t reply, we assumed you agreed. Brody bought it on an installment plan. You can pay off the balance later. Brody: If we pay it off within a month, there is zero interest! Don’t forget, bro! He had already posted a picture of the bracelet on social media, conveniently leaving out who was supposed to pay for it. The comments were full of people envious of his luxury lifestyle. Someone asked if he had gotten a massive raise. He replied: Oh, it is nothing special! Daisy commented: Brody is just incredibly successful. Anyone reading would think Brody was a self-made millionaire, when in reality, he was just a parasite feeding on my hard work. My own watch had cost barely a thousand dollars, yet he had the nerve to demand an eighteen-thousand-dollar bracelet. They certainly loved spending money when it wasn’t theirs. I didn’t say a word. I wanted to see how Brody, who lived paycheck to paycheck, would handle the payments once I refused to pay a single dime. On Monday, Brody strutted into the office flaunting his new bracelet. He made a point of walking over to my desk and talking loudly. “Hey, Lucas! What do you think? Looks pretty slick, right?” “Very nice,” I smiled. Several coworkers gathered around, admiring the flashy jewelry. “Wow, Brody! How much did that set you back?” “Eighteen thousand eight hundred,” Brody bragged, while subtly nudging my arm, signaling me to keep quiet and play along to save his face. In the past, I would have kept his secret to protect his pride. Now, I let him have his moment. After all, I wasn’t the one paying for it. “Oh my gosh, eighteen grand?! Brody, I had no idea you were rolling in cash like this.” “I wish I were as successful as you.” “Lucas, look at your little protégé. He is doing way better than you are.” “Seriously, Lucas brought him into the company, but Brody is the one wearing an eighteen-thousand-dollar piece. Lucas has nothing.” The coworkers gossiped, praising Brody while putting me down. Brody didn’t say a single word to defend me. Instead, he bathed in their admiration, his chest puffed out with pride. I just stood there and smiled. “Alright, everyone! Quiet down!” Mr. Kane walked into the department, holding a folder. “I have an announcement regarding the promotion for the General Manager of Marketing.” Brody’s smile widened. His eyes practically sparked with anticipation as he prepared to step forward, fully expecting his name to be called. The rest of the office turned to look at him, assuming the promotion was his. After all, the rumors of my resignation had been circulating for days, and with my help, Brody’s sales figures were the second highest in the department. But in the next second, Mr. Kane turned his eyes toward me. “Starting today, Lucas is officially promoted to General Manager of Marketing.” The smile on Brody’s face instantly froze. He whipped his head toward me, his eyes wide with utter shock.

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1 My grandfather was Hong Kong’s reigning shipping tycoon, his empire stretching across Southeast Asia. He was the one person in the world who loved me beyond measure. After his death, I thought I still had Carter, my newly minted billionaire fiancé, who promised to hold me in the palm of his hand. But Grandfather had not been gone for a week when Carter chaired his first board meeting as the new head. Standing before everyone, he announced the end of our engagement. In the same breath, he declared he would marry Freya, a girl from the local fish market. Whispers exploded through the grand boardroom. Every eye snapped toward me. Deep down, I knew this day was coming. I just did not expect him to be so desperate to cast me aside. My voice remained steady. Fine. I accept. Across the crowded room, I caught the flicker of panic in Carter’s dark eyes. Seven years ago, I had dragged him from the gutter. I took a street thug and pushed him ruthlessly to the top. Back then, I told him I would stake my entire fortune and life on him, but only if he swore never to betray me. His answer had been a desperate, searing kiss. So when exactly did Carter change? Perhaps it began when Freya cried to him, claiming I wanted to ruin her life. I was too proud to explain away her pathetic lies. I failed to notice the cold distance growing in Carter’s eyes. If this was truly what he wanted, I would give it to him. I picked up the microphone, locked eyes with Carter, and enunciated every single word. “I voluntarily dissolve my engagement to Mr. Sterling.” Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and walked out. The heavy elevator doors slid shut, cutting off the chaotic roar of the boardroom. Inside the quiet elevator, my phone screen lit up. Sender: Carter. “Harper, no matter what happens, trust me.” Trust him? My grandfather’s bones weren’t even cold yet, and he had just publicly humiliated me, forcing me to agree to a breakup in front of the entire board. How the hell was I supposed to trust him? I stared at the text. My finger hovered over the screen for three agonizing seconds. Then, I pressed down and hit delete. The elevator doors chimed open. My driver, Mr. Chen, was already waiting by the Bentley. “Miss Harper, are we heading back to the main estate?” “Take me to Kowloon.” Mr. Chen looked like he wanted to argue, but he just let out a heavy sigh and opened the door for me. The sleek car eventually pulled up outside a crumbling, dilapidated tenement building deep in Kowloon. The stairwell didn’t even have working lights. I navigated the pitch-black stairs by memory. Third floor, door on the left. When I pushed it open, the suffocating smell of mildew and thick dust washed over me. It had been seven years, but the room was exactly the same. A hard wooden plank for a bed, a dining table with a broken leg, and windows sealed shut with cheap plastic tarps. In the corner sat a stack of cardboard boxes, overflowing with the heavy business textbooks Carter used to study until his eyes bled. My gaze drifted to the rusty tin box sitting on the edge of the bed. The metal was corroded, the corners bent and flaking. I didn’t even need to open it to know what was inside. A crude, ugly ring twisted out of a piece of scrap wire. It was so rough it scratched the skin. And a single, yellowed piece of paper torn from a cigarette box. Scrawled across it in messy handwriting were the words: Carter will love Harper forever. The date at the bottom was exactly seven years ago. It had been pouring rain that night. When I found Carter, he was curled up in an alley next to a overflowing dumpster. His cheap white t-shirt was soaked in a sickening mixture of mud, rain, and his own blood. I crouched down in the filth and tilted my umbrella over him. “Carter. Come with me.” He slowly lifted his head. The icy rain mixed with the blood dripping down his forehead, running straight into his eyes. But he stared at me, his gaze fiercely, violently stubborn. “Harper. I don’t want your damn pity.” “It’s not pity,” I said, tilting the umbrella further to shield him completely. I locked eyes with him. “I am betting my entire life on you. I will give you everything you need to win. But you have to swear to me.” “Swear you will never, ever betray me.” He stared at me for a long, agonizing minute. “I swear.” That night, Carter took me back to his “home”—a makeshift shack slapped together next to the water tower on the roof of this tenement building. It wasn’t a home. It was a few sheets of plastic tarp strung up to block the wind, and a rotting, abandoned sofa he used as a bed. In the summer, the heat was suffocating. In the winter, it was so freezing you could see your breath when you spoke. While I was carefully cleaning the deep cuts on his face, he suddenly asked, “Why are you helping me?” My hands paused over his bruised jaw. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ve completely lost my mind.” A dark, broken smile crossed his face. “Then let’s lose our minds together.” That night, we split a single, cheap cup of instant ramen. He dug into his pocket, pulled out that twisted loop of scrap wire, and clumsily, reverently slid it onto my ring finger. “This piece of trash doesn’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice dangerously low, his grip on my hand tightening until it hurt. “But I swear to God, Harper. One day, I am going to use the entire Sterling Empire as your wedding gift.” He bit down on his own thumb, drawing blood, and smeared that promise across the cigarette paper. Under the flickering, dying lightbulb, he looked up at me. His eyes were burning. It looked like he had crammed every ounce of his savage ambition and his raw, bleeding heart into that single gaze. When he kissed me, I could taste the sharp copper of his blood and the cheap salt of the ramen. I didn’t pull away. The wind whipping off Victoria Harbour was brutal that night, rattling the plastic tarps violently. He buried his face in my neck, whispering my name over and over again. His voice was completely ruined. “Harper, I’m going to win.” “Harper, trust me.” “Harper…” My phone vibrated violently in my hand, ripping me out of the past. It was a breaking news alert. New Head of the Sterling Empire Chooses True Love Over Billions! Childhood Sweetheart Left in the Dust! The attached photo was a candid shot of Carter and Freya standing in front of a filthy fish stall. He was gently brushing a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. His expression was so soft, so tender, it looked completely foreign to me. The comment section was an absolute warzone. “This is what real love looks like! Those billionaire arranged marriages are just disgusting business deals anyway.” “I heard that Harper girl is an absolute nightmare. Carter has been putting up with her temper for years.” “Freya is such an inspiration! From a fishmonger to the future Mrs. Sterling! It’s literally a Cinderella story!” I looked out the filthy window. The skyline of Victoria Harbour was glittering with millions of lights. Buried in that glittering skyline was the Sterling Empire headquarters, the exclusive yacht clubs, the Michelin-star restaurants—the entire empire I had spent seven years helping Carter conquer, inch by bloody inch. And now, he was handing half of it to a girl who gutted fish for a living. I gently closed the rusted tin box and put it right back where I found it. I was locking those seven years away for good. Three days after the boardroom disaster, Carter finally showed up at my private estate. I hadn’t seen him in days. Deep, bruised bags hung under his eyes, and he looked incredibly exhausted, completely drained. I couldn’t help but mock myself in my own head. Even after everything he had done, my first instinct was still to feel sorry for him. “Why? And don’t give me any garbage. I want the absolute truth,” I demanded, forcing my voice to stay dead calm. “Freya… she’s had a really hard life,” he started, his voice a low, heavy rasp. “Her mother died when she was young. Her father is a deadbeat alcoholic. She’s been keeping that fish stall afloat entirely on her own just to pay for her little brother’s tuition…” “So,” I cut him off, my voice trembling violently despite my best efforts, “you decided to sacrifice me to play her savior?” The sprawling living room fell completely silent. “Carter, three years ago, when you closed your first billion-dollar acquisition. You were so happy. You drank so much that night.” “You rested your head on my shoulder and told me that when we got married, we were going to have two kids. One that looked exactly like you, and one that looked exactly like me.” I stared dead into his dark eyes, desperately trying to see whatever was left of his soul. “Who are your kids going to look like now? Freya?” Carter flinched. He looked away, staring out the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. After a long, suffocating silence, he finally spoke. “The engagement had to be dissolved. I had to do it. It was a promise I made to myself. But Harper, you aren’t going anywhere.” I froze, entirely caught off guard. “Excuse me?” Carter snapped his gaze back to me. His eyes were burning with a terrifying, absolute certainty. “The Sterling Group is expanding overseas. I’m making you the Director of International Operations. Or, honestly, whatever position you want. I will back you completely. It’s just…” He paused, clearly struggling to find the right words. “It’s just that, on paper, we can’t be husband and wife.” I stared at him for three seconds before I let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Carter. Are you seriously asking me to be your mistress?” “Not a mistress!” He stepped forward aggressively. “Family. Your grandfather wanted me to take care of you, and I am going to!” “Don’t you dare bring my grandfather into this!” I screamed, losing my composure entirely. “This is the best possible arrangement for everyone.” His face was pale, his jaw clenched tight, but he forced his tone to soften. “Harper, you grew up here. All your friends, your entire network, your career—it’s all in Hong Kong. And besides…” He stared at me, his expression twisting into something deeply obsessed and stubborn. “We’ve been together for seven years. We are completely inseparable. Even without a ring, you belong right here, by my side.” “Belong?” The sheer audacity of his words made me sick to my stomach. “Why the hell do I belong by your side?” “Because you are the one who pulled me out of the gutter in the freezing rain!” he roared, his eyes flashing with a wild, desperate red edge. “You bled with me through every single nightmare we faced! You are carved into my damn bones, Harper! I am never, ever letting you go!” The afternoon sun shifted across the imported hardwood floor, drawing a sharp, blinding line between where he stood and where I stood. It looked like an absolute, impassable chasm. “The night of the victory gala,” I said, my voice dropping back to a quiet, lethal calm. “A group of trust-fund kids were harassing Freya. They threw a drink on her. You saw it happen, and you rushed over to play the knight in shining armor.” Carter’s entire body went rigid. “When you came home that night, you reeked of her perfume,” I continued, staring blankly at his chest. “It was some cheap, synthetic floral scent. Completely different from what you usually tolerate. When I asked you about it, you lied to my face. You told me someone bumped into you at the bar.” I tried to force a careless, mocking smile, but the tears completely betrayed me, slipping down my cheeks without warning. “I should have realized it right then,” I whispered, reaching up to violently wipe the tears away. “The second a man starts lying to you, his heart is already gone.” He stood frozen in place. I watched his Adam’s apple bob aggressively as he swallowed hard. After a long time, he spoke, his voice completely wrecked. “Name your price for compensation. Corporate shares, offshore accounts, cash—whatever you want, I will sign it over today. But I am not letting you leave.” “Then we burn it all down.” I locked eyes with him, refusing to give an inch. “Carter, I am not some fragile little canary you can lock in a gold cage. I am the woman who risked my entire life to build your throne. You either give me every ounce of your loyalty and respect, or…” “We are permanently, completely done.” Carter’s phone suddenly rang, shattering the tension. He glanced at the screen, his expression tightening instantly. He quickly hit decline. But the phone immediately rang again, loud and insistent. He stared at me for five agonizing seconds before turning his back and walking to the far corner of the living room to answer it. He kept his voice incredibly low, but in the dead silence of the house, I heard every word. “…I know. I’m on my way. Stop crying… I said okay, I’ll be right there.” He hung up and walked back over. His face was a mask of complicated, frustrating emotions. “Freya’s father got drunk and started a brawl. He’s at the police station,” he said flatly. “I have to go handle it.” I didn’t say a single word. I just turned my head and looked out the window. The rare orchids my grandfather had meticulously planted in the garden were finally blooming. The pure white petals were trembling slightly in the afternoon breeze. After a long silence, he spoke again. “Harper, think very carefully about what I just offered you. Stay here. I promise I will take care of everything.” “I don’t need to think about it.” I didn’t even bother turning around to look at him. “Carter, the second you chose Freya, whatever we had was dead.” A heavy, suffocating silence filled the room behind me. I heard the heavy oak front door open, then click shut. His heavy footsteps faded down the driveway. I pulled my phone out of my pocket. It was a text from Mr. Davis, the family’s senior estate lawyer. “Miss Harper, the contingency clause in your grandfather’s final will has officially been triggered. You may execute it whenever you are ready.” I stared at the glowing screen for a long time. Finally, I typed back a single word. “Execute.” The night of my grandfather’s memorial, a brutal typhoon hit the island. The ancestral hall was empty, save for me and a few of the oldest, most loyal estate staff keeping vigil. The extended family and the corporate vultures had cleared out hours ago. Carter never showed up. Word on the street was he was at a luxury boutique, watching Freya try on custom wedding gowns. Honestly, I preferred the quiet. Mr. Davis was waiting for me in the main drawing room. He handed me a thick, sealed manila envelope. “Miss Harper, this is the very last thing the old master left for you.” I ripped it open. Inside was a single, handwritten letter and a faded photograph. The letter was written in my grandfather’s hand, the strokes shaky and erratic from his final illness. Harper, my sweet girl. If you are reading this, it means that street rat Carter has betrayed you. The girl in the photograph is named Chloe. She died protecting Carter years ago. This new girl, Freya, looks exactly like her. A man’s obsession with a ghost is the most dangerous thing in the world. You can never win a war against a dead girl. Take the money I left you. Leave. And never, ever look back. I pulled out the photograph. It showed two teenagers, maybe sixteen or seventeen, sitting close together on the concrete steps of a grim-looking orphanage. The boy was Carter. He was scrawny, underfed, and staring at the camera with eyes full of feral, violent suspicion. The girl sitting next to him was a head shorter, with her hair tied in two messy braids. She was smiling brightly, breaking a stale piece of bread in half to hand to him. She was a dead ringer. Freya looked exactly like her. Suddenly, heavy, urgent footsteps echoed down the main hallway. I spun around just as Carter burst into the drawing room. Freya was trailing nervously right behind him. “Harper.” Carter looked at me, his chest heaving, his eyes a mess of dark, unreadable emotions. “I came to pay my final respects to the old man.” I walked slowly toward him. “Carter. Who is Chloe?” Every drop of blood instantly drained from Carter’s face. He looked like a corpse. Behind him, Freya froze completely, her fingers gripping the sleeve of his expensive suit in a white-knuckle panic. Carter’s jaw tightened. He turned his head slightly. “Freya, go wait in the side parlor.” Freya bit her lip, looking incredibly wronged and pathetic, but she nodded meekly and scurried off toward the parlor. Once she was out of earshot, Carter slowly turned back to face me. “Who gave you that name?” “Does it even matter?” I challenged, my voice sharp. “What matters is, are you marrying Freya because she is a carbon copy of Chloe?” A heavy, suffocating silence fell between us. Finally, his voice cracked, coming out as a hoarse, jagged whisper. “Chloe… she died because of me.” “It was winter. I was sixteen. I was breaking my back hauling crates at the docks. I had just gotten paid for three days of brutal work, and a gang of local thugs cornered me. I refused to hand over the cash, so they pinned me to the concrete and started beating the life out of me. Chloe had come to the docks to find me…” Carter stared blankly into the flickering candlelight of the memorial altar, his eyes entirely hollow. “She was so damn small. But she threw herself over me, shielding my head. She screamed at them, ‘He’s my little brother! If you want to hit someone, hit me!’ Those sick bastards… they shoved her.” He squeezed his eyes shut. His broad shoulders began to shake uncontrollably. When he spoke again, he was completely choking on his words. “She had a severe heart condition… Her head slammed against the concrete steps. There was so much blood. I pressed my hands against it, I pushed as hard as I could, but the blood just wouldn’t stop. By the time the ambulance finally showed up, she was already gone.” I looked at the incredibly powerful, ruthless billionaire standing in front of me, now reduced to a shattered, traumatized child. A wave of bitter, agonizing sadness washed over me. “So when Freya showed up, it felt like the universe was giving Chloe back to you?” “I owe Chloe my life!” Carter suddenly roared, the raw agony in his voice echoing through the silent hall. “When I look at Freya… it’s like looking at Chloe begging me to save her! I can’t just turn my back on her! I can’t!” “So you’re marrying Freya to keep a ghost alive. You’re marrying her to pay off a blood debt.” I locked my eyes onto his, refusing to let him look away. “And I am nothing but the collateral damage in your twisted redemption arc.” “You are not collateral damage!” he shouted desperately. He reached out to grab my wrist. I took a sharp step back, completely out of his reach. “Harper! You are the woman I love! If you hadn’t pulled me out of that alley… I would have lost my damn mind years ago!” Suddenly, it all made a sick, twisted kind of sense. He needed to pay off a blood debt to a dead girl, so he found a living replacement. But the dark, psychotic path of his guilt terrified him, so he was desperately trying to drag me along to keep him sane. It was so incredibly cruel. And so unbelievably selfish. “You already lost your mind,” I said, my voice dead and cold. “The second you decided to use a living, breathing woman as a meat puppet for a corpse, you went completely insane.” We stared at each other across the flickering candlelight, looking like two brutally wounded animals locked in a cage. Suddenly, the sharp, violent crash of shattering porcelain echoed from the side parlor, immediately followed by Freya’s piercing scream. Carter spun around and sprinted toward the parlor. I followed close behind. Inside, the heavy mahogany tea table was overturned. Freya was collapsed on the floor, surrounded by jagged shards of broken porcelain. She was clutching her left arm, bright red blood welling up between her fingers. Old Mr. Ford, my grandfather’s most loyal butler, was standing a few feet away, his hands raised in absolute shock. “Mr. Ford, why would you push me…” Freya wailed, tears streaming down her perfectly pale face. Mr. Ford shook his head violently. “I didn’t! The young miss asked for a glass of water. I turned my back to pour the tea, and she suddenly threw herself against the table…” “You’re lying!” Freya screamed, huge, pathetic tears rolling down her cheeks. “You just hate me because I sell fish! You think I’m stealing Miss Harper’s place! But you didn’t have to attack me!!” She looked up at Carter, her eyes wide and devastatingly sorrowful. “Carter… maybe I really just don’t deserve to marry you?” Carter didn’t hesitate. He scooped Freya up off the floor into his arms. He turned his head and shot me a glare so intensely cold it felt like a physical blow. “If you’re pissed off, take it out on me. Do not touch Freya. If she has lasting nerve damage, I will never, ever forgive you.” Without waiting for a response, he carried her out, disappearing into the torrential rain. I slowly turned back to face the massive portrait of my grandfather resting on the altar. The candlelight flickered across his painted face. His eyes looked so kind, so warm. It felt like he was whispering to me, Harper. Don’t be afraid. I dropped to my knees on the cold stone floor and bowed perfectly, pressing my forehead to the ground. “Grandpa. I’m listening to you. I’m leaving.” At 3:00 AM, I was standing inside a massive, abandoned shipping warehouse down by the docks. I was waiting in absolute silence. In three hours, a private vessel was going to smuggle me out of Hong Kong forever. Mr. Davis had handled everything flawlessly—a brand-new identity, untraceable offshore accounts, and strict instructions to bring only a single, small suitcase. Suddenly, the emergency lights bolted to the ceiling flickered and died. Seconds later, thick, pitch-black smoke, carrying the overwhelming, nauseating stench of gasoline, began pouring in under the heavy metal doors. Fire. I dropped my bag and sprinted toward the main exit. The second my fingers grazed the metal handle, the searing heat burned my skin. I recoiled instantly. The hallway outside was already an absolute inferno. I backed away, coughing violently, and ran to the reinforced windows. I shoved one open, but a wall of blistering heat blasted me in the face. The ground floor was entirely engulfed. Massive plumes of toxic black smoke were rolling up the side of the building. The warehouse was essentially a sealed concrete box. The fire was spreading with terrifying, unnatural speed. The smoke began pouring down my throat. I dropped to my knees, hacking and gagging as the oxygen was sucked out of the room. In a blind panic, my hand brushed against my jacket pocket. My fingers wrapped around the rusted, wire ring. It felt exactly like a rotting, meaningless promise. A sudden, overwhelming wave of pure exhaustion crashed over me. Seven years. Over two thousand, five hundred days. I threw away my title as the untouchable heiress of the Sterling empire to become Carter’s shadow. I dragged him out of the gutters and bled for him until he reached the absolute pinnacle of power. And what did I get in return? Was any of it worth it? I closed my burning eyes and let myself slide down the concrete wall until I was sitting on the floor. Let it end here. Let this fire completely incinerate the pathetic, delusional Harper who had spent seven years playing the martyr. “Harper—!!!”

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1 I’m the entertainment industry’s resident villainess. Three steps, a slap. Five steps, a punch. After cooperating with David for the N-th time, the moment he saw me, his face subconsciously tilted toward my hand. I was utterly horrified. The internet was equally horrified. Wait, is this normal? How did a few projects train him into this? He’s practically a puppy! God, me next! Step on me, big sister! I had a reputation in the industry that everyone knew. The Go-To Bad Woman. I’d played the homewrecker running through a rainstorm for “love”, the tyrannical duchess who slapped ten maids in a single scene, the toxic wife who ruined her parents, her husband, and herself, alongside a countless array of other wicked characters. Initially, my agent barely paid attention to me. It was only after I played so many villainesses that I went viral for being delightfully wicked, with my clips spreading like wildfire, that he finally realized I existed. My agent spent days pulling his hair out, staring at scripts without knowing which way to steer my career. Nurturing my talent had suddenly become an incredibly difficult puzzle. “How did you even land those past roles?” he asked. “I just went to open casting calls,” I replied honestly. He looked suspicious. “Open casting calls?” He asked me to show him how I did it. Since I hadn’t gone to drama school and lacked professional guidance, I had survived in the industry purely on my face and sheer luck. He still couldn’t comprehend how I actually booked the jobs. “Which one do you want to see, boss?” I asked meekly. He pondered for a moment. “Show me that tyrannical duchess.” I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, the atmosphere shifted. “You worthless tramp!” My agent flinched, his shoulders tensing. “I saw you lurking around the parlor earlier,” I sneered, my voice dripping with icy venom. “What’s the matter? Looking for my husband?” I snapped out of it instantly, returning to my quiet, timid self. “Boss, I’m done.” My agent wiped a bead of cold sweat from his forehead. “Right… great. Well, just take a look at the scripts we can get our hands on and choose whatever you like.” 2 I was getting restless. A person couldn’t play the villain forever. The past was the past, but now, if I had a choice, I wanted to play a good person. I couldn’t wait to pick a 1920s Prohibition-era period drama, selecting the only character who was supposed to be a pure, innocent white lily. During the audition, the director didn’t look particularly pleased. “Gemma, try it one more time.” I was sweating bullets. I tried my absolute best to perform according to my understanding of the character, reading lines with another actress who was playing the antagonist. The director observed us closely. After a moment, he suddenly spoke up. “How about this? The two of you swap scripts and do it again.” The other actress and I silently exchanged glances, then handed over our pages. Her character had roughly the same amount of screen time as mine. When we ran the scene again, a pure white lily and a fiercely calculating dark lotus came alive in the room. The director’s eyes lit up, and he slammed his hand on the desk, standing up. “Now that is what I’m talking about!” I had walked into the room carrying a lily, but I walked out holding nightshade. The other actress let out a long sigh of relief, quietly falling into step beside me as we left. “You’re Gemma, right?” she asked curiously. I nodded. She scratched her head, looking a little embarrassed. “Your acting was incredible. You were so deliciously wicked that it made my skin crawl. For a second, I thought we actually had some deep, ancient vendetta. You’re honestly born for these roles.” I remained silent, weeping in my heart over my tragic fate. 3 The new project was officially announced. The comments section was in absolute chaos. There were fans supporting their favorite leads, people just watching the drama unfold, and then there were comments about me. Gemma is playing the villainess again. We’re used to it at this point. Honestly, it’s kind of hot. Look at that promotional poster. The way she looks down at us like we’re dirt… it’s amazing! I quietly closed the comments. My phone buzzed. It was a message from David. Looking forward to working together again. I let out a miserable sigh. To be honest, if I were David, I would run the other way the moment I saw my face. I had worked with David at least five or six times now. In every different project, I played the exact same brand of wicked. In every different project, he was always the exact same brand of saint. The ultimate golden boy of television. Devoted, gentle, and constantly getting slapped by me. Our scenes together consisted almost entirely of me slapping him, kicking him, or screaming at him. When I played the mistress, he was my devoted pursuer, getting kicked, beaten, and used. When I played the duchess, he was my sweet cousin, whom I manipulated until he was stripped of his title and exiled. And this time… Oh, no. It was the seductive stepmother. 4 It was incredibly awkward. In our last project, we were a detective and a criminal. This time, I had to sit on his lap and slap him. The moment the director yelled “Cut!”, I scrambled off David’s lap as fast as my legs could carry me. “I’m so sorry, David!” David’s left cheek was flushed bright red. I was frantic, fussing over him with a bottle of water and an ice pack. “Did I hit you too hard?” David shook his head. The scene was intense, and we had agreed beforehand to make the slap real to get the best take, so I had put a bit too much force into it. The director was thrilled, but I was terrified of getting dragged by his fans. What if his fans outside the set saw this? I looked around guiltily, spotting a few young girls staring in our direction with glowing eyes. I silently shifted my body to block David’s reddened cheek, looking up at the sky and whistling casually. “Gemma,” David called out suddenly. He wanted to discuss the slap we just did. “You can actually go a bit harder next time. It’d look more natural if my head snapped back more. It’ll make the scene pop.” I was dumbfounded. Was he serious? Did he really have to be this dedicated to the craft? David’s expression was completely earnest. He was incredibly handsome, and with his flushed cheek and dark eyes, there was something undeniably destabilizing about the sight. I silently opened my contacts and edited his nickname. I added a few words. David (The Ultimate Workaholic) David spent the entire afternoon either getting beaten or screamed at by me. He usually played noble, heroic characters, but this time he had chosen a rare, morally grey role. Our characters were partners in crime who also constantly double crossed each other. My character, naturally, was the more ruthless of the two. I could already visualize the grand premiere. It was going to be a beautiful symphony of internet outrage. My feelings toward David were complex, a mix of mutual respect and a tiny bit of jealousy. He had played so many virtuous heroes that all the fan edits of him on social media were set to romantic music, whereas mine were always compilations of me committing fictional crimes. When we wrapped for the day, David walked ahead while I lagged behind. The fans waiting outside the studio gates stood up in a massive wave. I ducked my head, chanting a silent prayer. You can’t see me, you can’t see me… “Gemma! Big sister!” I looked up. A few girls were waving at me, jumping up and down. They looked familiar, they were the same girls from earlier. They cupped their hands around their mouths like megaphones. “You’re so beautiful!” “Your acting is incredible!” “We’ll always support you, Gemma!” I froze in my tracks. They were my fans. I actually had fans waiting to see me after work. Taking advantage of the crew’s distraction, I ran over happily to squeeze their hands and say hello. They clearly hadn’t expected me to actually approach them, and their faces were filled with shock. Before my agent dragged me away, I caught one of them whispering about how good I smelled. As I climbed into the car, they yelled in unison. “Gemma, you smell like heaven!” My face flushed a deep pink. 5 Work consumed my entire life. Having projects to shoot meant keeping food on the table. Discussing the script with David was always incredibly comfortable. He would teach me how to immerse myself in the emotions, helping me elevate my performance to a new level. He really was a trained theater actor. Do you have any thoughts on this scene? he texted. I thought about the stepmother character, letting my mind wander into the darker psychological elements of the role. I was thinking about her complex emotions, specifically her toxic, almost possessive hold over her stepson. David agreed. Yes, her childhood trauma makes her crave control over everything within her reach. The stepson was slowly being led astray by his stepmother. A naive young man stepping into a beautifully disguised trap, realizing too late that they would both sink into ruin together. This kind of taboo dynamic was always a bit controversial, but David had his own perspective. Don’t worry, the script is tight, the pacing is fast, and the characters are complex. She isn’t just evil for the sake of being evil. She wasn’t just evil. I was only now reaching a level in my career where I could actually land these layered, complex roles. In the beginning, I only booked one dimensional, cartoonish villains. Three steps, a slap. Five steps, a punch. I’d have no real emotional connection to the main characters, I just existed to make their lives miserable because the writer felt like it. I often wondered what went through those writers’ heads. Even so, playing those roles had been oddly therapeutic. David had high hopes for this new project. He comforted me. I trust the audience will see the depth in your performance. I rubbed my nose. The audience would definitely see my hand connecting with his face first. I typed back cautiously. Are you absolutely sure those slaps don’t hurt? It took a while for David to reply. They’re fine. Maybe you can send me some soothing face masks? Then, David sent a voice message. I tapped it, and his soft, low chuckle filled the quiet room. “It’s fine. Your hands are sweet. It doesn’t hurt.” Smooth. Too smooth. Our chemistry on set grew more natural with each passing day. One afternoon, he casually asked, “We’ve worked together five or six times now, which means we’ve known each other for years. Since we’re such good friends, do you want to grab dinner after we wrap?” I scratched my head. Since when were we such good friends? A smart actress who maintained a healthy dose of caution in the industry knew better than to easily agree to private dinners with co-stars. “I don’t think—” David spoke in a calm, breezy tone. “I know a really fantastic, private bistro downtown.” “Actually, I really should—” “My treat. Private car, door-to-door service, and the food is legendary.” My mouth took a sharp detour. “What time are we leaving?” “Now.” I couldn’t help but wonder how David knew my exact weakness. I had no expensive hobbies, I just loved good food. 6 The project finally wrapped. I had finished playing another villainess, and I felt completely refreshed. There was something about tapping into that dark energy that left me feeling energized, as if years of pent-up frustrations had been safely released through the character. I recalled the early days of my career, when I dragged myself through countless failed pilots before finally catching a break with a minor villain role. It was a brilliantly wicked character, and I had poured my absolute soul into making her as terrible as possible. The audience hated her with a passion. Even though some reasonable viewers tried to separate the actress from the character, it didn’t stop a massive wave of online hate from crashing down on me. As a small-time actress with no backing, my comments section was quickly overrun. Countless people begged me to stop acting. But I couldn’t do that. I watched the chaos unfold, and immediately signed on for my next villain role. With the algorithm pushing my name, I had to strike while the iron was hot. Soon, directors realized they had a go-to actress for their worst female antagonists. If they could write it, I could play it. By the time I was twenty-six, I had played almost every variation of a bad woman on the studio lots. My performances were so memorable that the audience’s attitude slowly began to shift. Gemma is amazing, but why does that gorgeous face only play evil characters? Eventually, even casual viewers started defending me. The moment her face appears on screen, you know someone is getting slapped! She’s too pretty. I can’t even stay mad at her characters. Let’s count how many times she slaps someone in this episode. The audience had slowly leaned into the absurdity of it all. I lounged on my couch, reading a message from David. There’s a role in a new drama that would be perfect for you. I recommended you to the director, do you want to audition? I sat up straight, sniffing back a wave of emotion. David, how did you know I was running out of money? 7 David was practically my lucky charm. We were in entirely different leagues, as he was a permanent fixture in A-list leading roles. During our very first project together, I played an assassin disguised as a maid whose sole job was to choke David with a wire before he managed to overpower me. I had smiled weakly when I read the script. The entire main cast was on set that day, all of them established stars, while I was the only fresh face. I had taken a deep breath. “Mr. David, please forgive me in advance.” David had been incredibly gracious. “Don’t worry about it. Just do whatever feels comfortable for you.” Under the watchful eyes of the entire crew, I had performed the scene seamlessly. The director later described my physical acting as highly professional. We got it in one take, no resets needed. There was a popular young starlet named Phoebe whose acting was frequently criticized by viewers. She had quietly approached me in private to ask for advice. I had comforted her. “You think I’m doing well, but the truth is, I’m just stuck in this villain comfort zone. If you threw me into a heroic, sweet role, I’d probably look completely lost.” She gasped. “A comfort zone? A villainess comfort zone?” I nodded. “Exactly. You, on the other hand, are perfect for those beautiful, tragic characters who get written off quickly. A few minutes of screen time, and the audience will remember you forever.” Phoebe actually took my advice to heart. From then on, she became the go-to beautiful casualty in various dramas. She arrived quickly, and her characters died quickly. The audience’s complaints about her acting began to dwindle, replaced by discussions about her tragic characters. I felt quite proud of her. She was a quick learner. Phoebe was thrilled and we became close friends. She started sharing casting opportunities for villain roles with me, becoming my other lucky charm. We grew so close that she would regularly crash on my sofa to watch my dramas with me. “My god, Gemma, you are so evil.” She grabbed a handful of chips, pointing dramatically at the TV screen. “If I didn’t know you in real life, I’d be terrified of you.” I crossed my arms. “That is the power of a professional villainess.” She giggled, leaning over to nudge my shoulder. “Let me rephrase that. Sister, you smell amazing.” I immediately retreated three feet, rubbing the goosebumps on my arms and pulling out a prop wooden stake from under the cushion. “Who possessed you? Get away from me.” Phoebe rolled her eyes, waving her phone in front of my face. “You’re so boring. Look, your after-work video is going viral, and you haven’t even noticed. Where did you even get a wooden stake?” I tossed the stake aside and took her phone. It was indeed the video of me with my fans from the other day. The audio was a bit muffled, but one loud, enthusiastic shout of “Gemma, you smell like heaven!” echoed clearly through the speaker. My hand trembled. A viral video of me. “I actually have a viral video,” I murmured, feeling a rush of warmth. “That’s not the point. The point is how sweet you are in real life.” I quietly pretended not to hear her, but that night, after slipping under my covers, I secretly scrolled through the comments. The comments were flooded with people asking what perfume I used. To be honest, Gemma’s beauty often makes you forget how awful her characters are. She actually makes me want to protect her… I think I’m falling for her. She’s so cute in real life! One second she’s a ruthless villainess, and the next she’s speaking so softly to her fans. The duality is insane. Following her seems so rewarding… It seemed I was actually starting to gain some real traction. 8 My previous brush with viral fame had been a brief spark that went out quickly. This time, however, felt different. The warmth was steady and growing. David sent a message soon after. Congratulations. I quickly replied. It’s just a temporary trend. People are probably just curious and will move on soon. Not that I’m trying to curse myself, of course. I was just trying to be humble. David sent a voice note, his voice light with amusement. “I understand.” He didn’t understand. I was nervous out of my mind. Over the years, I had played so many unhinged characters and endured so much criticism, and I had learned to handle all of it with a thick skin. But suddenly being embraced by the public made me feel incredibly vulnerable, as if my private self was being exposed. I had only ever seen famous actors get mobbed by fans, recognized everywhere they went. I wondered what that felt like. Wait. The perfect source of information was right in front of me. I opened our chat and nudged David. David replied almost instantly. ? David, rumor has it you’re incredibly famous, I wrote. There was no response from his end. I grew impatient and nudged him again. David? Where did you go? You’re going to make me lose my mind, he finally replied. He had a decent sense of humor. If you suddenly got a massive wave of attention, how would you feel? I asked. Exactly how you’re feeling right now, he wrote. I tried to deflect. I’m not talking about myself. I’m asking for a friend. Tell your friend to get ready. The internet is about to dig up her entire past. I stared at the screen in silence. I had almost forgotten the golden rule of the entertainment industry: the moment you start getting popular, the internet begins digging up your history.

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1 After coming back to life, I burned every single photo I had with Grayson. Then, I tore up the love letters Silas had written me over the past three years. In my previous life, I had let myself become an absolute joke caught between these two men. Grayson told me he loved me, yet the moment I gave up my study abroad spot for him, he packed his bags and took Cynthia overseas instead. He left me a single, crumpled note before his flight. It read, “She needs me more than you do.” I spiraled into a deep depression for three months. Silas showed up at my apartment every single day with fresh food. He looked at me with those painfully gentle eyes and said, “I’ve been waiting for you for eight years.” When I finally agreed to be with him, he was the picture of perfection. He came home on time every night and kept a strict distance from any other women. I honestly thought I had finally placed a winning bet. That was until the winter I got into a horrific car crash. I lay comatose in the ICU for seven agonizing days. He never visited. Not once. Instead, I listened to the nurses gossiping over my lifeless body. “The girl in Bed 12 is so pitiful. Her husband comes to the hospital every single day, but he never even steps foot in her room.” “I know, right? He walks straight past her door and goes to the next wing to take care of that patient named Cynthia.” It wasn’t until much later that I learned the ugly truth. Grayson took Cynthia abroad to help her dodge massive gambling debts. And every single cent of that escape was funded by Silas. I was never a priority. I was just an NPC in their twisted, toxic love triangle. But this time, things were going to be different. I was going to sell my house, pack my bags, and take my Nana across the ocean. The voices of the nurses echoed from the hallway, pulling me out of my memories. “Bed 12 is breaking my heart. The guy is here every day, but he never looks at her.” “Yeah, he just goes straight to the other ward to see that Cynthia girl.” My body was shattered from the crash, trapped in that ICU bed for seven days. My eyes were glued shut, but my mind was terrifyingly sharp. I heard the nurses call Silas over and over again. He never came. He was busy keeping someone much more important company. The salvation I thought I had found was nothing but a sickening lie. I poured every ounce of my fading willpower into opening my eyes, but my vision faded into the flat green line of a heart monitor. When I opened my eyes again, the morning sun blinded me. I was sitting at my familiar oak desk. The calendar on the wall stared back at me. It was exactly three months before I was supposed to reject my study abroad offer for Grayson. My hands trembled as I picked up my phone and dialed the university’s international exchange office. “Professor, I’m calling to confirm my acceptance for the exchange program in London. Thank you so much for this opportunity.” The relief in the professor’s voice was palpable. “I’m so glad you thought this through, Rachel. It would have been a tragedy to throw an opportunity like this away.” He was right. It would have been a tragedy. Throwing my entire future away for a man was the stupidest thing I had ever done. After hanging up, I immediately called a high-end real estate agent. I listed the sprawling house my parents had left me. I only had two conditions. All cash, and fast. The moment I finished that call, my phone buzzed. It was Grayson. His voice was cold, carrying that familiar undertone of entitlement. “Rachel, Cynthia is having some trouble with her senior design portfolio. You always get top grades. Go over there and help her out.” Cynthia again. Her drama was the constant static in our relationship. In my past life, those words had me pulling three all-nighters, editing her portfolio from rough sketches to a polished masterpiece. When the project won a national award, only her name was on the plaque. Grayson’s excuse back then? “Cynthia has a weak constitution. She needs this award on her resume more than you do.” And I actually bought that garbage. I gripped my phone tightly and let a soft, agreeable tone slip past my lips. “Sure. Have her send me the files.” “Good girl,” Grayson replied. Two words. That was all it took for him to think he had me completely leashed. I stared out the window, remembering the pathetic version of myself from my past life, and felt a wave of absolute disgust. Less than an hour later, a knock echoed through my apartment. Silas stood in the doorway, holding a brown paper bag from my favorite artisanal bakery. He unpacked the warm pastries onto my dining table, his voice dripping with honey. “Eat while it’s hot. I know you’ve been stressed out dealing with Grayson and Cynthia’s mess. Don’t push yourself too hard.” He always played this role perfectly. Whenever Grayson cut me open, Silas was right there with the bandages. Then, right on cue, he casually dropped the bait. “Cynthia’s project is a massive deal, and Grayson is just stuck in a hard place. You know how frail that poor girl is. She just can’t handle the pressure alone.” Look at them. They always had a million ready-made excuses. Cynthia was fragile, so the entire world had to bend to her will. I picked up a warm croissant and flashed him a bright, convincing smile. “I know, Silas. I promise I won’t make things difficult for Grayson.” Silas let out a breath of relief and smiled back. They both thought I was still that same pathetic Rachel, endlessly willing to set myself on fire to keep Grayson warm. The next morning, I packed my laptop and headed to the university library to finalize my visa applications. I was browsing the reference section when I looked up and saw them. Grayson and Cynthia. Cynthia was leaning heavily against Grayson’s chest. Her cheeks were rosy, and she looked about as fragile as a brick wall. She let out a breathy laugh, gazing up at him. “Grayson, I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you. Thank goodness you’re here.” Grayson looked down at her, his voice softer than I had ever heard it. “You’re such a fool sometimes.” He turned around to grab a bottle of water from his bag and froze. He saw me standing at the end of the aisle. His expression hardened instantly, his brows knitting together in sheer annoyance. My presence was ruining his little romantic moment. I didn’t storm over. I didn’t scream or demand answers like the old Rachel would have. I just stood there, offered him a polite, completely hollow smile, and turned back to the bookshelves. I could feel his intense glare burning into my spine. I didn’t care. This nightmare was going to be over very soon. 2 I didn’t type a single word of Cynthia’s senior portfolio. Two days later, Grayson tracked me down in the library. He snatched the textbook right out of my hands and slammed it onto the wooden desk. The loud crack echoed through the silent room. Heads turned from every direction. “Rachel, I told you to help Cynthia, and you’re sitting here reading useless garbage?” I looked up at him calmly. Then I looked at Cynthia, who was standing right behind him, wearing her signature mask of doe-eyed innocence. “I’m doing research for my own coursework,” I replied flatly. “What coursework could possibly be more important than Cynthia graduating?” Grayson demanded, pulling Cynthia forward by the wrist. “She hasn’t slept in days stressing over this design, and you haven’t even lifted a finger to help.” Cynthia gently tugged at his sleeve, her voice trembling just the right amount. “Grayson, please don’t yell at her. I’m sure Rachel is just really busy with her own life. I’ll just figure something else out.” Her little performance only threw gasoline on his fire. “Listen to her!” Grayson pointed an accusing finger at me. “She’s ten times more mature than you are! Rachel, I am telling you this one last time. I want a complete, polished portfolio in my inbox within a week.” I watched them put on their little theatrical duet, feeling nothing but boredom. I nodded slowly. “Understood.” Grayson thought I was backing down. His rigid posture relaxed slightly, and he grabbed Cynthia’s hand, dragging her out of the library. I absorbed all the weird, pitying looks from the students around me. It didn’t matter. This was the last time they would ever look at me like that. A few days later, Grayson’s patience snapped. He called me, his voice booming through the speaker. “Rachel, what the hell are you playing at? The deadline is in less than a week and the shared drive is empty.” I turned on the kitchen faucet, letting the rushing water serve as my background noise. “I’m so sorry. Nana’s health took a bad turn. I’ve been stuck at the hospital taking care of her all week. I just haven’t had the time.” I lied effortlessly. “Cynthia’s graduation is on the line here. Put your family drama on hold and get her work done first.” Listen to the absolute audacity of this man. In his eyes, my grandmother’s life meant less than Cynthia’s homework assignment. “But…” I feigned hesitation. “No buts.” Grayson cut me off sharply. “Rachel, stop throwing these childish tantrums. If Cynthia fails to graduate because of you, we are completely done.” He hung up with a harsh click. I turned off the faucet and stared at my reflection in the mirror. I honestly couldn’t fathom how I had spent my past life wanting to die over a man like him. Thank god I got a second chance. My phone rang again. It was my real estate agent. She had found a buyer willing to pay above asking price, entirely in cash. We could sign the closing papers today. I replied with a simple, “Perfect.” To make my cover story look authentic, I needed to clear out some of my parents’ antique furniture before handing over the keys. The pieces were heavy, solid oak. I couldn’t move them alone. The first person that came to mind was Silas. The reliable, ever-present senior who always had my back. I called him. “Hey Silas, are you free today? I need to get rid of some heavy old furniture at my place, and I could really use some muscle.” The line went dead silent for a few seconds. Then, his apologetic voice came through. “Rachel, the timing is really bad. I can’t leave right now.” In the background, I distinctly heard the sound of Cynthia coughing delicately. “Cynthia is running a fever, and I need to stay here and take care of her,” Silas explained smoothly. “Can you try to figure it out yourself? Or maybe just hire some movers? I’ll wire you the money for it later.” Cynthia again. I let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Don’t worry about it, Silas. Take good care of her. I’ll handle it.” I hung up the phone and immediately booked a premium moving service online. Why beg for favors when money can solve the problem instantly? A few hours later, I stood outside the local hospital. I clutched my stomach and dialed Silas again, forcing my voice to sound frail and breathless. “Silas, my stomach is killing me. The pain is unbearable. I’m at the downtown ER right now.” Silas didn’t hesitate. “Don’t move. I’m on my way.” I sat on a freezing plastic chair in the chaotic emergency room lobby, watching the crowd blur past me. Thirty minutes later, Silas rushed through the sliding glass doors. He was out of breath, his eyes darting frantically. But he didn’t even scan the waiting area where I was sitting. He sprinted right past me, heading straight for the orthopedic wing down the hall. I stood up slowly and followed him. Outside the orthopedic exam room, Cynthia was sitting in a wheelchair. Her ankle was wrapped in a thick bandage, and tears were streaming down her face. Silas was kneeling on the floor right in front of her, speaking in a sickeningly sweet, coaxing tone. “Shh, it’s okay. Don’t cry. The doctor said it’s just a minor sprain. A few days of rest and you’ll be perfectly fine.” “But it hurts so much,” Cynthia whined, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. Silas frowned in deep concern. He reached out to touch her wrapped ankle, his hands moving with extreme, terrifying gentleness, terrified of causing her even a fraction of pain. His performance right now was a hundred times more genuine than any fake concern he had ever shown me by my hospital bed in my past life. I stood silently in the hallway, watching the scene unfold. So the rumors I had heard in the ICU during my past life had been true all along. It had started years before I ever realized it. My presence finally shifted the air in the hallway. Silas turned his head, and his entire body went completely rigid. “Rachel… what are you doing over here?” Panic flooded his eyes. Cynthia noticed me too. The tears instantly vanished from her eyes, replaced by a subtle, mocking gleam of victory. “I told you, my stomach was killing me. I came to get a prescription.” I pointed casually at the pharmacy bag in my hand. “Are you… are you feeling better?” Silas scrambled to his feet, looking entirely out of his depth. “I’m fine. Just an old flare-up.” “I’ll let you get back to your nursing duties. I’m heading home.” I didn’t give him a single second to stumble through an excuse. I simply turned on my heel and walked away. I knew perfectly well that me walking away without a fight would just convince them that I was still the same jealous, helpless Rachel who would eventually come crawling back. 3 The weather was gorgeous the day I signed the final real estate contracts and secured the cash. I transferred the massive sum into an international bank account, finalized my leave of absence from the university, and secured my student visa. That weekend, a mutual friend hosted a massive party at a private club downtown and invited me. I knew Grayson, Silas, and Cynthia would all be there. To avoid drawing any suspicion before my flight, I agreed to go. Inside the neon-lit private room, the drinks were flowing, and someone brought out a deck of cards for a dare game. After a few rounds, Cynthia shook a deck of custom cards in her hand and giggled. “Let’s play the King’s Game! Whoever draws the King gets to command any two numbers to do whatever they want!” The room erupted in cheers. Grayson and Silas both nodded along, completely indulging her. Naturally, Cynthia pulled the King on the very first round. She stood up, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “I command number two and number five to recreate the classic Titanic pose right in the middle of the room!” Everyone immediately scrambled to check their cards. I flipped mine over. It was a two. Across the room, Grayson scowled and tossed his card onto the table. A five. The room instantly exploded into deafening whistles and cheers. “Rachel, this is your moment!” “Grayson, don’t just sit there! Get up and hold her!” The crowd physically pushed me until I was standing awkwardly next to the low glass coffee table in the center of the room. Grayson was shoved toward me, his face twisted in utter reluctance. Silas was sitting on the leather sofa, laughing along. “Come on, Grayson, just get it over with. Rachel, open your arms.” I stiffly raised my arms and closed my eyes, refusing to look at the disgust I knew was written all over Grayson’s face. But the embrace never came. Instead, a massive force slammed into my back. It was Cynthia. She had lunged forward, throwing her arms around my waist from behind, laughing hysterically at Grayson. “Grayson, look! Isn’t this exactly the same thing?” The moment her weight hit me, my heels slipped on the slick floor. I lost my balance completely and tipped backward. With a sickening crash, I slammed into the floor. The back of my head struck the sharp, heavy corner of the glass coffee table. Pain exploded behind my eyes, blinding me with a flash of pure white light. The heavy table tipped. Bottles of liquor, buckets of ice, and sticky mixers crashed down, soaking me in freezing, stinging alcohol. The entire room went dead silent for a fraction of a second. And then, I heard it. A sharp, undisguised scoff from Grayson. He didn’t even look down at me. He just crossed his arms and muttered to the guy next to him, “What a buzzkill.” Silas barely even frowned. “Rachel, why are you always so clumsy? It was just a game.” Not a single person reached out to help me up. Every eye in the room was fixed on Cynthia, who had also fallen to her knees. Her eyes were already brimming with fake, watery tears. Grayson instantly dropped to the floor, pulling her into his chest, his voice dripping with tender concern. “Are you hurt? It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault. She just couldn’t keep her balance.” The throbbing in the back of my skull was blinding. I lay on the freezing, sticky floor, completely drenched and looking like absolute trash. Without saying a single word, I pushed myself off the ground, bypassed the crowd, and walked straight out of that suffocating, noisy room. In that moment, I felt nothing but profound relief that the house was sold, the visa was stamped, and my bags were packed. Only three days left. The third day happened to be my birthday. Maybe Silas felt a tiny shred of guilt over the club incident, because he sent me a text that morning. “Happy birthday, Rachel. I booked the best window table at The Apex for seven tonight. Don’t be late.” A few hours later, Grayson’s text came through. “Happy birthday. Cynthia didn’t mean to push you the other night, so drop the attitude. We’re taking you out for dinner tonight to celebrate.” I stared at the two messages, feeling absolutely nothing. I decided to treat it as a final farewell tour. I replied with a simple “Okay” to both of them. As the sun set, I took a cab to the luxury rooftop restaurant. It was the exact same corner table by the floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooking the glittering skyline of the city. The scene played out exactly like my past life. Back then, I had worn the expensive dress Grayson bought me. We hadn’t even ordered appetizers before Cynthia called in a panic, and both of them sprinted out the door. I had sat at this exact table from seven in the evening until the kitchen closed. They never came back. My calls went to voicemail. My texts were left on read. I endured the pitying looks of the waitstaff and the awkward stares of the other diners, burning with humiliation. It wasn’t until midnight that I saw Cynthia’s social media post. She was wearing a stunning princess gown, holding a massive, custom cake, laughing brightly. Grayson and Silas were standing on either side of her, looking at her like she was the center of their universe. The caption read, “Dragged my two knights in shining armor out for late-night cake! Who says you need a birthday to celebrate?” My birthday meant absolutely nothing compared to her spontaneous cravings. 4 “Rachel? Where did your mind go?” Silas’s voice snapped me back to reality. Grayson and Silas were sitting across from me. The expensive appetizers arrived quickly, but no one spoke. The air was thick and awkward. Silas picked up his wine glass, breaking the silence. “Rachel, I’m sorry about the other night. I’ll take a penalty drink. Happy birthday.” Grayson didn’t scowl at me for once, though his eyes were heavy with complicated emotions. Just as I picked up my fork, Silas’s phone buzzed aggressively on the table. He glanced at the screen, and his entire demeanor shattered. He answered it instantly. “What? How did she just faint? Which hospital?” He hung up, his face pale, and looked at me with panicked guilt. “Rachel, I am so sorry. Cynthia… her blood sugar completely crashed. She fainted in the street and got taken to the ER. I have to go check on her.” Before I could even process the excuse, Grayson was already out of his chair, grabbing his tailored coat. He looked at Silas. “I’m coming with you. One person isn’t enough to handle the doctors and paperwork.” Just like the last lifetime, they threw me away the second Cynthia snapped her fingers. Silas gave me a desperate, pleading look. “Rachel, just eat. We’ll make sure she’s stable and come right back. I promise. We’ll be quick.” They practically ran out of the restaurant. The heavy oak doors of the private dining room clicked shut behind them, cutting off the background music. The world went beautifully silent. I looked at the table full of untouched, Michelin-star food. I didn’t wait a single second. I grabbed my coat, stood up, and waved a waiter over. “Check, please.” Walking out of the restaurant, the sharp night wind hit my face. It was freezing, but my mind had never felt clearer. I pulled out my phone, went to my contacts, and permanently blocked and deleted both Grayson and Silas. I wasn’t waiting around anymore. I flagged down a taxi and headed straight to my empty house. I pushed the front door open. The sprawling living room was completely stripped bare. Besides my suitcases and Nana’s bags sitting by the door, every trace of our existence had been scrubbed clean. I peeled off the expensive dress I was wearing, rolled it up, and shoved it directly into the trash can. Along with that fabric, the very last shred of my attachment to Grayson went straight into the garbage. I walked into Nana’s room. She was already fast asleep, her breathing soft and steady. I gently pulled the thick blanket over her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Nana, this time, I’m taking you far away from this toxic wasteland. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. I checked our passports, visas, and flight tickets over and over again, ensuring everything was flawless. When the sky outside began to turn a soft, bruised purple, I gently woke Nana up. “Nana, we’re going on a trip. Somewhere really far away and really beautiful. Sound good?” Nana’s memory wasn’t what it used to be, but she loved me more than anything in the world. She looked at me, her eyes crinkling into a sweet smile, and nodded. “Whatever you say, sweetheart. Wherever my Rachel goes, Nana goes.” The morning sun flooded through the massive glass windows of the airport terminal, wrapping us in golden warmth. I held Nana’s hand tightly as we walked, step by step, toward the international departure gate. Goodbye, Grayson. Goodbye, Silas. And goodbye, Cynthia. I hope the three of you enjoy your miserable little eternity together.

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1 I was having a drink and chatting with some friends when Robert walked in. I had been planning to propose to him once the party wrapped up. My fingers nervously brushed against the small velvet box containing our matching bands in my pocket, my heart fluttering with anticipation. But then, Robert walked through the door with a meticulously styled woman on his arm. She wore a royal blue silk dress, looking elegant and poised. Robert’s eyes softened as he looked down at her, a tender smile playing on his lips—a look he had never once given me. “Nora,” Robert said, his tone casual but his eyes locking onto mine with a sharp, warning glare, as if terrified I would make a scene. “Say hello to your future sister-in-law.” I froze, the words trapping themselves in my throat. Nate quickly stepped in to break the sudden silence. “Robert, keeping secrets from us? You didn’t tell us you had a girlfriend.” Robert let out a soft laugh. “She just returned from her studies abroad yesterday. I wanted to bring her to meet everyone right away.” He gently caressed her hand, acting as if she were the most precious thing in the world. Another friend chimed in. “Ah, this must be Molly, your first love. I still remember on Nora’s birthday years ago, when Molly left for her residency, you got so drunk we had to carry you home. You finally got your girl back. Congratulations!” My birthday. How ironic. I stood there, my mind going completely blank as a dull, throbbing ache started behind my eyes. I was a complete and utter fool. Robert and I had grown up as next-door neighbors. Our families had been close for generations. He was older than me, my childhood protector, and I had loved him for as long as I could remember. I loved his wild, carefree laughter; I loved watching him play basketball in the summer heat; I loved how, despite his forgetfulness, he always remembered to bring back my favorite pastries on his way home. I had convinced myself that he must feel the same way. So, on my eighteenth birthday, I gathered my courage and confessed my feelings. His response was a cold, polite rejection. “Nora, I only see you as a sister. It isn’t like that.” But I was young and stubborn. I believed that if I stayed by his side, he would eventually see me. Since he didn’t date anyone else over the next few years, I held onto that hope. After my confession, he continued to treat me just as he always had. On my twentieth birthday, we both drank a little too much. Robert took me to a nearby boutique hotel. He gently wiped my face and hands with a warm towel and fed me water. Looking up at him, I lost my head and kissed him. He froze, a dark, unreadable emotion crossing his face, before he leaned down and kissed me back with a fierce, almost desperate intensity. When I woke up the next morning to our clothes scattered across the floor, my initial panic quickly melted into a quiet, tentative happiness. After that night, it became a habit. He would visit my apartment every few days. In the dark, we would lose ourselves in each other. During those intense, quiet hours, he would murmur sweet, breathless words, kissing my neck and telling me he loved me. I thought my dream had finally come true. But he never officially asked me to be his girlfriend. When I finally gathered the courage to ask him about us, he remained silent for a long moment before murmuring, “Nora, we are doing all of this. Do I really need to spell it out?” I took his silence as a secret understanding. I foolishly believed we would eventually marry. Now, looking at the man I had loved for a decade, I realized I had never truly known him. It felt as though a bucket of freezing water had been poured over my head. Robert stared at me, his voice dropping slightly. “Nora, I asked you to greet your sister-in-law.” He was forcing me to bow my head, to accept the sisterly role he had assigned to me. Molly looked at me properly for the first time, her eyes scanning me with a cold, analytical gaze. I forced a tight, mocking smile and nodded at her. “I have to go.” Ignoring the protests of my friends, I grabbed my bag and bolted toward the exit, desperate to escape the suffocating room. Robert caught up to me in the lobby, grabbing my arm. I stared down at his hand on my skin with such cold disgust that he slowly let go. “Nora, this is Molly’s first time meeting the group,” Robert said, his tone defensive. “You can’t just humiliate her like that. Come back inside and apologize.” I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Apologize? For what? Where do you get the nerve to ask me that, Robert?” A flash of guilt crossed his eyes, but his voice remained firm. “I’m sorry about the past, Nora. But we were never actually dating. We are both consenting adults; do we really need to get dramatic about it?” “My mistake for not understanding your version of adult boundaries,” I said, my voice turning to ice. “It was my own fault for being blind. But do me a favor and stay away from me.” I took a step forward, then paused and looked back at him. “And don’t worry. I won’t tell your precious girlfriend about what we did in the dark. I have no interest in fighting over garbage.” Robert’s eyes darkened with anger. “Nora, even if I have a partner, I will still take care of you like a little sister. Stop throwing a tantrum.” I looked at his handsome face, the sharp jawline, the dark eyes that I had adored for ten years. He looked exactly the same, yet he was a complete stranger. I wiped a stray tear from my cheek. “You don’t deserve to.” I walked out of the hotel and pulled the velvet box from my bag, throwing the matching bands into the decorative fountain without a second thought. Even though I knew he was rotten to the core, the realization still tore a hole in my chest. I drove down to the coastline, needing to clear my head. I sat on a wooden bench, watching the dark waves crash against the shore as the tears finally spilled over. Suddenly, a crack of thunder rattled the sky, and a torrential downpour began. I didn’t move. The rain was perfect; it hid my tears and my humiliation. Then, the rain stopped hitting my head. I looked up and saw a large black umbrella. Standing beside me was a tall, imposing man in a tailored charcoal suit, his sharp, aristocratic face looking down at me with quiet concern. I scrambled to my feet. “Dominic? What are you doing here?” Dominic Lu was Robert’s older half-brother, born to their father’s late first wife. After his mother passed, their father had married Robert’s mother. Over the years, Dominic had been sent abroad to manage the company’s European market. Everyone in our social circle whispered that their father favored Robert’s mother, meaning Robert would inherit the family empire while Dominic was effectively exiled. Dominic had always been a serious, highly disciplined, and intimidating figure. When Robert and I were kids causing trouble, one look from Dominic would make us freeze and behave. Yet, he had never been cruel to us; he used to bring us rare chocolates and toys from his travels. Dominic looked down at me, his deep voice incredibly gentle. “Why are you crying, Nora? Did Robert do something to you?” I felt a sudden wave of embarrassment. “No, Dominic. I’m just having a bad day.” He didn’t pry. “Let me take you home.” Dominic had always been a man of few words, so his quiet concern felt incredibly grounding. I followed him to his car. “When did you get back?” I asked as he started the engine. “Are you staying long?” “I arrived yesterday,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the road. “I have to leave in a few days.” “So soon?” Dominic glanced at me, a faint, rare smile touching his lips. “Why? Do you want me to stay?” His voice was incredibly low and rich, and the sudden shift in his tone caught me off guard. “Of course,” I stammered, trying to keep it casual. “Robert and I always wish you could stay longer.” Dominic’s smile faded, and he turned his attention back to the road. The atmosphere in the car suddenly felt a few degrees colder. He dropped me off at my family’s villa. I crawled into bed after a hot shower and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Over the next two months, I kept to myself. At first, I had no energy for anything, but slowly, the pain began to fade. I found myself thinking of Robert less and less. Most women in our circle were married off in arranged matches by their mid-twenties, but my parents had always wanted me to marry for love. They never pressured me, always telling me that their little princess deserved the absolute best. Seeing my quiet melancholy, my mother eventually approached me one afternoon. “Nora, a friend of mine has a wonderful son she wants to introduce to you,” she said gently. “Would you be open to meeting him? Just as friends.” I knew my parents had seen the social media posts of Robert high-profile displays of affection for Molly. Robert was showing the world what it looked like when he actually loved someone. “I’d love to, Mom,” I replied. My mother looked surprised by my quick agreement. “You don’t have to force yourself, sweetheart.” “I want to go,” I said, and I meant it. The next evening, I drove to a high-end restaurant called The Hourglass. But when I was shown to the private table, I froze. Sitting across from me was Dominic. “Dominic?” I stammered, my hands freezing on my purse. “What are you doing here? I thought you went back to Europe.” Dominic’s dark eyes softened as he smiled. “I decided I didn’t want to leave. Are you disappointed it’s me?” “No! No, of course not,” I said quickly, sitting down. “I’m just incredibly surprised.” Dominic leaned forward slightly, his expression turning serious. “Dominic Lu. Master’s from Yale, twenty-eight, no vice or bad habits. I have a successful firm abroad, and I’ve officially returned to take over the Lu Group. Do I meet the standards to court you, Miss Nora?” I stared at him, my heart skipping a beat. I was shocked that he was taking over the family business, but even more shocked by his proposal. “Dominic… did you know the blind date was with me?” “Of course,” he said, his eyes shining with a quiet warmth. “Nora, can we try dating?” Dominic had always been an untouchable figure in my eyes, someone far out of my league. But looking at his sharp, elegant features and the intense sincerity in his eyes, I found myself nodding. I figured that if I had to marry eventually, marrying Dominic wouldn’t be a bad deal at all. Sensing my lingering gaze on him, Dominic let out a soft chuckle. “Are you satisfied with what you see, Nora?” His teasing tone was a far cry from the polite distance he used to keep. My face flushed, and I quickly looked away. “You didn’t use to talk to me like this.” “You’ll have to get used to it,” he murmured. After dinner, we walked along the river. Dominic stopped and gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. My heart hammered against my ribs, and I instinctively flinched away from the unfamiliar intimacy. Dominic’s hand paused in the air before slowly dropping to his side. “Nora, I am your boyfriend now,” he said, a trace of vulnerability in his voice. “Don’t push me away.” “I’m sorry,” I said softly, feeling a pang of guilt. “I’m just not used to this yet.” Dominic let out a quiet laugh. “Then we will take it slow, my girlfriend.” He reached out and gently slid his fingers between mine, locking our hands together. His palm was warm and dry, and the scent of his woodsy cologne wrapped around me, making me feel incredibly safe. For the next two months, we spent almost all our free time together. We took long walks, tried new restaurants, and on weekends, I would read or paint in his study while he worked. Despite our different worlds, we fell into a comfortable, effortless rhythm. Dominic spoiled me completely, respecting my boundaries while anticipating my every need. I had never felt so cherished. One afternoon, we were walking through a sunlit park. The golden light caught the sharp angles of his face, and I realized with a sudden jolt that I was falling for him. My phone rang, breaking the quiet moment. It was Nate. “Nora, where are you? Robert’s birthday party started an hour ago.” Before I could reply, the phone was snatched on the other end, and Robert’s voice came through the speaker. “Nora, are you really not coming to my birthday?” My good mood vanished instantly. “Your birthday has nothing to do with me,” I said, my voice cold. “Stop calling me.” I hung up. At the KTV lounge, Robert stared at his phone in disbelief. He had assumed I was just playing hard to get over the last few weeks. He was used to me throwing tantrums whenever another woman got too close, but I always came back. Molly leaned against his shoulder, feeding him a strawberry. “Is Nora really that important to you, Robert?” Robert kissed her cheek. “Of course not. She is just a sister. You are the only one who matters.” But as the night wore on and the party ended, I never showed up. For the first time, a cold wave of panic washed over him. He began calling my phone repeatedly. Exhausted by the constant buzzing, I finally picked up. “What do you want, Robert?” “Nora, I’m drunk,” he mumbled, his voice slurred. “Can you come pick me up?” “Do you not speak English?” I snapped. “Call your girlfriend. If you call me again, I am blocking your number.” I hung up and let out a long sigh. Dominic raised an eyebrow. “Is everything alright?” “I’m fine,” I said, trying to shake off the irritation. Dominic stopped walking and turned to me. “Nora, you don’t have to tell me anything if you aren’t ready. But I want you to know that I am always here for you. Always.” His quiet strength instantly soothed my frayed nerves. But my phone began to buzz again—this time with messages from our mutual friends, clearly sent at Robert’s behest. I knew this wouldn’t stop until I drew a hard line. I looked up at Dominic. “Can you come with me to settle this once and for all?” Dominic smiled, his eyes softening. “Of course. A boyfriend is always at your service.” We drove to the private KTV lounge where the party was being held. When I pushed open the heavy door, Robert was sitting in the center of the room. The moment he saw me walk in, a smug, relieved look crossed his face. He assumed his plan had worked. But then, Dominic walked in behind me, and Robert’s smile froze. Robert had always been intimidated by his older brother. Dominic’s recent takeover of the Lu Group had left the company board completely loyal to him, stripping Robert of any real power. The rest of our friends quickly stood up to greet Dominic with quiet respect. Dominic gave them a brief, polite nod and stepped back, letting me take the lead. Robert looked at me, a trace of hurt in his eyes. “Nora, why are you only getting here now?” “Robert, I am saying this for the last time,” I said, my voice steady and clear. “Do not ever contact me again.” Robert’s irritation flared. “Nora, stop throwing a tantrum. I’ve already given you an out. What more do you want?” I looked at him with pity. “I have a boyfriend now, Robert.” I reached back and took Dominic’s hand. Dominic stepped forward, his eyes locking onto Robert with an icy glare. “Robert,” Dominic said, his deep voice carrying a dangerous edge. “From now on, I don’t want to see you harassing your future sister-in-law again.”

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1 My best friend sent me a photo. It was taken at the beach. My husband was holding her in his arms, a sweet, blinding smile plastered across his face. Her caption read: “I’m sorry, Hailey. I couldn’t control myself.” I took a slow, deep breath, letting the cold air fill my lungs, and saved the image to my phone. No crop. No blur. No filter. I uploaded the raw image directly to my Facebook feed. “Congratulations to my dearest friend on her successful promotion. You two don’t have to hide in the shadows anymore. Side note to everyone else: this man is officially secondhand goods. No returns, no exchanges.” I tagged every mutual friend we had, shut down the phone, pulled out the SIM card, and went straight to bed. The next morning, the moment I powered the phone back on, it nearly melted in my hand. One hundred and eighty-three missed calls popped up in rapid succession, accompanied by a flood of text notifications. … My phone buzzed on the bed. I was in the middle of folding laundry. Dakin’s white dress shirt lay in my hands, a faint smudge of peach-toned lipstick gracing the collar. I rubbed my thumb over the fabric, but the stain had already set. The message was from Renee. I tapped the screen. It was a photo. A coastal sunset, the golden hour casting a warm, romantic glow over two figures. My husband, Dakin, had his arm wrapped tightly around Renee’s waist. She leaned her head against his shoulder, both of them laughing at some private joke. Underneath the photo was a single line of text: “I’m sorry, Hailey. I couldn’t control myself.” I stared at the image for a full ten seconds. My hands didn’t shake, though my heart rate spiked, a dull thudding against my ribs. Renee had been my roommate in college. Since graduation, we had lived in the same city, sharing holidays, dinners, and countless secrets. She called me her sister. I had helped her move three separate times, and when she was hospitalized with a severe case of pneumonia, I stayed by her bedside for three consecutive nights. Six years of friendship. I zoomed in on the photo. Dakin was wearing the light blue short-sleeved linen shirt he had packed for his business trip last week. He had told me he was flying to Chicago. The background of the photo was clearly a tropical beach. I saved the original file to my camera roll, opened Facebook, selected the photo, and typed my caption. “Congratulations to my dearest friend on her successful promotion. You two don’t have to hide in the shadows anymore. Side note to everyone else: this man is officially secondhand goods. No returns, no exchanges.” I hit share. Then I powered down the phone, slid the SIM card out with a paperclip, and set it on the nightstand. I pulled the duvet over my shoulders and closed my eyes. My mind refused to quiet down. All I could see was that photo. The hand Dakin had wrapped around her waist was his left hand. On our wedding day, that was the same hand he had used to guide me down the aisle. I rolled over, burying my face in the pillow. I didn’t cry. But there was a suffocating pressure in my chest, a sensation like swallowing a jagged block of ice that refused to melt. By the time the sun filtered through the blinds, my head felt heavy. I sat up, slid the SIM card back into the slot, and pressed the power button. The screen illuminated, and the notifications began to cascade. Ten, fifty, a hundred. Missed calls: 183. Unread texts: 99 plus. My social media apps took a full thirty seconds to load the sheer volume of messages. I leaned against the headboard, watching the red numbers multiply. Dakin had called sixty-seven times. Renee, forty-one times. My mother-in-law, twenty-three times. The rest of the calls were from colleagues, acquaintances, and a few people whose names I recognized but whose faces I couldn’t place. I opened Dakin’s message thread. The earliest text had arrived at 10:03 PM the previous night. “What the hell did you post? Delete it right now.” 10:07 PM: “Hailey, are you going to delete it or not?” 10:15 PM: “Answer your phone.” 10:40 PM: “What is wrong with you?” 11:20 PM: “I’m coming home. We’ll talk then.” 1:00 AM: “Hailey, you’ve gone way too far.” The final message had been sent at 6:12 AM. “I’m downstairs. Open the door.” I didn’t move. I swiped out of his thread and tapped on Renee’s voice messages. The first one was seven seconds long. She was sobbing, her voice frantic. “Are you insane? You’ve completely ruined my life!” A cold smile touched my lips. Ruined her life. When she hit send on that photo, she hadn’t given a single thought to mine. The second voicemail was twelve seconds. “Please, Hailey, delete the post. We can talk about this. I’ll agree to whatever you want, just take it down.” The third was five seconds. “Hailey, why aren’t you picking up?” The fourth, sent around 2:00 AM, had a hard, raspy edge to it. “Doing this isn’t going to help you either.” I listened to all nineteen voicemails. Her tone shifted from tears, to pleas, to panic, and finally to a cold, simmered resentment. The doorbell rang. Once, twice, and then a heavy fist began pounding against the wood. “Hailey, open the door.” Dakin’s voice drifted through the hallway. I checked the time. It was 6:40 AM. The pounding resumed, louder this time. “I know you’re in there. Open the door, or I’m calling a locksmith.” I slid out of bed, stepped into my slippers, and walked to the entryway. I didn’t unlock the deadbolt. I simply peered through the peephole. Dakin stood in the corridor, his hair disheveled, his shirt wrinkled, a heavy roller bag resting against his leg. He looked exhausted, his face pale and tense. He raised his hand to knock again. I unlocked the door and pulled it open. He froze, clearly taken aback by how calm I looked. He stepped inside, dropping his suitcase with a heavy thud, and slammed the door shut behind him. “That post on Facebook. Delete it. Now.” I walked back into the living room, sat on the sofa, and poured myself a glass of water. “I said, delete it!” he barked, following me into the room, his voice echoing off the walls. I took a slow sip of water and set the glass down. “You took the photo, Dakin. Why should I be the one to hide it?” 2 Dakin stood in the center of the room, his eyes bloodshot from anger and lack of sleep. “Do you have any idea what kind of damage you’ve caused by posting that?” I crossed my legs, leaning back against the cushions. “Did you think about the damage when you took Renee to the beach?” His jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line. He looked away for a moment, trying to compose himself. When he looked back, his voice had dropped to a pleading whisper. “Hailey, it’s not what you think. It’s not that serious.” “Oh?” “Renee and I are just close friends. We got a little carried away, but nothing happened between us.” “Close friends who hold each other by the waist?” “She tripped on the sand. I was just catching her.” I picked up my phone, unlocked it, and held the sunset photo directly in front of his face. “You caught her so close that your cheeks are touching? You were supposed to be in Chicago, Dakin. Did Chicago suddenly relocate to the Florida keys?” The color drained from his face. He lunged forward, trying to snatch the phone from my hand. “Give me the phone. I’m deleting that.” I pulled the phone back, slipping it into my pocket. “Don’t touch my things.” “Hailey!” his voice cracked, rising in pitch. “Look at yourself! Do you have any pride left? You’ve broadcasted our private business to my colleagues, my boss, our families. How am I supposed to show my face at work tomorrow?” I looked at him, feeling a strange sense of detachment. His primary concern wasn’t my pain. It was his reputation. “You weren’t worried about showing your face when you were wrapped around another woman, Dakin. But now that the world knows, you’re suddenly terrified?” He let out a heavy breath, leaning his hands on the dining table, his head hanging low. “What do you want? Just tell me your terms.” “A divorce.” The word hung in the quiet apartment like a sudden drop in temperature. He snapped his head up, his expression turning to disbelief. “What did you just say?” “I want a divorce,” I repeated, my voice steady. “You want to end our marriage over a single photo?” “Over a photo, a mountain of lies, and a fake business trip. You told me you were working. Instead, you were with my best friend. How else am I supposed to interpret that?” “I told you, nothing happened!” “It doesn’t matter anymore. You lied. That’s enough for me.” He walked over and sat on the armchair opposite me, rubbing his temples. “Hailey, think about this logically. We’ve been married for three years. Are you really going to throw our entire life away over this? Renee is…” He trailed off. “Renee is what?” “She might have done this on purpose.” I let out a dry laugh. “On purpose? Did she force your hand around her waist? Did she force you to book a flight to the beach? Dakin, listen to yourself.” Before he could respond, the doorbell rang again. We both looked toward the entryway. Dakin stood up and opened the door. His mother stood on the threshold, her coat buttons misaligned, her hair hastily pinned up. She didn’t ask what was wrong. She marched straight past Dakin, her eyes locked on me. “Hailey, take that post down immediately.” I didn’t move. She tapped her knuckles sharply against the coffee table. “Do you know how many phone calls I’ve received this morning? Your aunts, your uncles, even your father-in-law’s business associates have seen it! How are we supposed to look people in the eye?” “Mom, your son is the one who went to the beach with another woman.” “He went to the beach! It’s a photo! Young people do foolish things, but you don’t broadcast it to the world! Have you lost your mind?” I stared at her, saying nothing. She continued, her voice rising. “Even if you have grievances, you resolve them behind closed doors. You don’t drag our family’s name through the mud like this.” Dakin stood near the door, offering no defense for me, completely silent under his mother’s tirade. I shifted my gaze to him. “Is that what you think too, Dakin?” He hesitated, looking down. “Just take the post down first, Hailey. We can discuss the rest later.” I stood up. “It’s too late. Screenshots have already been shared. Deleting it now won’t change anything.” My mother-in-law’s face flushed deep crimson. “You are doing this out of pure spite! You want to destroy this family!” I picked up my empty glass, walked into the kitchen, and set it in the sink. The sound of clinking glass was sharp in the quiet apartment. “I didn’t destroy this family,” I said, walking back out. I grabbed my keys and phone from the table and headed for the door. “Where are you going?” Dakin blocked my path. I looked him in the eye. “Move.” “We need to talk this through.” “I’ve already told you my decision. Divorce. Have your lawyer contact me.” I pushed past him, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway. Behind me, my mother-in-law’s voice echoed down the corridor. “Hailey! Get back here! Hailey!” The elevator doors slid shut, cutting off her voice. I pressed the button for the lobby. My phone vibrated in my hand. Renee. I answered it. “Hailey…” “Don’t call me that. What do you want?” A brief silence followed on the line. “Let’s meet. I need to explain things to you in person.” “Explain what? How you couldn’t control yourself?” “No… Hailey, it’s not what it looks like.” “Then what is it?” She didn’t answer. I ended the call. I stepped out of the lobby into the crisp morning air. The sunlight was painfully bright, making my head throb. Standing on the sidewalk, I realized I had nowhere to go. The phone rang again. A local number I didn’t recognize. I hesitated, then pressed accept. “Hailey? It’s Renee’s mother, Mrs. Campbell.” 3 Mrs. Campbell’s voice was polite, but it carried a thin layer of condescension. “Hailey, dear, I think you need to take a deep breath. Can you please delete that post? Renee has been crying in her room all night. Her eyes are swollen shut.” I stood by the curb, the wind blowing stray strands of hair across my face. “Mrs. Campbell, your daughter is the one who sent me the photo.” “I know, she told me. But publicizing it like this is simply cruel. Whatever issues you two have should be resolved privately. If you ruin her reputation like this, how is she ever going to find a decent husband?” I brushed my hair away from my face, shifting the phone to my other ear. “Your daughter is wrapped around my husband, Mrs. Campbell, and you’re worried about her marriage prospects?” The line went quiet for a moment. “She made a mistake. You’ve always been the older, more mature one. Can’t you show a little grace? Dragging this out in public benefits no one.” “It benefits me.” “You…” “I have nothing more to say to you, Mrs. Campbell. If your daughter wants to talk, tell her to call me herself.” I hung up. I walked across the street to a small diner, ordered a coffee and a bagel, and sat on a plastic stool near the window. My phone kept vibrating. I switched it to silent and placed it face down on the table. After finishing my coffee, I dialed my mother’s number. “Mom, I think I’m getting a divorce.” There was a long silence on the other end. “What happened?” “Dakin is sleeping with Renee.” “Renee? Your college roommate?” “Yes.” Another pause. “Come home, Hailey.” “Not yet. I need to settle a few things here first.” “Can you handle this on your own?” “Yes.” “Then remember one thing.” “What?” “Do not let them slide. Don’t go soft.” “I won’t,” I said, and hung up. I sat in the diner, turning my phone over. The screen was filled with alerts. Our college group chat was active, with several missed tags. I ignored them. I opened my camera roll and looked at the sunset photo again. I zoomed in on the details. Renee’s hand was resting flat against Dakin’s chest. Her nails were manicured in a fresh, pale pink shade. I remembered her showing them to me last week, bragging about the expensive salon she had visited. I had paid for her dinner that night. I closed the photo, opened my notes app, and began listing the facts. Dakin claimed he was going to Chicago; he went to the Florida keys instead. Dates: Wednesday to Sunday. Renee sent the photo at 9:47 PM last night. Marital assets: the house, the car, our joint savings account. Marriage certificate is in the second drawer of the nightstand. Renee has a spare key and our Wi-Fi password. I stopped writing. The spare key. Last month, when Renee was staying over, I had given her a spare key to the apartment so she could come and go as she pleased. She had hugged me, smiling. “Hailey, you’re the best sister I could ask for.” I stared at the screen. The locks had to be changed. I stood up, paid my bill, and walked to a nearby hardware store to purchase a new lock cylinder. When I returned to my apartment building, I saw a familiar figure waiting near the entrance. Renee. She was clutching a pack of tissues, her eyes red and puffy. When she saw me, she took a hurried step forward. “Hailey…” “Give me the key.” She blinked. “What?” “My spare key. Hand it over.” She stood frozen for a second, then reached into her designer bag, unclipped a brass key from her ring, and handed it to me. I dropped it into my pocket. Her eyes filled with fresh tears. “Hailey, I know you hate me. But please, it’s not what you think.” “Then tell me what it is.” “Dakin… he was the one who pursued me.” I stared at her. “He pursued you, so you complied?” “I tried to say no. Multiple times. But he kept showing up, and I…” She looked down, squeezing the tissue. “I never wanted to hurt you.” “You didn’t want to hurt me, but you took a romantic photo and sent it to my phone?” “I wanted to confess. I couldn’t bear the guilt anymore.” “Confess?” I let out a sharp laugh. “You weren’t confessing, Renee. You were marking your territory.” She remained silent. “You wanted to make sure I knew my place. Well, now I do.” I bypassed her, swiping my keycard at the glass door. As the heavy door clicked shut behind me, she yelled through the glass. “Hailey, you can’t do this! You can’t put all the blame on me!” I stepped into the elevator and pressed my floor. I squeezed the old key in my palm, the metal edges biting into my skin, leaving a deep, painful red mark. When I reached my door, it was slightly ajar. I pushed it open. My mother-in-law was sitting on the sofa. Dakin was nowhere to be seen. She looked up, her expression a mix of frustration and forced calm. “Hailey, sit down. Let’s talk like adults.” I stayed near the entryway. “Where is Dakin?” “He went to speak with his father.” To plan their next move. I set the new lock cylinder on the console table. My mother-in-law noticed it, her brow furrowing. “What is that?” “A new lock.” Her expression hardened. “Hailey, stop this childish behavior. I’m trying to help you both resolve this. If you delete that post, we can put this behind us.” I looked at her. “We can’t put this behind us, Mrs. Sinclair.” She stood up, walking toward me. “Are you really determined to tear this home apart?” I didn’t answer her. Instead, I said, “Why don’t you ask your son how many nights they spent at the beach, and whether they booked one room or two?” Her face turned pale, her mouth opening but finding no words. 4 Leaving my mother-in-law standing in the living room, I walked into the bedroom and shut the door behind me. Changing the locks could wait. I needed to secure my documents first. I opened the second drawer of the nightstand and pulled out our marriage certificates. Two red booklets. I flipped one open, staring at our smiling faces. I tucked both into my leather tote bag. Then I opened the closet, grabbed a week’s worth of clothes, and packed them into a duffel bag. My mother-in-law began knocking on the bedroom door. “Hailey, leave the certificates. Don’t do something you’ll regret.” I ignored her. I gathered my charger, passport, and bank cards, packing them systematically. When I opened the door, she was standing in the narrow hallway, blocking my path. “Give me the certificates.” “My name is on them, Mrs. Sinclair. Not yours.” “You…” “I’m staying at a hotel for a few days. I’ll have the locks changed later. In the meantime, please ensure no strangers enter my home.” She understood exactly who I meant by “strangers.” Her face flushed, but she stepped aside, letting me pass. I carried my bags down to the street, called a cab, and checked into a quiet chain hotel downtown. Once I was settled in the room, I began the next phase of my plan. I logged into our joint bank account app. The current balance was $114,000. Last month, it had been $150,000. Thirty-six thousand dollars was missing. I scrolled through the transaction history, looking for large withdrawals. I found three significant transactions. The first was from last Wednesday: an $8,000 charge labeled flight and hotel. The booking was under an agency, not Dakin’s personal account. The second was from last Friday: a $12,000 charge at a high-end jewelry boutique downtown. The third was from Sunday: an $18,000 wire transfer directly to Renee. I stared at her name on the screen. Eighteen thousand dollars. The memo line was left blank. I screenshotted the transactions, saved them to a secure folder, and exported the full statement to my personal email. Then I kept digging. Over the past three months, there were four other transfers to Renee’s account. Three thousand, five thousand, two thousand, and six thousand. An additional sixteen thousand dollars. In total, Dakin had transferred thirty-four thousand dollars of our joint marital funds to Renee over the last ninety days. I set my phone down, walking over to the window. The street below was bustling with afternoon traffic, people going about their lives, oblivious to my world collapsing. I texted my mother: “Staying at a hotel downtown. I’m safe.” She replied instantly: “Good. Let me know if you need financial help.” “I’m fine,” I replied. I returned to my notes app, listing the exact dates and amounts of each transfer. When I finished, a specific date caught my eye. The first transfer, for three thousand dollars, had been made on March 12th. Renee’s birthday. That evening, the three of us had gone out for dinner. Renee had spent the night bragging about the designer silk scarf Dakin had bought her, giggling and saying, “Dakin has such exquisite taste.” I had laughed, teasing Dakin for finally being generous. A three-thousand-dollar scarf. Paid for with my own money. I closed my notes and opened Facebook. Dakin had posted a status update, trying to mitigate the damage. “A simple misunderstanding. It has been resolved. Please refrain from spreading rumors.” A few of his colleagues had liked it. I screenshotted it. Then I checked Renee’s profile. She had posted at 3:00 AM. “Things are not always as they appear. The innocent will be vindicated.” Her comments were filled with curious acquaintances asking what happened. She had replied: “Just a misunderstanding. People are quick to judge.” I screenshotted that too. Vindicated. I was going to enjoy watching her try to vindicate herself. I compiled all the screenshots, transaction receipts, and notes into a secure cloud drive, backing it up to two different email addresses. As I finished, my phone rang. An unsaved number, but I recognized the area code. I answered. “Hailey? It’s Dakin’s father.”

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