Category: English

Chapter 1: The Echo of “Doe” I knew my place in the universe. It was defined not by who I was, but by who I wasn’t. I wasn’t the sun. I wasn’t the gravity that pulled planets into orbit. I was, at best, a small, rocky moon, tidally locked to a gas giant, destined to show only one face to the world while the other froze in perpetual darkness. I was the “Placeholder.” The “Backup Plan.” From the very first day I agreed to pretend to be Chase’s girlfriend, I harbored a cruel, crystalline self-awareness. So, when the news broke—when the whisper network of our social circle confirmed that she was coming back, that the Prodigal Princess, his “White Moonlight,” had touched down at JFK—I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I sat in my beige-walled apartment, staring at a cold cup of Earl Grey, and calculated the trajectory of my own obsolescence. I picked up my phone. The screen felt heavy, like a slab of granite. I typed the text to Chase. “We need to talk. It’s time to call it off.” I expected resistance. Maybe a polite protest. Maybe a “Let’s talk about this.” Instead, the response was silence. A long, stretching silence that spanned hours. And then, surprisingly, a flash of anger. Not relief. Anger. Chase didn’t want to let me go. But not because he loved me. God, no. He was angry because the prop he had been using for three years was walking off the stage before the curtain call. Let’s rewind. To understand why I let myself become a prop, you have to understand the name. My name is Chloe. But growing up in the sprawling, manicured suburbs of Connecticut, I had a nickname: “Doe.” It wasn’t a compliment. It was derived from my last name, Doe, yes, but mostly it was because of my eyes. They were too big for my face, always wide, always startled, always looking like a deer caught in the high beams of an oncoming semi-truck. I was slow. My reaction time was a beat behind the rest of the world. When the punchline landed, I was the one blinking in confusion while the laughter washed over me. I was the kid who got picked last for kickball. I was the kid who, during games of Tag in the cul-de-sac, was always “It.” I remember one humid July evening when I was seven. The air smelled of cut grass and asphalt. The neighborhood kids were playing “Duck, Duck, Goose.” They knew I was slow. They knew I couldn’t catch anyone. So they targeted me. “Goose!” I scrambled up, my Keds slipping on the grass, lunging for the boy who tagged me. He was effortlessly faster. He sat down in my spot, laughing. “Goose!” another girl screamed five minutes later. I ran again. I failed again. I was trapped in a loop of humiliation, running circles around a ring of laughing faces, my chest burning, tears pricking the corners of my eyes, too “Doe-like” to shout about the unfairness of it all. That was when Chase stepped in. Chase was the boy next door. Literally. Our fathers were business partners in a boutique architectural firm, and our houses were mirror images of each other, separated only by a hedge of hydrangeas. He was three years older. At ten, he was already tall, with limbs that seemed to stretch overnight. He had sandy blond hair that fell into eyes the color of Long Island Sound on a cloudy day—grey, blue, intense. He broke the circle. He didn’t just tag someone; he stopped the game. “Cut it out,” he barked. His voice hadn’t dropped yet, but it carried the imperious weight of a future CEO. He put his hands on his hips, glaring at the other kids. “You’re targeting her. It’s cheap. Stop it.” The other kids froze. Chase was the unspoken king of the cul-de-sac. If Chase said the game was over, it was over. He walked over to me. I was panting, clutching the hem of my stained t-shirt, waiting for him to mock me too. Instead, he handed me a juice box he’d pulled from his cooler. “Stop running, Doe,” he said, wiping a smudge of dirt from my cheek with his thumb. “You don’t have to chase them. Stay here. I got you.” I got you. Three words. That was the foundation. That was the cement poured into the bedrock of my soul. For the next six years, Chase was my shield. He walked me to the bus stop. He did my math homework because my brain short-circuited when looking at fractions. When the adults joked about us—”Look at the little lovebirds,” “Arranged marriage in the making!”—I would turn the color of a ripe tomato. Chase? He never blushed. He would just grin, wrap a proprietary arm around my neck, and announce to the room, “Chloe is under my protection. Mess with her, you answer to me.” The room would erupt in laughter. My heart would erupt in a quiet, desperate hope. I cataloged these moments like a curator in a museum of unrequited love. I wrote them down in a diary with a lock I kept the key to on a chain around my neck. I was precocious in my sadness. I was mature in my longing. But Chase? Chase was just a boy playing the hero. His emotional awakening didn’t happen with me. It happened sophomore year of high school. And the catalyst wasn’t me. It was Vanessa. My stepsister. Chapter 2: The Girl in the Floral Dress My father remarried when I was twelve. My mother had passed away when I was a toddler—a faded Polaroid in my memory. Dad’s taste in women was consistent: delicate, artistic, fragile. Until Vanessa’s mother, Linda. Linda was vibrant, loud, and calculating. And she brought Vanessa. I will never forget the day Vanessa moved in. I was sitting on the stairs, clutching a copy of The Great Gatsby, struggling to understand the symbolism of the green light. The front door opened, and summer breezed in. Vanessa was fourteen, the same age as Chase. She didn’t look fourteen. She looked like something carved out of marble and rose petals. She was wearing a floral sundress that cinched at the waist, and she stood with a posture that suggested she owned the air she breathed. Chase had come over to help me with my algebra. He walked into the foyer just as Vanessa was directing the movers. He stopped. I watched it happen from the landing. I saw the precise moment Chase’s universe shifted its axis. He dropped his backpack. It hit the hardwood floor with a heavy thud. “Hi,” Vanessa said, turning to him. She didn’t smile—not fully. She just offered a cool, appraising look. “I’m Vanessa. You must be the neighbor.” Chase, the boy who could talk his way out of detention, the boy who charmed mothers and intimidated bullies, stammered. “I… uh. Yeah. Chase. I’m Chase.” “Nice to meet you, Chase,” she said, dismissing him with a turn of her head. “Can you help me with this box? It’s heavy.” “Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, absolutely.” He walked right past me. He didn’t even look up the stairs. That was the first time I tasted the acid of jealousy. It wasn’t a sharp pain; it was a dull, heavy ache, like swallowing a stone. Vanessa wasn’t mean. That would have been easier. If she were a wicked stepsister, I could have hated her. But she was… tolerant. She treated me with the gentle, slightly condescending patience one might offer a slow-witted golden retriever. “Oh, Chloe, let me fix your hair,” she would say. “You can’t go out looking like a haystack.” “Chloe, stop slouching.” Linda, her mother, tried too hard. She wanted to solidify her place in my father’s house, so she constantly pushed the “sisters” narrative. “Look at you two!” Linda would coo, clasping her hands. “You look so much alike! especially the nose. You could be twins!” Vanessa would pull me aside later, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Ignore my mom. She’s desperate. We look nothing alike.” I would nod, obediently. But I would go to the mirror later and trace the curve of my nose, then look at hers. We did look alike. Just a little. But where I was a sketch, Vanessa was the oil painting. Where I was the draft, she was the final publication. Chase, however, refused to see the resemblance. “You look nothing like her,” he told me once, while we were sitting on my porch swing. He was tossing a baseball into a glove, his eyes tracking Vanessa through the window as she practiced the cello. “Really?” I asked, a flicker of hope igniting. “Yeah,” he scoffed. “You’re… you know, ‘Doe.’ You’re goofy. Vanessa is… intense. She has these eyes. They’re sharp.” He said it like an insult to me, but a compliment to her. “Don’t let anyone compare you,” he added, throwing the ball hard into the leather. “You’re fine the way you are.” It sounded like consolation. You’re the consolation prize, Chloe. And that’s okay. I stopped talking to him for three days after that. He didn’t notice. He was too busy trying to figure out how to get Vanessa to ride in his new Jeep Wrangler. He and Vanessa became an entity. A binary star system. They were both popular, both beautiful, both sharp-tongued. The school gossip pages loved them. I felt like I was watching a movie I wasn’t allowed to be in. The distance between the middle school building and the high school wing felt like an ocean. But I forgot one crucial thing: Even before Vanessa, even when I had Chase all to myself, he had never looked at me that way. Chapter 3: The Birthday Paradox The inevitable happened on my birthday. It was a family dinner. My father had booked a private room at Le Bernadin. I was turning fifteen. Chase sat next to Vanessa. The air between them crackled with static electricity. They spoke in shorthand, laughing at inside jokes, ignoring the lobster bisque. I opened my presents alone. A new laptop from Dad. A cashmere scarf from Linda. “Where did Chase and Vanessa go?” Dad asked, looking around as the waiters brought the cake. They were gone. They came back twenty minutes later. Vanessa’s lipstick was smudged. Chase’s tie was loosened. They looked flushed, guilty, and exhilaratingly alive. “Sorry,” Chase said, grinning—a real, wolfish grin I had never seen before. “We got lost looking for the restroom.” A lie. A terrible, beautiful lie. That night, Vanessa came into my room. She crawled into my bed, smelling of Chase’s cologne—sandalwood and expensive tobacco. “Chloe,” she whispered in the dark. “We’re dating.” My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. “Chase?” I feigned ignorance. “But he’s… he’s a player. You said you hated him.” “I know,” she sighed, sounding delighted. “He’s arrogant. He’s annoying. But… he’s mine.” He’s mine. The possession in her voice chilled me. “I know you guys are close,” she continued, her voice softening. “You’re like his little mascot. Don’t worry. I won’t make him stop hanging out with you.” Mascot. I lay there, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars I had stuck to my ceiling when I was ten. I realized then that hope is the cruelest thing in the world. It doesn’t die when you feed it poison; it dies when you starve it. And I was starving. Chapter 4: The Calculus of Julian High school. The great equalizer. Or the great divider. Freshman year hit me like a freight train. My GPA tanked. I couldn’t focus. Every time I saw Chase and Vanessa in the hallway—his varsity jacket draped over her shoulders, her hand in his back pocket—I felt a physical blow to the stomach. My homeroom teacher, Mrs. Gable, was a woman who believed in “social engineering.” She rearranged the seating chart based on test scores. “To facilitate peer tutoring,” she claimed. I had failed the last math test. Spectacularly. “Chloe Doe,” Mrs. Gable announced. “You’re in the back row. Next to Julian.” Julian. I knew of him. Everyone knew of him. He was the “Sleepy Genius.” Julian didn’t walk; he sauntered. He had messy dark hair that looked like he had just rolled out of bed, and he wore hoodies that were perpetually two sizes too big. He sat in the back of every class, legs stretched out, usually asleep. And yet, he pulled a perfect 4.0 GPA. He was the kind of guy who solved complex calculus problems in his head while chewing gum, but forgot to bring a pencil to class. I dragged my bag to the back row. Julian was already there, head on the desk, arms folded as a pillow. “Hi,” I whispered, sitting down. One eye opened. It was dark, almost black, with eyelashes that were unfairly long for a boy. “You’re the girl who stares out the window,” he mumbled. His voice was gravelly with sleep. “I’m Chloe,” I corrected. “I know,” he sat up, stretching his arms over his head. His hoodie lifted slightly, revealing a sliver of skin. “You’re Chase’s shadow.” I stiffened. “I’m not his shadow.” “Sure,” Julian yawned. “And I’m not tired.” We didn’t speak for a week. I struggled with my trigonometry. He slept. Then came the incident with the graph paper. I was erasing a hole through my paper, frustration tears pricking my eyes. The sine wave just wouldn’t curve right. A hand reached over. Long fingers, calloused from… something. Guitar? Gaming? He took my pencil. “Stop murdering the paper,” he said. With three swift strokes, he corrected my equation and drew the perfect curve. “You’re overthinking the variable,” he said, tossing the pencil back. “It’s simpler than you think. X is just X. Stop trying to make it Y.” I looked at him. He was looking at me with an intensity that unsettled me. He wasn’t sleepy now. His eyes were sharp, intelligent, and oddly amused. “Thanks,” I muttered. “Don’t mention it, Doe,” he smirked. “My name is Chloe.” “I heard Chase call you Doe,” he shrugged. “Fits. You look like you’re about to bolt.” “I hate that nickname.” “Then stop acting like prey,” he said softly. That was the beginning. Julian was… loud. Not in volume, but in presence. Once he decided he was awake, he wouldn’t shut up. He poked me. He drew caricatures of Mrs. Gable on the corner of my notebook. He asked me a million questions. “Why do you eat apples with a spoon? That’s weird.” “What kind of music is this? It sounds like sad whales.” “Do you ever get mad? Like, scream-at-the-sky mad?” “I don’t scream,” I told him one day during study hall. “Everyone screams,” he countered, leaning his chair back on two legs, balancing precariously. “You just do it on the inside. It’s gonna give you an ulcer.” I found myself smiling. “You’re annoying, Julian.” “And you,” he grinned, “are finally smiling. Point for Julian.” Chapter 5: The Horror Movie and the Interruption Winter break arrived. Chase and Vanessa were fighting. I knew because Vanessa complained to me every night, and Chase complained to me every morning. I was the Switzerland of their relationship—neutral ground where they dumped their emotional garbage. But I was starting to detach. Thanks to Julian. Julian had texted me. “Hey, Doe. I bet you’ve never seen a horror movie.” “I hate scary movies.” “Liar. I saw you reading Stephen King in the library. Come to the cinema. My treat. If you get scared, you can hold my hand. I charge $5 per minute though.” I went. We watched some slasher film about a haunted campground. I spent half the movie peering through my fingers. Julian spent half the movie laughing and eating popcorn. Afterwards, we stood outside in the freezing cold. Snow was starting to fall. “You survived,” he teased, wrapping his scarf around his own neck. “Barely,” I shivered. “Hey,” he stepped closer. The neon sign of the theater reflected in his dark eyes. “You look nice when you’re terrified. Very… alert.” “Is that a compliment?” “In my book, yeah.” He reached out and tugged a strand of my hair. “You should come out more. With me.” “Why?” “Because,” he said, his voice dropping. “I think you’re interesting, Chloe. More interesting than the people you hang out with.” My heart did a strange little flip. Not the heavy thud it did for Chase. This was lighter. Fluttery. “Okay,” I said. “Okay?” He looked surprised. “Okay.” Just then, a car honked aggressively behind us. I turned. A black Jeep Wrangler. Chase. He rolled down the window. He looked furious. “Chloe!” he shouted. “Get in the car.” I blinked. “Chase? What are you doing here?” “My mom called. Dad’s looking for you. Get in.” “I’m with a friend,” I gestured to Julian. Chase looked at Julian. The look was withering. “Who’s this? The sleeper cell?” Julian didn’t flinch. He stepped forward, putting himself slightly in front of me. “Name’s Julian. And you’re interrupting.” “I’m taking her home,” Chase snapped. “Chloe. Now.” The tone. It was the tone he used when he defended me from bullies. But now, it felt like he was the bully. “I…” I looked at Julian. He gave me a small nod, a look that said Your call. Old habits die hard. The reflex to obey Chase was ingrained in my DNA. “I should go,” I told Julian. “My dad…” Julian’s face fell. Just a fraction. “Right. Go be a good girl.” He turned and walked away into the snow, hands deep in his pockets. I got into Chase’s car. “Who was that guy?” Chase demanded as he peeled out of the parking lot. “Just a classmate. Julian.” “Stay away from him,” Chase gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. “He looks like trouble. You’re too naive for guys like that.” “I’m not naive, Chase!” “Yes, you are,” he shot back. “You’re Doe. You need looking after.” I looked out the window, watching the snowflakes melt against the glass. “Where is Vanessa?” I asked. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “We broke up.” My breath hitched. “But,” he continued, glancing at me, “We’ll get back together. We always do. Right?” He needed reassurance. He needed his mascot to tell him he was the king. “Right,” I whispered. “You always do.” But as the car drove on, all I could think about was Julian walking alone in the snow, and the way he had looked at me—like I was a person, not a shadow. Chapter 6: The Barbecue A week later, Chase tried to make amends. He organized a barbecue at his parents’ lake house. He invited everyone. Including Vanessa (they were “talking” again). And, surprisingly, he told me to invite “that Julian kid.” “Why?” I asked. “To prove I’m not a controlling jerk,” Chase said. “And so you have someone to talk to while I fix things with Ness.” So, we were at the lake house. The air smelled of charcoal and pine. I was sitting on the deck, watching Julian skewer marshmallows. He was surprisingly good at social events. He had the guys laughing at his impressions of the teachers. Chase was by the grill, watching us. Vanessa walked over to me. She handed me a plate of fruit. “No melon,” she said. “I picked it out. I know you’re allergic.” “Thanks,” I said. “Wait, I’m not allergic to melon. I’m allergic to eggplant.” Vanessa paused. She looked at the grill where Chase was putting vegetables on skewers. “Oh,” she said, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Right. I hate melon. You hate eggplant.” She walked over to Chase. “Babe,” she purred, loud enough for me to hear. “You put eggplant on these. Chloe will die if she eats that.” Chase froze. He looked at the skewer in his hand. Then he looked at me. “S**t,” he muttered. “I forgot. I thought… I thought it was Ness who was allergic.” He had confused us. He had confused the girl he “loved” with the girl he grew up with. Julian dropped his marshmallow stick. “You don’t know she’s allergic to eggplant?” Julian asked, his voice cutting through the chatter. “You’ve lived next door to her for ten years.” Chase bristled. “It was a mistake.” “A mistake is a typo,” Julian said, standing up. He wasn’t slouching now. He looked dangerous. “That? That’s just not caring.” “Julian, stop,” I whispered, grabbing his arm. “No,” Julian looked at Chase. “You treat her like furniture, man. You think she’s just always gonna be there in the corner.” “She’s my best friend,” Chase stepped away from the grill. “Back off.” “Then treat her like one,” Julian spat. He turned to me. “I’m leaving. This vibe sucks. You coming?” I looked at Chase. He looked angry, embarrassed. I looked at Vanessa. She looked amused. I looked at Julian. He looked… disappointed. “I…” I faltered. “My dad is coming to pick me up later.” Julian nodded. Once. A sharp, final motion. “Okay, Doe. Have it your way.” He walked off the deck, through the sliding glass doors, and out the front. That night, Chase came to my room. He brought me a bag of gummy bears and some stomach medicine. “In case you accidentally ate the eggplant,” he mumbled, handing me the bag. “Thanks,” I said. He stood there, awkward. “That Julian guy… he likes you,” Chase said. “He’s just a friend.” “He doesn’t look at you like a friend,” Chase said. His voice was tight. “He looks at you like… like he wants to own you.” “That’s rich coming from you,” I snapped. It was the first time I had ever snapped at him. Chase looked shocked. “I’m going to sleep,” I said, closing the door in his face. I leaned against the door, my heart pounding. I looked at the bag of medicine. Pepto-Bismol. I wasn’t allergic to eggplant. I just didn’t like the texture. Chase didn’t know me at all. Chapter 7: The Peach Soju Epiphany College was supposed to be a reinvention. I stayed in-state, attending a liberal arts college in Connecticut, majoring in Marketing—safe, practical, decidedly un-heroic. Julian, consistent with his genius-slacker brand, got into a top-tier pre-law program in Boston. We were separated by a two-hour Amtrak ride, but in those first two years, the distance felt negligible. We were tethered by an invisible cord of constant digital noise and weekend visits. I remember the summer after sophomore year. We were at a dive bar in Boston, the kind with sticky floors and neon signs buzzing like trapped insects. Julian had dragged me there to celebrate my passing a brutal statistics final. “You need to loosen up, Doe,” he’d said, sliding a drink toward me. “Try this. Peach Soju. It tastes like juice, hits like a truck.” I took a sip. It was sweet, cloying, and synthetic. “It tastes like liquid candy,” I laughed. The lighting in the booth was dim, casting Julian’s sharp cheekbones in shadow. He was looking at me with that gaze again—the one that made me feel like I was the only person in the room, the only data point that mattered. He leaned in, his arm draping casually over the back of the vinyl seat behind me. “You’ve got something…” he murmured, reaching out. I thought he was going to wipe my mouth. Instead, his hand cupped my cheek, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. The noise of the bar—the clinking glass, the indie rock bassline—faded into a dull roar. “Julian?” I breathed. “I’ve wanted to do this since high school,” he whispered. He kissed me. It tasted like peaches and cheap alcohol. It wasn’t the tentative, terrifying kiss of a first crush. It was confident, claiming. It was the antithesis of how Chase treated me. Chase treated me like a porcelain doll to be placed on a shelf; Julian treated me like a variable he wanted to solve. That night, walking back to his dorm, the air thick with humidity, he asked me the question that had been hovering between us for months. “So,” he kicked a pebble on the sidewalk. “Are we doing this? Or are you still waiting for the Prince of Suburbia to notice his Cinderella?” I stopped walking. Under the streetlamp, my shadow stretched long and thin. “I don’t know,” I admitted, the old ghost of Chase flickering in my mind. “I feel like… I feel like I’m always the supporting character, Julian. Even in my own head.” Julian grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. “In my movie,” he said, his voice fierce, “you’re the lead. You’re the whole damn plot. Don’t you get that?” We started dating. And for two years, I let myself believe the script had changed.

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My boyfriend, Nate, casually started complaining about a freshman girl he was “mentoring.” “Lily is so clueless, she can’t even make a PowerPoint.” “Good thing I was there to help, or the poor girl would have cried her eyes out.” “But honestly, she’s kind of cute. Like a little lost kitten.” After he finished, I mimicked his tone, casually bringing up my own day. “Really? We have a new freshman in my department this year too. Total klutz, trips over his own feet.” “I just helped him to the campus clinic today, and he sent me ninety-nine roses.” “So dumb, right? But he is way hotter than you.” “By the way, babe, I have plans tonight. I won’t be spending Valentine’s Day with you.” Chapter 1 Nate was so lost in his own world, he didn’t reply for a long time. Only his buddy, Brad, sitting next to him, couldn’t help but laugh. “Bro, your girl is gonna have a baby… with someone else.” I ignored them, sipping my boba tea and typing away on my phone, occasionally letting out a shy giggle. Nate saw my expression and finally seemed to realize something was up. His face darkened, and he dragged me away from the table. Outside the restaurant, Nate, clearly in a bad mood, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. I was too busy replying to texts to pay him any attention, unconsciously muttering, “That’s hilarious. You’re so funny, freshman.” Hearing this, Nate angrily threw his cigarette on the ground and snatched my phone. He glanced at my chat screen, shook his head disdainfully, his voice tinged with anger. “It’s just a meme of a dead pig. What’s so funny?” I quickly snatched it back, rolling my eyes. “It’s hilarious, okay? Why are you so boring?” Then I looked him up and down with disgust. “What do you want to say? It’s hot out here.” “Hurry up, I have plans tonight.” Nate was getting anxious but looked at me with confusion. “Plans tonight?” “Aren’t we supposed to go see a movie? What plans?” I brushed him off nonchalantly. “Oh, I already saw that movie. Go find someone else to watch it with.” “I’m going to pull an all-nighter gaming with someone else tonight. Way more fun than your movie.” At that, Nate completely lost it, stomping his feet in impotent rage. “It’s Valentine’s Day! You’re ditching your boyfriend to play games all night with someone else?” I responded flatly, acting innocent. “Yeah? Is that not allowed?” “If you’re bored, go hang out with someone else too. I’m not stopping you.” Just then, another message popped up on my phone. I couldn’t help but burst out laughing again. I sent a voice reply: “That GIF is hilarious too. I love it.” Then I walked back into the restaurant with my phone. Ignoring Nate, who was hopping mad behind me. Chapter 2 We were almost done eating when the “clueless freshman” Nate mentioned appeared at our usual spot—Chicken Kitchen. Nate spotted her immediately and excitedly introduced her to Brad. “Brad, that’s the girl I was telling you about. Lily. Cute, right?” Brad looked up at me, suppressing a laugh. “Yeah, she’s cute.” “But I think you’re pretty clueless too. And cute.” He burst out laughing, accidentally spraying juice on Nate’s face. “Sorry, sorry, bro. Couldn’t help it. My bad, I’m clumsy. I’ll drink to punish myself.” He downed half a glass of juice in one go. Nate wiped the pulp off his face, then eagerly waved at Lily. “Hey! Fancy meeting you here.” Lily blushed and nodded, shyly clutching her backpack as she walked to the counter. On the way, she almost tripped over nothing. Nate chuckled, finding it adorable. He whispered affectionately, “Dummy, your shoelace is untied.” Then he walked over to her with a look of helpless indulgence. Brad told me to look up and stop playing on my phone, warning me my boyfriend was about to get stolen. I shrugged indifferently and looked over. Nate was squatting on the floor, tying Lily’s shoelace into a perfect bow. When he stood up, he couldn’t resist patting her head. “Why are you so silly? Didn’t even know your shoe was untied.” Lily stared at the ground, blushing. “Sorry, Nate. Made you worry.” Nate sighed lovingly. “Alright, be good. Go order your food.” He watched her get in line, reluctant to leave. Finally, unable to stand it, he grabbed her number ticket and stood in front of her. “Go sit down. I’ll wait in line for you. Don’t want you tripping and spilling your food.” Lily made a playful face at him and sat down at a table behind him. I watched their little performance blankly. I felt absolutely nothing. Instead, the boy serving the food caught my attention. I watched him working diligently, feeling strangely satisfied. Brad, seeing I wasn’t going over to tear them apart, was shocked. “Zoe, what’s going on? You’re not gonna cause a scene?” “Where’s the Zoe who once fought the entire Law department?” I gave a vague “Huh?” and replied casually. “Those are past glories. Not worth mentioning.” I continued to admire the busy boy. He filled Nate’s bowl of Braised Chicken Rice entirely with potatoes. I finally burst out laughing. The boy scratched his head awkwardly in my direction and gave a goofy smile. I silently gave him a thumbs up. Good job. Soon, I got a text. “Zoe, does anyone really love potatoes that much? No meat at all? Weird.” I replied calmly. “What’s weird about it? I love meat. Hate veggies.” The boy blushed slightly. Another text came in. “I… I like meat too.” I smiled and typed. “Don’t forget your ID tonight.” He replied instantly. “Okay. I’ll bring extra boxes of that too.” I was just about to say I prefer strawberry flavor when my phone was snatched away. I looked up to meet Nate’s gaze. He was scrolling through my chat history. I wasn’t scared. I let him read. And watched him crumble. His face went pale. “You’ve only added him for two weeks, and you’ve talked this much?” “Wait, why are you telling him everything? Even an ant carrying away your dropped ice cream is flirty conversation?” “I can’t believe this. You told him about that? I was just a little quick that one time! I last a long time usually!” “Ha, I get it. Eighty percent of your chat is about me.” “You’re just using him to make me jealous, right?” He started trying to convince himself. Then, as if he’d figured it all out, he looked at me smugly. “Hmph, and what’s this about IDs and bringing extra boxes? You’re just going to an internet cafe to game, right?” “You girls and your little tricks. Naughty.” “Lily is different. She’s too innocent. She definitely doesn’t scheme like you.” I widened my eyes innocently. “No, you misunderstood. We’re not gaming. We’re getting a room.” Seeing his disbelief, like he wanted to debate me for another few rounds… I didn’t have the patience. I yawned and brushed him off. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You guessed it.” “Your Lily is innocent, everyone else is scheming. Happy now?” “Give me my phone. I need to go home and shower first.” Nate laughed angrily and threw my phone on the table. “You’re serious?” I gave him a meaningful look, then stared calmly at him as he teetered on the edge of a breakdown. Nate sensed I wasn’t joking. He couldn’t accept this shift. After all, I once fought the entire Law department to chase him. Tore up hundreds of love letters. Broke my nails multiple times. Someone who loved him that deeply couldn’t just suddenly start flirting with someone else. To him, this was fantasy. But I can only say, it didn’t happen suddenly. If he hadn’t hurt me first… I wouldn’t be treating him this way. Chapter 3 They say a woman’s love makes a man forget to look in the mirror. It’s true. I spoiled him too much. Too many girls were lining up to take my place, boosting his ego. So he grew colder towards me. Started flirting with every new girl he met. Lily wasn’t the first girl he talked about in front of me. Before her, there was Jen from Dance, and Courtney from Sports Medicine. He always did this. Never did anything big enough to make me hate him and leave completely. But he couldn’t stop flirting to prove his charm. I was exhausted. Tired, disgusted, and conflicted about whether to end it. I put so much effort into chasing him. Ending it felt like losing. During that time of hesitation, Xander appeared. He’s the nephew of the Chicken Kitchen owner. I used to see him doing homework in the shop back in high school. When he wasn’t in class, he helped out. He just happened to get into my department this year, so I recognized him immediately. One night, I went down for dinner late and ran into him alone in the shop. He gave me extra chicken leg meat. It tasted better than usual. Turns out, it was his secret recipe. To eat his cooking again, we exchanged WeChats. Sometimes he’d deliver to my door. Sometimes I’d go down when he was free. We got close. Initially, I was in it for the food. But then I realized he was funny. And we were fated. Every time Nate bailed on me, Xander appeared nearby. So for the last two weeks… The movies, escape rooms, claw machines, and music festivals I was supposed to go to with Nate… Xander filled in. As for what Nate was doing? Brad told me. This summer, Nate and Lily got a part-time job. Ten dollars a day. Working from 8 AM to 10 PM. Just making PowerPoints for a project. When I heard the wage, I was speechless. Everyone knows Nate is a trust fund kid. Does he need ten bucks? That doesn’t even cover his socks. He just wanted to flirt with the freshman. Giving me crap about “work-study” and “experiencing life.” But this time, I didn’t make a scene. Because of Xander, I felt less angry. Every time Nate was slaving away with Lily for ten bucks… I was out having fun with Xander, losing track of time. I know I’m not exactly a saint right now. Stringing two guys along. But you reap what you sow. Xander was willing to be flirted with. And I was willing to take the heat. Life is short. Screw it. Today, I’m ditching my boyfriend to go to a hotel with Xander. Who wouldn’t want to share a bed with a guy who’s 6’3″, has an eight-pack, a voice like velvet, and a soft personality? He paints. He cooks. And most importantly… he looks like my celebrity crush. Basically, I’m sleeping with my idol. Chapter 4 Nate read my chat history with Xander over and over, right in front of me. He remained convinced I was just doing it to make him jealous. I was too lazy to explain. Seeing Xander’s shift end, I grabbed my phone and left. But when I was dressed up, perfume on, heading downstairs… Nate was waiting outside my building. “Zoe, I know I’ve been close with some girls, but I never crossed the line.” “If you leave today, that’s cheating. You’ll be blasted on the campus confession wall. In the old days, you’d be shunned.” He grabbed my wrist, trying to preach repentance. But all I could think about was my 6’3″ crush. Is he packing? I didn’t have the energy for Nate. I cut him off fast. “Okay, you’re right, I’m wrong, I’m sorry.” “Post me on the confession wall if you want. Just make sure to use the photo from my trip to LA in April. Not that ugly candid you took by the river.” “If you don’t know which one, text me. I can take a new one for you.” “But I have an urgent matter right now. No time to chat. I’ll apologize properly tomorrow, okay?” I tried to hail a cab. Nate blocked me again, looking furious. “It’s Valentine’s Day! What ‘urgent matter’ do you have with another man?” “Who are you trying to fool?” Then he pulled his ultimate move. Crossed his arms, looked away, pouting like a wronged housewife. “If you dare leave today, we’re breaking up.” I clicked my tongue, expressionless. Then I hopped into a taxi. “Driver, Holiday Inn. Fast, please.”

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Chase and I met on Christmas, we got married on Christmas, and today marks exactly seven years. But on this special day, he brought his high school sweetheart home for dinner. They walked in wearing matching outfits, looking like the perfect couple, while I stood there in my apron, looking like the hired help. “Babe, it’s the holidays,” Chase said, breezing past me. “The more the merrier, right?” Without waiting for an answer, he pulled Sierra to the table and sat her down. Chase, who usually has a memory like a steel trap, stared blankly at the cake that read “Happy 7th Anniversary.” He had forgotten. Ever since Sierra came back into town, I’ve become invisible. I watched him take the wedding ring off my finger—claiming it was “too tight” on me anyway—and slide it onto Sierra’s finger to show her the design. I looked at Chase. And I smiled. “Happy 7th Anniversary, Chase. I want a divorce.” 01 “Hazel, what the hell was that? You’re throwing away our marriage over a joke?” Chase had just dropped Sierra off at her place. The moment he walked back through the door, the accusations started flying. I didn’t say a word. Just looking at his face made me sick. When I didn’t respond, he assumed I was feeling guilty and doubled down. “We were having a nice holiday, but you had to be petty. You just had to make a scene. Now look—Christmas is ruined, and everyone is miserable.” He conveniently forgot that he was the one who brought Sierra here. He was the one who forgot our anniversary. He was the one who brought a guest to our romantic dinner without asking. “I’m being petty?” I scoffed. “Do you hear yourself? It’s laughable.” I finally snapped. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Chase flared up. “Laughable? You’re the one being childish! You don’t just throw the word ‘divorce’ around! You upset Sierra so much I had to spend half an hour apologizing to her. You need to call her and apologize, too.” I let out a cold laugh. Why should I apologize? I cooked a full Christmas feast. I baked the cake. I cleaned the house. And I’m the one who needs to apologize? Seeing my reaction, Chase pulled the ring out of his pocket—the one I had handed to Sierra. His tone was nasty. “Take care of the things I give you. A wedding ring isn’t something you just hand to a stranger.” I didn’t take it. I stared at the ring. It had always been a little tight on me, choking my finger. But on Sierra? It fit perfectly. When I didn’t move, Chase frowned deeply. “Hazel! That’s enough!” “That’s enough? Chase, do you even respect me? Who brings another woman home on their wedding anniversary?” I stood up, glaring at him. A flash of guilt crossed his face, but he buried it under defensiveness. “It’s Christmas, Hazel. Sierra is all alone in the city. Inviting a friend over is normal! I didn’t think you’d be so insecure.” I looked at him and felt my heart turn to ash. A week ago, he left me stranded at a party to pick her up. He didn’t notice then, and he doesn’t notice now. The line between love and indifference is crystal clear. He cares about Sierra. Way more than he cares about the woman who has stood by him for seven years. And honestly? I don’t want to do this anymore. 02 I didn’t argue. I just reached out and brushed the collar of his grey wool coat. Chase looked confused. We were in the middle of a fight, and I was grooming him? He didn’t pull away, though. I bought him this coat. The light grey fabric shows everything. Including the faint, red smudge I just found. Lipstick. Not my shade. Chase followed my gaze and saw it. His face fell. Once your heart completely breaks, you don’t feel anger anymore. You feel a strange, detached calm. I gestured at the stain. “Next time you’re fooling around, try to clean up better.” “Excuse me? Why do you have to be so disgusting?” Chase exploded, pointing at the stain. “I brushed against her by accident! Is that a crime?” “It’s because it was an ‘accident’ that I’m pointing it out. I’m saving you the trouble of me asking questions later. Look, Chase, if you and Sierra are soulmates, go for it. But don’t insult my intelligence.” I kept my face blank. I’d heard the excuses before. I used to force myself to believe him. But tonight, my patience hit zero. His heart has tilted so far toward Sierra that he’s forgotten I’m his wife. Ever since she came back a year ago, everything changed. Sierra was his high school sweetheart. She went to Europe after graduation, and they drifted apart. Chase and I met in college. We fell in love, got married, built a life. Three years dating, seven married. That’s a decade. But Sierra has been back for one year, and she’s already torched ten years of history. People change. Betting on a man’s loyalty is a losing game. The “Seven Year Itch” isn’t just a saying. Chase always calls me petty. But he’s the jealous one. If I bump into a male friend and say hello, I get the third degree. But if I ask him who he’s texting? World War III. He screams about “privacy” and “personal space.” The double standards are exhausting. He lets her eat takeout in his car and leave crumbs on his desk. But if I eat a cookie in the passenger seat, I get a lecture. Thinking about it made my blood run cold. Chase glared at me for a long time. Seeing that I wasn’t going to back down or cry, he sighed, defeated. He reached out to hug me. “…Babe, can we please stop fighting?” 03 “It’s a holiday. I lost my temper, okay? I was wrong. Can we drop it?” I stood stiffly in his arms. My chin rested right on that lipstick stain on his collar. Chase didn’t notice my resistance. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’m sorry I forgot the anniversary. Work has been insane. I was just worried about a friend, but I swear, Sierra and I aren’t like that.” I inhaled. Underneath his usual cologne, there was a sweet, floral scent. Her perfume. He kept talking. “Yeah, we had a thing when we were kids. But we’re adults now. I’m over thirty, Hazel. I’m not that immature. Can’t you just trust me?” Then, the tone shift. The gaslighting. “Besides, were you being rational today? You took off your ring, handed it to a guest, and demanded a divorce. You humiliated me in my own home. Do you blame me for getting mad?” I pulled away from him. I knew exactly what this was. “Right,” I said, my voice flat. Chase relaxed, thinking he had won. He took my hand gently. “Sierra is an old friend. She won’t hold a grudge. Let’s take her to lunch tomorrow, clear the air. You can buy her a little gift, apologize, and we can move on.” I didn’t answer. The audacity was breathtaking. He thought my silence was agreement. He leaned in to kiss me. I turned my head. His lips hit my cheek. His face darkened instantly. Before he could snap at me, his phone rang. He pulled it out. I saw the screen clearly. Sierra. As if to prove he had nothing to hide, he answered it on speaker right in front of me. Sierra’s voice, dripping with helpless distress, filled the room. “Chase? Are you home? I… I hate to bother you, but my fuse box just sparked and there’s a weird smell. I’m really scared. Can you come over?” I smirked. Classic. Chase’s face went pale. “I’ll be right there.” He hung up and looked at me, guilt flashing in his eyes. “Hazel, look, I just need to go check. It could be an electrical fire. Safety first.” He didn’t wait for my permission. He just left. Slam. The door closed. And so did my heart. Once again, when forced to choose, he chose her. I watched from the window as his car sped out of the driveway. I opened my laptop, downloaded a divorce agreement template, and filled it out. I sent a copy to a lawyer friend for a quick review. I was just about to email it to Chase when my phone rang. It was him. “Hazel! What the hell is wrong with you?!” I frowned. “What now?” “Don’t play dumb! Did you call Sierra while I was driving over here? You are vicious! Two-faced!” “Chase, what are you talking about?” “She’s threatening to kill herself, Hazel! Because of you!” 04 “What? Suicide? Why would she…” My confusion was drowned out by his screaming. “Shut up! I never should have trusted you. You never change, Hazel. Sierra’s call log shows your name right before I got here. Don’t lie to me!” “You toxic, jealous… I never should have married you. How can you be so heartless? You know she’s fragile!” He didn’t let me get a word in. He hung up on me. When I tried to call back, he sent me straight to voicemail. I sat there, stunned. Tears pricked my eyes, hot and angry. Seven years of devotion, and he doesn’t believe a word I say. He trusts her blindly. Once the crying started, it wouldn’t stop. But eventually, the tears ran dry. I booked a train ticket out of town for the next morning. I was done. I wasn’t going to explain myself. It was such a clumsy, obvious lie, but Chase was the only idiot falling for it. If he had an ounce of trust in me, he’d check the number. He’d ask me calmly. But he didn’t. He just attacked. I didn’t sleep that night. Around 2 AM, I saw a post on Sierra’s social media. A picture of the night sky, two silhouettes. I recognized Chase’s posture instantly. Caption: Thankful for the one who stays. I blocked them both. I finally fell asleep as the sun came up. My dreams were a montage of every fight Chase and I ever had. I woke up at 9 AM, printed the divorce papers, and packed my bag. When I walked into the living room, Chase was standing there. He looked awful. “Where were you?” he barked. I ignored him. He grabbed my arm and started dragging me toward the door. “I booked a table. You’re coming with me to apologize, and we are ending this drama right now.” “Let go of me! Chase, stop!” I tried to shake him off, but his grip was iron. He dragged me all the way down to the car before releasing my bruised wrist. “Get in. You agreed to this last night. Stop being difficult.” I rubbed my wrist, took a breath, and pulled the papers out of my purse. I slapped them against his chest. “Chase. I want a divorce.”

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I was pulling an all-nighter on the Q3 performance review deck when Seraphina called to break up with me for the Nth time. “Rhys Sullivan, you have twenty minutes to get to The Astor Lounge and beg my forgiveness, or we’re finished.” I shattered. “The review is crucial for my promotion, Sera. Can you please pick another day to throw a fit?” Her voice was light, dismissive. “A fit? I see. So your job is more important than I am. Then let’s break up.” She added, almost as an afterthought, “Oh, and I’m a very petty person. Undoing your promotion would only take one phone call.” I slammed the phone down, but a row of pop-up comments appeared in my periphery. 【The female lead won’t actually follow through on the threat, will she? She wants to surprise him; she secretly greenlit his promotion weeks ago.】 【Just show her you’re willing to sacrifice the job for her, and she’ll hand him the CEO position. She’d never ruin his career.】 【That’s how we avoidant types are. We say no, but we desperately want it. He just needs to hold on and never let go.】 【She’s waiting by the door, ready to take a taxi to the club and console him. Toxic-sweet angst is the best ship.】 Doubt crept in. I almost grabbed my jacket to rush out, but a text popped up. “Heard Mr. Sullivan’s promotion is off the table. Interested in a change of scenery?” 1 I stared at the odd message, replaying the text thread in my head. The name was only a pair of stylized wings. I was certain it wasn’t a prank, but I had no idea who it was. Sera trying to test me with a burner phone? I quickly dismissed the thought. Sera was too arrogant for such a petty move. Ten years. Ten years of dating, and it had always been me who caved, me who apologized, me who came running. We’d acted out this exact taxi-to-the-rescue scene countless times. My unwavering devotion had given her absolute impunity. So, who was it? The pop-ups had the answer. 【The female lead’s arch-rival is trying to poach her man! The rival overheard the breakup call in the bar’s restroom and immediately contacted the male lead. Fast move.】 【The male lead is Sera’s lover, but also Kingston Global’s rising star. Vivian Sharpe, the rival CEO, needs to poach him.】 【Seriously, the floor above, are you going to pretend that CEO Vivian, who daydreams about the male lead, isn’t doing this for private reasons?】 I narrowed my eyes. Vivian Sharpe. I had led the team that beat Sharpe Dynamics in the last bid. At the celebratory cocktail party afterward, someone had tried to broker a friendly exchange, suggesting we connect for future ‘collaboration.’ She hadn’t even looked at me. I stood there, smiling until my face hurt, before she finally, coldly, offered her phone for a scan. I’d assumed she deleted my contact the second she got home. Turns out she hadn’t. Still, I only believed half of what the pop-ups said. Sera never hid our relationship, but she always treated me like a lower-tier employee in public. To outsiders, I was just her cheap corporate conquest, a pet project she’d plucked from the field. Vivian Sharpe’s favorite barb, aimed at Sera, was always, “Only Kingston would hire a low-level pawn just for free sex. Such a shrewd businesswoman.” Vivian looked down on me. Her olive branch was nothing more than a move to spite Sera. I skipped past her name and saw a voice message from Sera’s assistant, Molly. “Rhys, you need to get here now. Ms. Kingston is drunk and refusing to leave.” She also sent a video of Sera being dramatic. I hesitated. I was about to change out of my sweatpants when I froze. Leo Albright’s unmistakable, childish laugh was clearly audible at the thirty-second mark. 【The female lead is pulling this stunt again. She deliberately called the male second lead to make the male lead jealous.】 【The male lead always falls for it! Every time she scares him, he doubles down.】 【Go now, male lead! I’ll bet my premium subscription that if you apologize and console her, she’ll be waiting on her knees for your little riding crop later tonight.】 【I totally get Sera. Watching my boyfriend suffer because I threatened to break up makes me feel so loved and wanted.】 I was stunned. The pop-ups weren’t a hallucination. They were right. The ‘male lead’ was me; the ‘female lead’ was Sera. She was exactly as they described—always provoking a fight, always expecting me to rush back. If I didn’t, she’d enlist everyone around her to force me. But even if I did go, she wouldn’t immediately relent. The last time, I took a red-eye train all night to her side. When I walked in, exhausted and dust-covered, she didn’t even look at me, instead clinging tightly to Leo Albright. “Who told you to call him? Didn’t he have the spine to stick to the breakup?” Yet, the next second, her body would betray her, pulling me in and walking me out. That night, she clung to me for hours. The next day, she bought me a watch and booked a trip, compensating me tenfold. I once asked her if she was ever worried I would leave after all the emotional abuse. She buried her head against my chest, a small child seeking comfort. “My husband would never leave me over something so small. Rhys, if you take one step toward me, I will always take the remaining ninety-nine.” But what she didn’t know was that after being repeatedly abused, I didn’t want to take even one step anymore. I was too tired for this exhausting kind of love. When I didn’t reply, Molly kept calling. I was still waffling, considering whether to give in one last time, when a text from Leo came through. “Sera said you don’t need to come. She’s taking me to watch the sunrise!” He followed it up with a video clip. “Sera, if Rhys doesn’t show up, does that mean you’re really breaking up?” Sera chugged her drink. “We broke up. Don’t mention him.” She turned to Leo. “Didn’t you say you wanted me to watch the sunrise with you? Let’s go.” Her eyes flicked toward the camera for a split second. She knew Leo was filming. I took a deep breath, tossed the phone onto my couch, and turned back to optimize my review deck. Instead of believing the pop-ups that Sera had already approved my promotion, I chose to trust my own competence. I wasn’t Sera or Leo, born with a silver spoon in my mouth. For someone like me, who grew up poor, I had to seize every opportunity myself. 2 Sera never came home that night. I didn’t sleep a wink either. The next day, when I walked into the office with a knot in my stomach, she was already there, impeccably dressed and composed. The oppressive weight of the CEO radiated from her. She was a different person from the drunken, petty woman from the night before. I nervously finished my presentation for the executive review panel. When I finished, she clapped along with everyone else. Her gaze was cool, even friendly. I wondered, did my refusal to chase her actually calm her down? The meeting ended, and I noticed small gifts on everyone’s desks. The CFO next to me gasped, eyes shining. “Wow, having a CEO girlfriend is great! Presents for everyone when her man gets promoted!” The admin sister cleared her throat. “That’s the new Executive Assistant’s welcome gift to the staff.” The CFO was shocked. “A limited-edition perfume for a welcome gift for everyone? What new form of rich-kid humiliation is this?” The admin gave me an uneasy look and pulled the CFO aside. “The new assistant is the only son of the Albright Group’s owner. And Ms. Kingston paid for the gifts. She said she was ‘supporting her childhood friend.’” So, Leo Albright. It all clicked into place. Leo had been trying to use a job at Kingston Global as an excuse to get closer to Sera. The Albright family had repeatedly proposed a merger-by-marriage, a power couple linking the two families. Sera had refused because of me. But after one night, she’d given in. She’d hired him for the Executive Office—a place so sacred, even I, her long-term boyfriend, had never been allowed a permanent seat. I fought to block out any thoughts of what might have happened between them the night before. I opened my laptop, ready to work. A colleague told me Sera was looking for me. I had something to discuss with her as well, so I headed straight for the Executive Suite. I walked in and saw Leo sitting on the edge of Sera’s massive desk, his back to me. His body was pressed close to hers. A searing pain shot through my palms. I never thought I would see Sera in such an intimate position with someone else. I cleared my throat. Leo jumped up, startled. He turned, and the smile vanished from his face. He pouted. “You’ve worked here for years. Don’t you know how to knock?” I paused, momentarily stunned. Knocking had never crossed my mind when entering Sera’s office. “My apologies,” I said flatly. “Next time you two are doing something inappropriate, you should remember to close the door.” Sera had been waiting for me to explode, but my words made her face twitch. Still, she remained outwardly composed. “Did you call for me, Ms. Kingston?” “The board has decided to put your promotion on hold,” she replied calmly. Leo shot me a look of triumph. I stared at the tips of my shoes. I’d known it, of course. She hadn’t been bluffing. She had personally stalled my promotion just because I hadn’t groveled. My chest felt like it was crushed by a thousand-pound weight. My eyes stung, but thankfully, the earlier pop-up warnings had prepared me. I managed to remain calm. “Understood.” The silence was deafening. “If you want to fight for it—” I cut her off. “I don’t. If there’s nothing else, I’ll get back to work.” I turned sharply, but she called after me. “One more thing. The West Coast project is being reassigned to Leo. You won’t be in charge of it anymore. Please hand over the brief to him today.” I spun back around. “What did you say?” I had poured six months of my life into the West Coast project. I hadn’t taken a day off in months. The pressure had been so immense that I needed medication every night just to get a few hours of sleep. This project was my hope, my lifeblood. I needed it to prove my worth, to show everyone I wasn’t just Sera’s kept man. Sera knew how obsessed I was with it. She had even secretly leveraged her resources to support me. And now, when the project was on the cusp of success, she was giving it to Leo? “Leo just joined the company. He needs a high-profile project to gain a foothold,” she explained. “The West Coast project has a great reputation and is about to deliver results. It’s the perfect training ground for him.” I fought back tears, my voice breaking. “You know this project is everything to me. Why would you do this?” She smiled, a cold, vengeful smile. “I told you, I’m petty and I hold a grudge.” “Besides, I’m the owner. I don’t need your approval to assign work. If you’re unhappy, you’re free to quit anytime.” Leo covered his mouth, stifling a laugh. I glared at both of them. One smug and gleeful, the other poised and unbothered. They both believed I was too pathetic to walk away. “Fine. I quit.” Sera’s smile vanished. She looked at me in disbelief. “Rhys Sullivan,” she snapped, raising her voice. “Don’t think your status as my boyfriend gives you the right to throw a tantrum. Don’t think I won’t let you walk out that door!” I met her cold eyes. “Ms. Kingston, are you forgetting? We broke up.” She was momentarily speechless. Leo, seeing the tension, smirked but feigned concern. “Sera, maybe let’s just forget it. Don’t fight because of me,” he whined, then smiled a little too widely at me. “I’m clumsy. What if I mess up Mr. Sullivan’s hard work?” Sera caressed his head, her voice soft with indulgence. “It doesn’t matter if you mess up. It’s just a small project. Nothing to worry about.” My blood rushed to my head. It took every ounce of strength to keep from lunging at them. My fists were clenched so tightly my palms were bleeding. “A company that uses projects to reward a lover isn’t worth staying at. I’ll consider these last few years of hard work a donation to the dogs.” “Who are you calling a dog?” Leo yelled, furious. I laughed, a harsh, cold sound. “You know who you are.” “Rhys Sullivan!” Sera’s face was ashen. I turned and walked out, not looking back. 3 I stumbled back to my cubicle, feeling like a ghost. I didn’t let the tears fall until I was alone. They came in a torrent. The pop-ups reappeared. 【The male lead is so clueless. Sera was deliberately putting on a show for him. The moment he leaves, she’ll kick Leo out.】 【Sera just wanted to see him jealous and begging, but the male lead is too stubborn. He’d rather quit than swallow his pride.】 【If you date the boss, you have to be subservient. He wants to keep his dignity and the money? That’s wanting to have your cake and eat it, too.】 【The male lead is being ridiculous. Without this job, how will he afford his sick mother’s exorbitant medical bills? Can pride buy medicine?】 They were right. My mother’s life depended on a ridiculously expensive imported drug. Sera’s salary had always kept us afloat. If I couldn’t keep her on the treatment, the only family I had left would be gone. As I worried about the money, Sera sent a text—the first time she had ever reached out first after a fight. “Come apologize to Leo, and I’ll consider giving you back the project.” “I’ll give you Kingston Global’s new project next half, too.” “And your key card. Come get it back.” It was the first time Sera had ever truly backed down. Even the pop-ups were advocating for her. 【The Queen of Conceit is finally humbling herself! God only knows how much the ‘playing hard to get’ girl is struggling right now.】 【As an avoidant, I’m touched. How much love does it take for a stubborn person like her to lower her head? Male lead, treasure this!】 【Other than being a drama queen, Sera is rich, beautiful, and deeply in love. Male lead, tread carefully, or you’ll lose her.】 They had a point. Aside from her theatrics, Sera was a good partner. If I could just tolerate the manipulation, she was everything a man could want. But I refused without hesitation. “I’m submitting my resignation to the HR Director today.” She took a long time to reply. “Are you serious?” “Fine. Don’t ever ask me for help again.” “You’ll regret this. Your beautiful relationship and career, all thrown away because of your stubbornness.” I rested my head on the desk and cried silently. I mourned the decade we’d spent together, and the loss of my career. But I couldn’t accept the way Sera treated me. She had a black hole where her heart should be, and she filled it by tormenting me. I saw no end to the darkness, no way to fix myself inside her warped world. I sent the resignation email, then found Vivian Sharpe’s contact. “Vivian, is your offer still valid?” She replied instantly: “Valid. But not for Sera Kingston’s boyfriend.” Me: “Separated. Resigned.”

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My best friend and I started trying for a baby at the same time. She was obsessed with having the “perfect” child, fixated on every superstition about timing and astrology. When I found out I was pregnant, she discovered she was too. The doctor said everything looked great. But she insisted the baby’s zodiac sign clashed with hers—a bad omen. I told her she was being ridiculous and begged her to keep it. I even stood by her side, arguing against her husband’s family when they hesitated. She kept the baby. A girl. But her mother-in-law, who only wanted a grandson, made her life hell. The house became a war zone of constant screaming and fighting. Then her husband’s business went under. They blamed it on the baby, saying she brought bad luck. One day, while my friend was napping, her mother-in-law “accidentally” suffocated the baby. My friend was devastated. But instead of blaming her in-laws, she turned her rage on me. “We started trying together, but you got pregnant first! You stole my luck! You took my chance at a good baby and left me with this cursed life!” On my daughter’s first birthday, she slipped past the nanny, snatched my baby, and strangled her with a silk scarf. “If I can’t have a child, neither can you!” Grief drove me insane. I grabbed her, and together, we plunged from the roof of my apartment building. When I opened my eyes, I was back on that day. She was holding a bottle of prenatal vitamins, asking me, “They say we need to start taking these three months in advance. Have you started?” I kept my face blank. “I haven’t. Actually, I’m not really trying right now. We’re just going to let nature take its course. You should find someone else to be your ‘pregnancy buddy.’” 1 Sarah’s face froze. “Nature take its course? This is a huge life decision! If you’re going to do it, you can’t just be casual about it.” I shrugged. “People have been having babies for thousands of years without all this planning. It worked out fine for them.” “I’m just going to live my life. Eat, drink, have fun. If it happens, it happens.” Sarah looked horrified. “You can’t compare us to people in the past! The environment is totally different now.” “Besides, there are rules. Some days are good for conceiving, and some days are absolute disasters.” I played along, scrolling through my phone. “Unless one of us is sick, does it really matter?” Sarah scoffed. “It matters a lot!” “First, you have to look at the astrological calendar. You have to avoid the ‘Void Days.’” “Void Days?” “It’s basic energy flow,” she said, her eyes widening with that manic intensity I remembered too well. “The Winter and Summer Solstices. The energy is too weak. If you conceive then, the baby will be sickly.” I raised an eyebrow. “What about the moon? Let me guess, no full moons?” Sarah nodded solemnly. “No New Moons, actually. And no Waxing or Waning Crescents. Those are low-energy phases. A child conceived then will have a weak constitution.” She went on. Solar eclipses? Bad. Thunderstorms? Terrible. According to her, a baby conceived during a storm would grow up violent and uncontrollable because they absorbed the “chaotic energy” of the weather. I listened, stunned. In my last life, she only obsessed over Zodiac signs. She was a Taurus, so she refused to have a Leo or an Aquarius baby because they “clashed.” She almost aborted her first pregnancy because the due date meant the baby would be a Leo—a sign that supposedly brought conflict to her life. “We’d never get along,” she had argued. “Why bring a child into the world just to fight with it?” But this time? She was deep down the rabbit hole of lunar phases and barometric pressure. “I’m telling you,” she said, spitting a little in her excitement. “You can’t conceive if you’ve been drinking, if you’re angry, or if you’ve just recovered from a cold…” The list was endless. Getting pregnant isn’t as easy as TV makes it look. I tried for six months before it happened last time. You only have a few fertile days a month. If you follow Sarah’s rules—avoiding bad moon phases, bad weather, bad moods—you’d have maybe one viable day a year. I waved my hand, cutting her off. “That’s too much math for me. I’m out. You do you.” Sarah pouted, trying to argue, but I made an excuse and bolted. Go ahead, Sarah. Plan your perfect pregnancy. I’d love to see what kind of “perfect” child you end up with this time. 2 I practically ran home, collapsing onto the sofa to catch my breath. I had planned to be chill about this. Just exercise, take my vitamins, and see what happens. But Sarah… she treated pregnancy like a military operation. She wanted a “buddy” to validate her neuroses. “Let’s work together! We can catch each other’s mistakes!” she’d said. As if getting pregnant was a group project. I checked the calendar. If the timeline held, I’d get a positive test in three days. My phone pinged. Sarah: “I know you don’t want to plan with me, but I need your advice.” “If I get pregnant now, the baby will be a Leo. That clashes with my sign. Should I keep it or not?” In my past life, I was the supportive friend. “Don’t be silly,” I told her. “So many people struggle with infertility. If you’re lucky enough to conceive naturally, it’s a blessing. Don’t throw it away over a horoscope.” I thought I was saving a life. Instead, I doomed my own daughter. I clenched my fists, remembering the cold weight of my baby’s body in my arms. This time? I wasn’t playing savior. I typed back: “I really don’t know. You should ask your husband.” Then I added: “Or ask your mother-in-law. Older people know more about this stuff.” Her mother-in-law, Linda, was a piece of work. Linda didn’t just hate that Sarah had a girl. She hated the baby’s zodiac sign. “Leos are too dominant for girls,” Linda had sneered. “They bring drama. Bad for the family harmony.” It was superstitious garbage. But it was garbage that eventually led to murder. Sarah’s in-laws were rich. They owned a chain of hotels. Her husband, Mike, was a spineless mama’s boy who worked for the family business. Sarah always felt inferior to them. In the past, I defended her. “Who cares about signs? It’s 2024! Don’t let them brainwash you!” Sarah repeated my words to Linda. And when the baby died, Linda blamed me. “If that friend of yours hadn’t pushed her to keep it, none of this would have happened. She knew it was bad luck. She probably wanted to sabotage us.” I wasn’t taking the fall this time. I sent the text. “Ask Linda. She’s the expert.” 3 Sarah replied instantly with a crying emoji. “I’m screwed. Before the wedding, Linda told us not to try this year.” “She hates Leos. She wants us to wait for a Virgo or Libra. She says Virgos are meticulous and good for the family business.” It was laughable. As if the baby’s birth month determined the stock market. I kept my tone cool. “Wait, are you already pregnant? If not, why worry? Just use protection like they said.” A long pause. Then: “Don’t tell anyone… but my period is four days late. I’m scared to take a test.” I sneered at the screen. She knew. She already suspected she was pregnant. She just wanted someone else to make the decision for her. She wanted a scapegoat. She sent a barrage of messages about her anxiety, her fear, her helplessness. I left them on read. Two hours later, she posted on social media: “Just realized there is no true empathy in this world. From now on, I only rely on myself.” Classic Sarah. Always the victim. I scrolled past without liking it. 4 Three days later, my test was positive. I went to the hospital for blood work to confirm. And there, in the waiting room, was Sarah. “You too?” she asked, sliding into the seat next to me. Just like before, our levels were perfectly normal. Sarah immediately started complaining about the doctor. “That lady was so rude. The first thing she asked was, ‘Do you want to keep it?’” “I started crying right there. I don’t know if I can keep it! Why did she have to ask that?” “It’s a standard medical question, Sarah,” I said flatly. “She asked me too.” “Well, are you keeping it?” Sarah’s eyes widened. “Yes. We planned for this.” “Must be nice,” she grumbled. “Mine was an accident. It’s so annoying.” She snatched my lab report from my hand, staring at the date of my last period. She mumbled, calculating furiously on her fingers. “You conceived during a Waning Gibbous moon. That baby is going to have low energy.” I snatched the paper back. “I don’t believe in that crap.” Sarah stared at me, then smirked. “Want to know a secret?” “What?” “I checked the Chinese Gender Chart. Based on your age and conception month… you’re having a girl.” She sighed. “Mine is a girl too.” I relaxed. I wanted a girl. I wanted my girl back. Sarah looked miserable. “A girl, and a Leo. Linda is going to lose her mind.” I stayed silent. “Does your mother-in-law care?” she probed. “My mother-in-law is a Leo,” I lied smoothly. “She loves them. She’s hoping for a granddaughter.” Sarah’s eyes flashed with jealousy. “You have it so easy. If I keep this baby, my life will be hell.” “The doctor said I have to decide fast. The bigger it gets, the harder the procedure is on my body.” I nodded indifferently. “Mmh.” Suddenly, Sarah grabbed my hand. Her grip was tight, desperate. “But I’m twenty-eight!” I stared at her. “And?” “Twenty-eight is the peak physiological age for women! I don’t want to waste a ‘perfect’ egg!” Perfect egg? “Who told you that?” I pulled my hand away. “Medical consensus says anywhere from 25 to 34 is ideal.” Sarah shook her head pityingly. “You don’t get it. Ancient texts say a woman’s body changes every seven years. Four times seven is twenty-eight. That’s when the body is at its absolute zenith. ‘Bones are hard, hair is long, body is strong.’” She looked at the ceiling, dreamy. “This is my golden window.” I was speechless. In my last life, I fought her battles for her. I had no idea she was this deep in the cult of pseudoscience. She clenched her fist. “No. I have to find a way to keep this baby.” I almost laughed. I didn’t have to do a thing. Her own obsession was going to trap her.

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The heroine failed to save the hero. Again. I opened my eyes, and once again, I was back in senior year of high school. As a background NPC, my resentment was strong enough to fuel a rocket. I stormed past the male lead and slapped him across the face. “Why do you look like you want to die all day long? In the future, you’ll have money, power, and a beautiful wife who loves you! What is there to be depressed about?!” “I have taken the SATs ninety-nine times! Every single time I finally get promoted from a minimum-wage intern to a decent salary, you drag me back to high school! Do you know how tragic my life is?!” The boy in the blue and white uniform stared at me, his eyes dark and shadowed with menace. At that exact moment, a floating comment barrage screamed across my vision: [WE ARE DOOMED! You didn’t slap the hero! That’s the vengeful, psychopathic Villain!] 1 I’m back in senior year. Again. Staring at the familiar classroom and my classmates, I felt nothing but the urge to lay down and rot. The stacks of textbooks and open workbooks on my desk made my vision go black. Does anyone understand the pain of infinitely repeating your senior year? The worst part is, my brain resets every time. I never remember the answers to the tests I’ve taken a hundred times. This means my rebirth is nothing but the pure, unadulterated torture of finals week, on repeat. Even more tragic? The reset always happens right when I grind my way from a $2,000 monthly salary to a comfortable $5,000. I haven’t even seen a five-figure paycheck yet, and poof. Instant death. Because the main character doesn’t want to live anymore. The whole world gets buried with him. And I’m just one of the unlucky collateral damages. 2 After many resets, I gained self-awareness. I realized I am a “Mob Character” or “Passerby A” in a redemption novel. No name, no lines, just a background texture. The world I live in is a book. Because the heroine keeps failing to “save” the hero, he dies. So the world reboots. Rumor has it the hero is mentally unstable. I just want to say, if you’re sick, go to a hospital! The heroine isn’t a therapist! And why does his death have to involve me, a hardworking corporate slave? The protagonists get rich without me. But when they die, they drag me to hell with them. I’m basically being pranked by Fate. “Monthly test results come out tomorrow. Ugh, so annoying.” “I bet Sawyer is going to be first place again.” “Jenna? You look pale. Are you okay?” My desk mate looked at me with concern. The name Sawyer twitched a nerve in my numb brain. I shot up from my seat. Under my desk mate’s shocked gaze, fueled by the rage of a hundred senior years, I marched to the classroom next door. In the last row by the door, a boy was sleeping face down on his desk. The girl next to him looked at me—radiating pure fury—and asked cautiously, “Classmate… can I help you?” I scanned her face. It was the heroine, Lana. The book said she sits next to the hero, Sawyer. Staring at the back of the “hero’s” perfect skull, my hands itched. I wanted to crush him. Seeing me staring death daggers at him, Lana hesitated, then nudged the sleeping boy. He lifted his head from his arms, looking annoyed at Lana for disturbing him. Lana pointed at me standing in the doorway and whispered, “Someone’s looking for you.” The boy in the uniform slowly turned around. Driven by pure resentment, my hand moved faster than my brain. Smack! I slapped him right across the face. Then I exploded. “Sleep? How can you sleep?! Do you have no shame?!” “Because of you, I have to relive this hellish senior year over and over! I have anxiety! I have insomnia!” “I’ve taken the SATs ninety-nine times! Every time I finally get a raise, you drag me back here!” “Why do I have to suffer because you want to die?” “Don’t look at me like that! If you’re sick, go to therapy!” “If you don’t want to live the good life, I’ll slap you until you wake up!” “You look like a corpse all day long! In the future, you have money, power, and a hot wife who loves you! Why would you want to die?!” Lana’s jaw dropped to the floor. The boy I just slapped had a face that defied gravity. Sharp brows, starry eyes, a small beauty mark on a high nose bridge. Noble and cold. Except now, there was a glaring red handprint on that pale, handsome face. He stared at me, his expression dark and shadowy. His eyes were ferocious. Suddenly, strange text floated in front of my eyes: [OMG! Girl, you hit the wrong person! That’s Julian! The vindictive, world-destroying Villain!] [It’s over! You won’t see tomorrow’s sun!] [Such heavy resentment. Senior year + Corporate Slave = Maximum Bug. I’d want to kill someone too.] [But that’s not the hero! That’s the villain, Julian!] My heart stopped. Julian. The “Beautiful, Strong, and Miserable” villain. Wealthy family. Insanely handsome. But his parents were two psychos forced into a business marriage who hated each other. They viewed Julian, the product of their hatred, with disgust. They tortured him growing up. In the book, Julian is a sociopath. He lacks empathy and craves destruction. Later, he gets involved in organized crime. He is ruthless. As an NPC, I only knew the names. I never had screen time with them. I didn’t know what they looked like, except for Lana, who becomes a celebrity later. Facing Julian’s terrifying gaze, I took a step back. His voice was colder than liquid nitrogen. “You dare hit me? Do you want to die?” When others say this, they’re posing. When Julian says it, he’s making a schedule. What do I do? What do I do? My brain spun like a hamster wheel on fire. The floating comments seemed to hear my inner scream and offered a solution: [The villain is scary, but he’s a pure-hearted simp for love!] [Baby, tell him you’re his future wife! He’ll spare you!] [Yes, yes! It explains why you were scolding him about the future!] Suppressing my terror, I stood my ground and shouted, “So what if I hit you! I’m your future wife!” “In the future, you beg me to hit you!” Julian sneered, the corner of his lip curling up. “Are you crazy? My wife? You?” “Do you think I’m an idiot?” [Quick! Tell him a secret! The villain has a scar on his inner thigh, he’s allergic to shrimp, loves drinking Yakult, and sleeps completely naked!] Bless you, comment section angels. I composed myself and said calmly, “You have a scar on your inner thigh.” Julian’s pupils shrank. The murderous aura vanished, replaced by shock. I continued, “You’re allergic to shrimp. You secretly love drinking Yakult.” I added some flavor: “And after we get married, you never wear clothes when you sleep with me. Pants…” Julian shot up from his chair. He clamped his hand over my mouth. His eyes flickered with uncertainty as he scrutinized me. I pulled his hand down. “And when you shower, you like to start by taking off…” He covered my mouth again. I noticed his ears were red. He gritted his teeth. “Shut up!” I went quiet. His long, beautiful eyes were filled with a mix of shame and anger. His lips were pressed into a thin line. The red finger marks on his face gave him a sort of tragic beauty. Faced with the villain’s breathtaking face this close up, I was stunned for three seconds. My eyes went wide and sparkly. Julian seemed uncomfortable under my gaze. Suppressing his irritation, he used his other hand to cover my eyes. “Don’t look at me like that.” “Only a fool would believe that ‘future wife’ nonsense.” “But… considering you claim to be my wife, I’ll let the slap slide. But I’m warning you: stay away from the current me.” Me: … Do you really not believe it? You might want to listen to your own heartbeat right now. 3 Julian warned me to stay away. So I did. I avoided him for a week. During that week, I found the real hero, Sawyer. Unlike what I imagined, Sawyer looked gentle and upright, though his brows were always knit with melancholy. I observed him for days. He seemed normal. Not like a mental patient. I was worried. I had no idea how to stop his suicidal tendencies. I really, really didn’t want to do senior year again. Sitting on the bleachers, I stared at Sawyer on the basketball court with deep resentment. To onlookers, my gaze probably looked… obsessed. Julian, wearing a basketball jersey, watched me from a distance. His face was cold. After shooting a few three-pointers, he tossed the ball to someone else and walked straight toward me. His tall shadow blocked my view. I looked up. I was mesmerized by his handsomeness for three seconds before I slowly asked, “What?” The storm clouds on Julian’s face cleared slightly during those three seconds of my admiration. He crouched down, his tone unkind. “Why are you looking at Sawyer?” I answered instinctively, “Why can’t I look?” Julian narrowed his eyes. It made my scalp tingle. He lowered his voice. “You were lying, weren’t you?” My heart skipped a beat. “I’ve never seen you before. You aren’t my type.” “It’s impossible that I liked you first. That means you must have chased me until I gave in.” “But you haven’t made a single move on me. You don’t look like someone in love.” “Also, that day you came to find me, my back was to you. The seat I was in used to be Sawyer’s. You’ve been staring at Sawyer for days. So… you were looking for Sawyer that day, weren’t you?” Julian’s analysis made my skin crawl. Why is he suddenly Sherlock Holmes?! Right. He’s the villain. High IQ is part of the package. Julian stared into my eyes, not missing a single micro-expression. Help me! Comment section fam! [It’s here! Don’t panic, baby!] [The villain has a kissing kink! He likes to trace the roof of your mouth with his tongue when he’s done!] [Yes! And he demands kisses every day. He’s a kissing monster.] [Bedroom, kitchen, bar counter, floor-to-ceiling window… he begs you for *** (censored) in every corner.] Hm? Something seems off about this advice? But my nerves were frayed. I didn’t have time to think. I blurted it out. “You have a habit when we kiss. At the end, you like to lick the roof of my mouth.” After saying it, the heat rushed to my face. I turned beet red. Julian looked slightly stunned. Then he recovered and scoffed. “You can really make things up.” His expression changed, as if recalling something disgusting. His eyes went pitch black. “Do you know that I find kissing to be the most repulsive human act?” My survival instincts kicked in. I went all in. “That’s because you haven’t kissed me yet.” “I don’t believe you. Let’s kiss then.” Ripples of emotion stirred in Julian’s eyes. His gaze dropped to my lips. On the surface, I looked calm. Inside, I was screaming. What if he actually does it? Do I dodge? If I dodge, I’m exposed. If I don’t… I lose my first kiss AND get exposed if he hates it. I hoped Julian would back off. But he just leaned in, inch by inch. My body went rigid. My brain flatlined. Thump. Thump. Thump. In my vision, Julian tilted his head. I could feel his breath on the bridge of my nose. Just centimeters away. My hand twitched. “Hah. Keep dreaming.” Julian pulled back abruptly, laughing at my flushed red face. “You thought I’d fall for that?” “Is this how you hooked the future me? I admit, you have some tricks.” My tense nerves snapped loose. I was confused. How did I hook him? Tricks? I frowned, thinking. To Julian, my confusion looked like disappointment from a failed scheme. He stood up, looking down at me arrogantly. “Tsk. You like me that much?” “I have a game this weekend. Come bring me water.” 4 My beautiful weekend was hijacked just like that. I wanted to refuse, but I had to maintain my character. After lunch, I waited until the hottest part of the day passed before lazily biking to the gym. Surprisingly, it was packed. I spotted Lana, the heroine, in the front row. To figure out why her redemption arc kept failing, I decided to befriend her. I sat in the empty seat next to her and introduced myself. She paused, then smiled back. “Are you here to cheer for Julian?” I recognized the gleam in her eyes. It was the universal look of someone ready for gossip. I nodded. If the heroine is here, the hero must be too. Sure enough, I saw Sawyer in a white jersey. And Julian, wearing a black sports headband, looking fierce. He glared at me. [OMG, Julian has been waiting for our girl! He keeps looking at the stands.] [He says ‘stay away,’ but gets mad when you actually do. Tsk tsk, what a tsundere puppy.] [By the way, this game is where the villain and hero start their feud. It plants the seed of hatred.] [The heroine’s redemption fails because of the villain.] I remembered now. In the plot, Sawyer wins this game. Julian loses, and in the post-game brawl, Sawyer accidentally breaks Julian’s hand. Julian, being petty and vengeful, loses face and gets injured. He hates Sawyer forever and sabotages him in the future. The first revenge is causing Sawyer to miss the SATs. Terrifying. But why did the comments say the redemption failed because of Julian? Can you guys be more specific?! Stopping halfway is torture!

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I scrolled past a TikTok discussing common-law marriage and how in some states, five years of cohabitation counts as a domestic partnership. Grinning, I turned to Dean Kinsley, the man I’d lived with for exactly five years, and asked, “So, if we ever break up, are we going to split all the assets?” Dean, who usually couldn’t stand the mention of a breakup, looked at me with chilling composure. “Strictly speaking, what I’m spending on you right now is marital property belonging to me and your best friend. If we’re going to talk division, you’ll walk away with nothing and probably owe me.” Seeing my stunned silence, he pulled out a marriage certificate and sighed, a gesture of weary patience. “The truth is, Serena and I signed the papers two days ago. You know about her extreme phobia—the one where she’s averse to men? She’s only immune to me. Her family is pushing her hard to get married. We’re doing the wedding tomorrow, and then I’ll file for divorce immediately. You are the one I want to be my wife.” “It’s just a piece of paper, Sum. For the sake of your best friend, you won’t make a big deal out of this, right?” I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I simply nodded. And then I quietly booked an appointment for a termination the next morning. Five years of love wasn’t worth a single request for help. This love was over. 1 “I swear to you, I’m only helping her out. You are the person I love the most, the person I want to marry!” “I know I shouldn’t have kept it from you. But her parents are literally threatening to cut her off. I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.” His words slammed into me like a thunderclap. He married my best friend to help her out. Then what was the point of all the times I’d brought up marriage, only to have him deflect, joke, or sidestep the issue? Last year, when my mother was in the ICU, her dying wish was to see me married. I begged him, and he told me he wasn’t ready, that he didn’t want to rush such a lifelong commitment, and he wanted our wedding to be perfect, not tainted by urgency or sadness. Three months ago, a relative saw me leaving my OB-GYN and gossiped to my father that I was going for “checkups” before marriage—shameful, indecent. My dad beat me so badly I spat up blood and told me he’d disown me if I didn’t get married. Dean told me marriage was too important to be rushed by external pressures. He swore he would be my family forever, even if my father abandoned me. Even last week, when I felt sick, the doctor told me I was at risk for a miscarriage and needed to rest. I joked that we needed to get married before I passed my prime childbearing years. He replied that not having children was fine, too; he didn’t want me to risk my health. I genuinely believed he was looking out for me. But two days ago, I was doubled over in pain, about to tell him I was pregnant. That’s when Serena called. She just casually complained that her parents were going to kill her if she didn’t get married soon. Dean didn’t hesitate. He threw on his jacket, told me curtly to go to the emergency room if I felt worse, and rushed out to marry her. I stared at the marriage certificate on the coffee table—the certificate I’d begged for for a year—now bearing his and someone else’s smiling faces. Tears I couldn’t control streamed down my face. Guilt flashed in his eyes. He reached for a tissue to wipe my tears, just as my phone rang. It was Serena. My hands were shaking. I couldn’t process any of it. I moved to hang up, but Dean snatched the phone, a frown creasing his brow. “Don’t hang up. She’ll overthink it, and I don’t want her to feel guilty or burdened over something this small.” He quickly answered the call and pressed the phone back into my hand. I was stunned. In the past, his philosophy was that my feelings were paramount. If I was even slightly unhappy, he’d sit with me—no matter what I did—just so I wouldn’t bottle up my emotions. “Sum, you… why aren’t you saying anything? Are you still mad at me? I’m so sorry, I know I shouldn’t be so selfish, but you’re my best friend…” Dean abruptly pushed my arm and took the phone back. His voice was instantly warm and gentle. “No, she’s just a little surprised. Don’t worry, I’m taking her to try on bridesmaid dresses in a minute.” He hung up and began rubbing my stiff, numb hands. “There. Whole charade. I know you’re upset, but after tomorrow, I promise everything goes back to normal, okay?” He grabbed my wrist and dragged my lifeless body to a high-end bridal boutique, a place you needed to book at least a year in advance. Serena stood before us, wearing the wedding dress Dean had designed for me two years ago. 2 “You finally came! I thought you were angry and wouldn’t show up. Quick, tell me, don’t I look beautiful?” My heart clenched, again and again. That dress—the style, the fabric, the meaning behind it—was everything I had ever wanted. I had maintained my weight and figure to fit into it perfectly. Dean had told me he would only pick up his pen again to design a gown for the woman he loved the most. I had dreamed of the moment I would wear it and walk toward him. I had even told Serena how much this dress meant to me. Yet, here she was, wearing it right in front of me. Before I could speak, Dean’s gaze swept over her, full of admiration. “Stunning! The alterations are perfect. It fits you like a glove.” A sudden, sharp pain flared in my chest. I fought back tears and looked at him. He offered a helpless shrug. “She really loves this one. It’s just a dress. You two are practically sisters; don’t be petty about it. We’ll have it altered back afterward.” Serena gave me a pained, apologetic look. “Sum, if you mind, it’s fine. I don’t need it. I already asked you…” Dean placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “My bride, my call.” Serena smiled playfully and looped her arm through his. “Will you help me choose the accessories? Sum won’t mind, will she?” Watching their easy intimacy, all the minor, nagging details I had suppressed over the years surfaced, like shards of glass. At a party, he’d casually cover for her, saying, “She’s on her period,” and drank her share of cocktails. While shopping, a single, embarrassed glance from her was enough for him to pull a maxi pad out of his pocket. I’d always told myself he was trying to make a good impression on my best friend. Now I knew he wasn’t just showing ‘friends-of-my-love’ affection. His heart had simply drifted off course. A torrent of hurt, fury, and betrayal welled up, and tears began to fall. I didn’t want to make a scene here. I took a deep breath and started to leave. Just as I turned, I heard Serena call out. “Oh, Sum! That heirloom jade bangle of yours would go perfectly with this dress. Can I borrow it?” My hand instinctively tightened around the cool, smooth stone on my wrist. This was the bracelet my mother had placed on my hand just before she died last year. She said I had to wear it on my wedding day so it would feel like she was walking beside me. I looked down at the soft glow of the jade. My voice was raspy. “I can’t lend this. My mother gave it to me. They have plenty of suitable accessories here.” Serena sighed, visibly deflated. “Oh, well. That’s a real shame.” As she spoke, a vice-like grip clamped down on my hand. Dean leaned down and awkwardly tried to yank the bracelet off my wrist. “It’s just a bracelet. Your aunt didn’t just leave you one thing, did she?” “Besides, if Serena hadn’t pulled you out of that situation with that predator three years ago, would you even be here today? Aunt Clara saw her as a daughter—it’s just a bracelet. She deserves it. Don’t you dare forget who saved you, Sum. Ungrateful people tend to repeat their mistakes!” The jade ground against my bone, agonizingly painful. But his flippant words tore my heart open. The man I loved most was peeling back the scar tissue and stabbing a deeper wound into the original injury. He used to endlessly regret not being there to protect me that night. Now, he was wishing I’d repeat my mistakes. Slap! He froze, clutching his cheek, looking at me. My eyes were blazing red. “Do you know what you’re saying? You know exactly why that happened—because you ditched me to go drinking! I called you a dozen times, and you answered none of them! That’s why it happened!” “And you know this bracelet was put on my wrist by my mother. Now, because of her little sigh, you want to strip me of the most important thing I have left?” The anger in his eyes was replaced by a look of crushing guilt. He looked at my wrist, rubbed raw by the jade, his face contorted in a mix of pain and conflict. Serena rushed over, gazing at Dean with feigned distress. “Sum, it’s my fault. Please, don’t fight because of me. You shouldn’t have grabbed her hand like that.” Her words were like a constant, needling jab, suggesting my value in Dean’s eyes was rapidly diminishing. I swallowed the lump in my throat and readjusted the bangle on my wrist. “You two go ahead and try things on. I don’t feel well. I’m leaving.” 3 With that, I turned to walk away. But before I could take a step, a searing smack across the face sent my head spinning. “You little tramp! Who gave you permission to bully my nephew-in-law?” “You keep crossing the line just because my niece is your friend. You like being the side piece, don’t you?” A large woman I didn’t recognize grabbed my collar. Before I could react, her hand swung back and struck my face again. “Speak up! My niece and nephew-in-law tolerate you, but I won’t!” Dean stepped forward to intervene, but she shoved him away. “What are you doing? Your wife is standing right here! Why are you defending this little tramp?” I watched him take a staggering step back, his guilty eyes sweeping over me. My heart hit the floor. Clutching my stinging cheek, I glared at him. “Dean Kinsley! Are you just going to stand there and watch me get hit?” He hesitated, about to speak. The next moment, Serena lightly wrapped her hand around his arm, leaving him completely helpless. “Sum… I’m getting married tomorrow. You need to keep your distance and manage your expectations.” His dry, flat words cemented my identity as the other woman. Tears burned as they streamed down my throbbing cheek. The woman raised her hand again. I shoved her away, pulled out my phone, and opened my photo gallery. “Look closely! These are pictures of us! We are…” Smash. The phone was knocked out of my hand and shattered on the floor, the screen instantly black. Dean was agitated and furious, glaring at me. He swung his hand without hesitation. “Enough! If you’re not here to give your sincere blessing, then get out! Don’t ruin things before our wedding! If it weren’t for Serena, I wouldn’t even give you the time of day! Stop now!” I stumbled backward, my lower abdomen slamming into the door handle, the spot where the bangle sat hitting the metal. The weight on my wrist instantly vanished. I stared at the shattered pieces of jade on the ground. A cold, empty feeling washed over me, as if my last tangible connection to my mother had been severed. “No… Mom, don’t… don’t leave me.” A flicker of distress crossed Dean’s face. He started to bend down to pick up the pieces, but Serena clutched her leg and cried out in pain. A trickle of blood began to seep between her fingers. Dean panicked. He swept her up in his arms and sprinted for the door. His urgent steps knocked me over. The shattered jade cut into my palm. And it sliced my heart in two. He paused for only a split second before leaving without a backward glance. The older woman sneered and kicked the scattered shards of jade across the floor. “The little bastard thinks she can steal my niece’s man! Pfft!” Under the scornful gaze of everyone present, I was shoved out the door. In the freezing snow, I endured the sharp, stabbing pain in my lower abdomen. I clawed through the icy dirt and slush, eventually retrieving the last fragmented piece of the bangle. Clutching the remnants, I disappeared into the night, step by agonizing step. The warm, viscous liquid pooling on my inner thigh turned icy cold. I felt the life that shouldn’t have been—the life Dean had indirectly stolen—slip away. And with it, five years of my life with Dean. I woke up in a hospital room. The acrid smell of disinfectant stung my nose. A nurse beside me gasped. “She’s awake! She’s awake!” “Where is your family? Your pregnancy was unstable—why were you running around in this weather?” “And your phone was broken! We were so worried!” I touched my flat, empty stomach. My voice was a raw whisper. “The baby? Is it gone?” She sighed. “You’re young, and your health is good. You can try again later.” She handed me a small box and a blurred ultrasound image, then quietly turned and left. Staring at the tiny, blurry bud of life resting in the cold container, I felt as though my core had been hollowed out. Why did everything I cherished, everything I carefully protected, have to be taken from me? The doctor checked on me periodically. Seeing my quiet sobs, she stressed the need for rest. I borrowed her phone and ordered a new one. After transferring my old SIM card and paying her back, the constant ping of new notifications began. Most were from Dean. [I told you to wait it out. It would all be over tomorrow. Why did you have to make a scene?] [It would’ve been better if you just gave her the bracelet; then it wouldn’t have shattered.] [Whatever. We can get it repaired later.] [Oh, and make sure you have a wedding gift ready tomorrow as an apology.] 4 [If Serena and I hadn’t smoothed things over, her family would have plastered your mistress status all over social media. Pick something expensive, apologize, and don’t cause any more drama!] [Does your face still hurt? Learn a lesson from this. Don’t be so impulsive in the future!] [I’m not coming back tonight. Pack your things up in the apartment. Her family needs to see the place tomorrow, and we can’t have any slip-ups.] I let out a hollow laugh, staring at the frigid, heartless words. He was the one who promised me a home. Now he was ordering me out of it. He was the one who cried over a tiny burn I got while cooking. Now he slapped me and told me I deserved it, that I needed to “learn a lesson.” I laughed until the tears started again. They dripped onto the screen. The phone lit up. This time, it wasn’t Dean; it was Serena. [You can see he cares about me. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have married me in a day when you couldn’t get him to commit in five years.] [It’s awful to say this, and I know it’s unfair to you after five years, but that’s just how love is. People get bored.] [A person’s value is in their self-awareness. Some mistakes don’t need correcting. If you really love him, then let him be happy.] [Consider it repaying my life-saving kindness to you.] Tears blurred my vision. Seeing their new profile pictures—a matching couple’s set—left a taste of bitter acid in my mouth. I clicked on social media, where videos celebrating Dean’s wedding were already circulating. I sighed deeply. Maybe this was just fate. If that night three years ago hadn’t happened, perhaps none of this would have unfolded. I slowly made my way home to pack. When the elevator stopped on the surgery floor, two familiar-looking girls stepped in. “Oh my god, I can’t believe she actually pulled it off. Three years, lying in wait next to that poor girl, just to steal her boyfriend. That’s next level.” “Seriously! You have no idea how twisted she is. She staked out their party, hired some guys to pull the boyfriend away, and then got thugs to corner the girl in the alley. When the timing was perfect, she pretended to just ‘stumble upon’ the scene and rescue her. Became her best friend naturally! She’s been eating food she’s supposedly allergic to for three years to fake that men-aversion thing, just to chip away at them.” “Holy hell! That’s insane! That other girl is seriously unlucky!” “Shh! Quiet down. We don’t want anyone hearing.” Ding. The elevator reached the first floor. Watching their backs disappear, a wave of cold nausea washed over me. I shakily unlocked my phone and looked at the picture Serena had posted just moments ago, showing friends visiting her in the hospital. In the picture, besides Dean’s attentive figure, two girls were wearing the exact same outfits as the ones who had just left the elevator. My entire rescue, my salvation, had been her calculated scheme. I wiped my tears and went to the surveillance office. Citing a lost item, I reviewed the elevator footage and recorded the audio and video. Next, I filed a police report for intentional harm. I would give them a wedding gift they would never forget. The next day, at the wedding. A subtle feeling of dread lingered in Dean Kinsley’s heart. Especially when he saw Serena Meyer’s radiant, smiling face. For a fleeting second, he regretted everything. This day was supposed to be his and Summer’s. “Do you, the groom, take this beautiful woman to be your wife?” He hesitated. Serena’s eyes, full of gentle supplication, were fixed on him. Whatever, he thought. Just a bad dream. He parted his lips. The word “I” hadn’t even left his throat. CRASH. The doors to the ballroom burst open. It wasn’t the figure he secretly yearned for. The crowd buzzed, but no one dared stop the commotion. Under the watchful eyes of two uniformed officers, a delivery man handed a small box to Dean. “This is a wedding gift from Ms. Summer Weston.” Serena looked panicked, urging him to open it after the ceremony. But the dread in Dean’s heart had finally found its anchor. He trembled as he lifted the lid. Inside were two items. An ultrasound image of a five-week-old fetus. And a medical diagnostic report bearing Serena Meyer’s name, which read: [Diagnosis: Patient exhibits no symptoms of androgen-related phobia or aversion to the male hormone.]

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“$568.20.” The server handed me the leather folio, her smile tight, practiced, and entirely professional. I stared at the empty seat across from me. Five minutes ago, Preston had excused himself to use the restroom. “Excuse me,” I said, my voice steady. “But the gentleman…” “He’s gone, ma’am.” The server’s eyes shifted away, unable to hold my gaze. “Out the back exit.” I looked down at the itemized receipt. The Seafood Tower. The Dry-Aged Porterhouse. The bottle of Silver Oak Cabernet. All his choices. My phone buzzed against the white tablecloth. A text from Preston: [Thanks for the treat. It’s good for a woman to learn how to be generous for a change.] I let out a short, dry laugh. “Check, please.” The server blinked, confused. “Ma’am, this is the…” “I know,” I said, lifting my head to look her in the eye. “Run the card. But I need an itemized invoice. Make sure the recipient is listed as ‘Individual’ and the memo line reads: ‘Evidence for Fraud Investigation.’” 1 My name is Sloane, and I’m twenty-eight. I work as an in-house paralegal for a mid-sized tech firm in the city. I make decent money, have about fifteen grand in savings, and I haven’t been on a serious date in three years. This setup was my mother’s doing. “Preston is thirty-five, an investment banker, owns a condo in the Loop—he is a catch, Sloane!” My mother had chirped over the phone, sounding like she’d just won the Powerball. “He even asked for your photo and said you had ‘kind eyes.’” I didn’t take it too seriously. I’ve been on the dating apps long enough to see the carnival of horrors. I’ve had guys ask within the first five minutes if I’d sign a prenup waiving all rights to my own 401k. I’ve had men who wanted to know if I was okay with their mother living in the spare bedroom before we’d even ordered appetizers. So, when Preston suggested a high-end steakhouse, I actually thought it was a green flag. At least it wasn’t a dive bar or his car. I’d left work early that day, changed into a silk slip dress, and even put on the expensive perfume I save for holidays. When I arrived, he was already seated. Tailored navy suit, hair gelled back with military precision, a smile that showed exactly the right amount of teeth. He was the picture of corporate success. “Sloane, right? You look even better than your pictures.” The opener was a bit slick, grease on a polished surface, but I let it slide. “Preston?” “Sit, sit.” He pulled out my chair with performative chivalry. I sat. He pushed the heavy leather-bound menu toward me. “Order whatever you want. I’m easy.” I scanned the menu, my eyes automatically drifting to the mid-range entrees. “Maybe the roasted chicken, and a wedge salad—” “Hey, come on. First time meeting, let’s not be cheap.” He raised a hand, snapping his fingers for the waiter. “Hi, yeah. Do you have the Jumbo Seafood Tower? Let’s get one of those. And the Japanese A5 Wagyu ribeye? Make it two. Oh, and open a bottle of the ’98 Cab.” I froze. “Preston, we really don’t need all that.” “It’s fine, it’s fine. We rarely get to treat ourselves.” He grinned, expansive and confident. “My treat. Relax.” My stomach gave a small, warning lurch. But the order was in. I didn’t want to make a scene. As we ate, he was charming. Aggressively charming. He asked about my job, my family, my five-year plan. “Your parents retired? What’s their social security look like?” The question was sharp, invasive. “Enough to get by.” “That’s good. You help them out?” He nodded sagely. “I send my mom a few grand a month. A man provides, right?” I didn’t answer. He pressed on. “What kind of savings are you sitting on?” “…I don’t think that’s appropriate to discuss.” “No worries, no worries, just curious.” He waved a hand dismissively. “I’ve got about half a million liquid, not counting the equity in the condo.” I thought, Well, if he’s sharing, maybe I’m being too guarded. “About fifteen thousand.” “Nice. Good start for a dowry.” My expression hardened. He caught it instantly. “Kidding! I’m kidding. A woman as independent as you? Who needs a dowry?” I stayed silent. The food arrived. The lobster was fresh, the Wagyu melted on the tongue, the wine was velvet. But as I ate, the knot in my stomach tightened. He was mining me for data. Income, savings, family assets, real estate ambitions. Whenever I asked about him, he deflected with a joke or a vague platitude. Halfway through the meal, he stood up. “Pardon me. Just need to hit the men’s room.” I nodded. Five minutes passed. Then ten. The unease bloomed into cold dread. I texted him. No reply. I called. Straight to voicemail. I flagged down the server. “Excuse me, the gentleman…” The server’s eyes did that tell-tale dart to the side. “He’s gone. Out the back.” I felt the blood rush to my head, a hot wave of humiliation. “Check, please.” The server handed it over. $568.20. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I asked for the itemized invoice. “Memo line: Evidence for Fraud Investigation.” The server paused, stunned. I opened my phone. Screenshot the texts. Screenshot the call log. Photographed the devastation of the half-eaten seafood tower. Then I sent a text to my mother: [The matchmaker. What’s her name? What’s her number?] 2 My mother was still in the dark. [What’s wrong? Did you two not click?] [Name. Number.] She sent a screenshot of a digital business card. Patty Gold. Elite Relationship Consultant. I saved it. No explanation given. The next morning, I took a half-day off work. First stop: The bank. I printed the transaction record—I’d put the meal on my Chase Sapphire, so the timestamp was precise. Second stop: The restaurant. “Hi. I need to review the transaction details from last night.” The hostess looked nervous. She pulled up the system. “These items—the Wagyu, the wine—the gentleman ordered these?” “Yes, ma’am. He stated he was hosting and asked for our specials.” I recorded the conversation on my phone. “Does he come here often?” The hostess hesitated. “…I’m not really supposed to say.” I nodded. Often. “Do you have security cameras?” “We do, but to access footage you’d need—” “I work in legal.” I flashed my ID badge. It wasn’t a badge, strictly speaking, just a corporate lanyard, but I moved with enough authority that it didn’t matter. “I am currently compiling evidence. If you cooperate, I will note that the restaurant was an unwitting party. If you don’t…” I let the silence hang heavy. “Then I have to wonder if the establishment is an accessory to fraud.” The hostess went pale. “Let me get the manager.” Ten minutes later, I had the file on a USB drive. Preston walking in, ordering like a king, eating, checking his watch, and slipping out the back fire exit. Clear as day. I uploaded it to the cloud and moved to step three. Patty Gold. Her “consultancy” was located in a converted garden apartment in a faded brick building in Queens. A plastic sign on the door read Gold Standard Matchmaking. I knocked. “Coming, coming!” The door swung open to reveal a woman in her late fifties with hair dyed a violent shade of auburn and lipstick that bled into the cracks around her mouth. “Oh, hello! You must be Sloane! Your mother wouldn’t stop raving about you. Pretty as a picture!” “Patty.” I didn’t smile. “Preston. You set us up.” “Yes! A total catch, isn’t he? How did it go? Sparks flying?” “He ran out on the check last night.” Patty froze for a beat, then forced a high-pitched laugh. “Oh, honey, young people these days. First dates can be awkward—” “He stuck me with a six-hundred-dollar tab.” Her smile calcified. But only for a second. “Surely it’s a misunderstanding! I’ve known Preston for years. He’s not that kind of man. Let me just give him a call—” “Don’t bother,” I cut her off. “I’m here for his file.” “Excuse me?” “Full legal name. Current address. Employer. You’re a legitimate business, you have records, right?” Patty’s eyes started darting around the room. “Well… we have strict privacy policies. I can’t just hand out client data.” “Fine.” I stood up. “I’m going to the precinct. I’ll let the police subpoena the records.” “Wait, wait, wait!” She grabbed my arm. “Let’s not be dramatic. It’s a few hundred bucks, right? I’ll cover it!” I stared at her hand on my sleeve until she let go. “You’ll cover it?” “Yes, absolutely. I’ve known him a long time, he probably just… forgot his wallet…” “What is your relationship with him?” “No relationship! Just… a loyal client.” “Loyal client?” I let out a cold laugh. “How many dates has he been on?” Patty’s face drained of color. Her mouth opened and closed. I pulled out my phone and hit record. “Patty, listen carefully. I deal with contracts and liability for a living. If you lie to me, I will make it my personal mission to dismantle this little operation. Talk.” She looked at the phone, sweat beading on her upper lip. “I… I didn’t know he was going to stiff you…” “What did you know?” Silence stretched for ten seconds. Then she crumbled. “He… he asks for introductions. Three or four a month.” “And?” “And he takes them to dinner. Expensive places.” “And leaves them with the bill?” She looked at the floor. I smiled, but there was no humor in it. “How much?” “What?” “What’s your kickback?” “I don’t—” “I have the security footage,” I bluffed, turning the screen toward her. “I can find out how many times you two have met.” Patty slumped against the doorframe. “Two hundred… two hundred a head.” I nodded and stepped back. “Thank you for your cooperation.” “W-what are you going to do?” I didn’t look back. “Get my money back. And put you both somewhere with bars on the windows.” 3 Back in my apartment, I organized the evidence on my dining table. Restaurant receipts. Video files. The recording of Patty. The text messages. The chain was clear: Preston uses the matchmaker to source victims, uses the date as a pretext to gorge on luxury food, flees, and then mocks the women to discourage pursuit. Patty takes a kickback. Willful ignorance at best, conspiracy at worst. It was fraud. But I wasn’t going to the police yet. Six hundred dollars? That’s barely a misdemeanor in this city. The cops would file a report and use it as a coaster. I needed volume. That night, I logged onto a local community forum and Reddit. [Has anyone in the city used “Gold Standard Matchmaking”? Or been set up with a finance guy named Preston who loves expensive wine?] I posted it and went to bed. When I woke up, my notifications were blowing up. [Me! Last month! Stuck me with a $400 tab!] [Omg, yes. Said he had to use the bathroom and never came back.] [I thought I was the only one. I felt so stupid.] [Wait, is he about 5’10, slicked back hair, asks about your savings account?] [YES. The savings question!] I scrolled through the comments, a chill running down my spine. Not three or four. Just in the comments, I counted seventeen women. The earliest was eight months ago. The highest tab was nearly eight hundred dollars. I created a private Signal group and sent out invites. “Ladies, I’m the OP. I work in law. I have an idea, but I need everyone on board.” [What’s the plan?] “Police report.” [Is it worth it? My friends told me to just let it go. The cops won’t care about a dinner bill.] “They won’t care about one bill. But seventeen?” The chat went silent. Then, a message popped up: [Count me in.] [Me too.] [Let’s get him.] I typed quickly. “Okay. Organize your evidence. Bank statements, screenshots, texts. Anything you have. I’ll draft the master affidavit.” [Sloane, you are a godsend.] “I’m not a godsend,” I typed. “I’m just pissed off.” That evening, my mother called. “Sloane, honey, how is it going with Preston? Did you exchange numbers?” “We did.” “And? Are you seeing him again?” “No.” “Why not? He’s so established—” “Mom.” I cut her off. “He’s a con artist.” Dead silence on the line. “What do you mean?” I told her everything. The bill. The escape. The other women. My mother was quiet for a long time. Then she said something that surprised me. “I’m going to kill Patty Gold.” “Mom—” “I paid her three hundred dollars for that introduction!” My mother’s voice trembled with rage. “She guaranteed a background check! Guaranteed! She scammed my daughter’s money and my money?” Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Patty wasn’t just taking kickbacks from Preston. She was charging the mothers a finder’s fee. Double dipping. “Mom, don’t go over there.” “Why not?” “Because I have a better idea.” 4 By day three, the Signal group had grown to twenty-three women. Some took off work. Some brought friends who were lawyers. We met in the back room of a quiet coffee shop. “I’m Sloane.” I stood at the head of the table. “Here’s where we stand.” I opened my laptop. Yes, I had made a PowerPoint. “Subject: Preston Reed. Real age 37, claims 35. Claims to be a banker, actually unemployed. Over the last eight months, he has utilized ‘Gold Standard Matchmaking’ to exploit at least 23 women.” “Modus Operandi is identical: High-end dining, excessive ordering, mid-meal exit via rear egress.” “Individual losses range from $300 to $800. The current total verified loss is…” I paused for effect. “$12,450.” Gasps rippled through the room. “Twelve thousand dollars?” “He ate twelve grand worth of steak?” I nodded. “It gets worse. Patty Gold takes a $200 kickback from him per date, plus she charges your families an intro fee. Based on our numbers, she has defrauded our families of at least another $7,000.” “Combined, Preston and Patty are looking at a fraud scheme totaling over twenty thousand dollars.” Someone slammed a hand on the table. “Police! Now!” “We will,” I said. “But first, I want to do one thing.” “What?” “Make him ready for his close-up.” I laid out the plan. Patty was still in business. She didn’t know we were organized. My friend Harper is two years younger than me, gorgeous, and—more importantly—an investigative reporter for a local news station. “We send Harper in. Wired.” “Will he recognize her?” someone asked. “No. He preys on women he thinks won’t fight back. He doesn’t watch the news. And greedy men get sloppy.” “What about Patty?” “As long as the check clears,” I said coldly, “Patty won’t ask questions.” That afternoon, I called Patty from a burner number. “Hi, Patty. My friend is looking for a match. I heard you’re the best.” She hesitated. “You sound familiar.” “I get that a lot. I have a generic voice.” “Right. Well, send her over. The fee is—” “Three hundred. I know. She’ll be there tomorrow.” I hung up and texted Harper. [Tomorrow, 3 PM. Gold Standard Matchmaking.] [Copy. Hidden cam is ready.] [Remember: You are Harper, 28, Marketing Exec, $20k in savings.] [Why mention the savings?] [He’ll ask.] [Seriously? On a first date?] [Just wait.] The next day. Harper went in. That night, she sent me the footage. Patty’s spiel was identical. I fast-forwarded through it. The gold was the dinner. The video was grainy, shot from a button-cam, but the audio was crystal clear. Preston sat there, suit immaculate, grinning like a shark. “Harper, right? The photo didn’t do you justice.” Word for word. Then the interrogation: Job, income, family assets. Harper played it perfectly. Shy, compliant. “Twenty thousand in savings? Smart girl. That’s a nice little nest egg.” He said it while scanning the wine list. He ordered. The Tower. The Wagyu. The expensive vintage. Identical. Halfway through the meal, he stood up. “Pardon me. Just need to use the little boys’ room.” Harper looked up at him, eyes wide. He smiled, turned, and walked toward the restrooms. But the camera angle caught him veering left. Down the service corridor. Pushing open the emergency exit. And— poof. Gone. Harper’s voice came over the video, a soft chuckle. “Gotcha.” I typed back: [Beautiful work. Let’s make him famous.]

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My stepmother hated me to the bone. All because when I was a child, I went to a classmate’s house to play and forgot to close the front gate. Her son ran out into the street and was hit by a car. He died instantly. My father, who adored my little brother above all else, was heartbroken. When he learned the “truth,” he looked at me with grief and rage. “Did you do it on purpose? Were you jealous of your brother, so you left the gate open?” I desperately explained that I had closed it. But my father didn’t believe me. He locked me in the basement and raised me like a dog for the rest of my miserable life. Until one day, my father went on a business trip. My stepmother hadn’t fed me for three days. Starving, I crawled upstairs to the kitchen to find scraps. But there was my stepmother, sitting on a strange man’s lap in the kitchen, giggling. “If that little brat hadn’t left the gate open back then, I wouldn’t have to live in fear of my husband finding out we killed his precious son.” I froze. It turned out that years ago, my stepmother’s lover had come over for a tryst. He was the one who forgot to close the gate, letting my brother wander out. Just as I tried to sneak back to the basement, my stepmother spotted me. “What did you hear? No! I can’t let your father find out I killed my own son!” In a panic, she grabbed me and threw me down the stairs. I died on impact. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my brother was hit by a car. I blinked my innocent, doe-like eyes and pointed a chubby finger upstairs, my voice sweet and childish. “Daddy, I closed the gate! It was the uncle in Mommy’s bedroom who didn’t close it!” Chapter 1 “Lily, did you see an uncle leave the gate open with your own eyes?!” My father stood outside the courtyard gate, his eyes bloodshot, staring at me intently. I sneered internally. Look at how much he loves his son. In my last life, I explained over and over that I closed the gate. But he only listened to my stepmother’s pillow talk, convinced I murdered his only son out of jealousy. My mother died giving birth to me. Before her funeral was even over, he brought my pregnant stepmother home. This woman secured her position as the lady of the house with a premature baby boy. Because of the difficult birth, she couldn’t have any more children. So, my brother became my father’s lifeline. After my brother died, he treated me like a dog to appease his impotent rage and guilt towards his wife. I ate dog food, slept in a cage, and learned to bark. This time, I won’t be so stupid. I will use his suspicion as a man, and his love as a father, to trample that adulterous couple into the mud. So, the first thing I did after being reborn was to rush home to catch my stepmother in the act. But I didn’t expect to see my brother standing in the middle of the road as soon as I turned the corner. My father was watching from a distance, eyes wide with horror. To make a good impression, I pulled my brother back. Instead of dying on the spot like in my past life, his legs were crushed. He was crippled, but alive. “Honey!” My stepmother’s shrill scream cut through my thoughts. Snot and tears running down her face, she threw herself at my father, clutching his arm. “Don’t listen to this little wretch! Her mom died early, and she’s hated us ever since! She opened the gate on purpose! She wanted to kill Benny!” Before my father could react, I ran over on my short legs and hugged his thigh. I looked up with a dirty face and the most innocent, pure eyes I could muster. “Daddy, I didn’t!” I wailed, my voice full of childish grievance. “I want Mommy to love me too, but she doesn’t. I thought if I was good to Benny, you guys would like me…” As I spoke, I squeezed out a few big tears and pointed a small finger at my brother, who was wailing in pain on the ground nearby. “I give Benny my milk every day, and I let him play with my favorite teddy bear… Just now, if I hadn’t pulled him back, he would have flown into the sky and never played with me again. Teacher says we should protect the little ones. I did it, Daddy. I’m a good girl. Please believe me.” Because I had been pretending to be good to my brother to please my father, I lied without blinking. I hugged my father’s leg tightly, using all the strength of a child to depend on him, and then dropped my bait. “If you don’t believe me, Daddy, go upstairs and find that uncle! He must still be there!” Chapter 2 Hearing my words, my father’s face turned darker than a thundercloud. He reached down and pinched my cheek. “Daddy believes you.” With that, he turned and charged upstairs. He looked less like he was going to catch a cheater and more like he was going to commit murder. My stepmother’s face went pale. She tried to grab him but missed, stomping her foot and screaming, “Honey! The most important thing right now is getting our son to the hospital!” But for a man like my father, nothing mattered more than his pride. A green hat was heavier than his son’s legs. He stormed upstairs without looking back. Of course, the room was empty. The man had already slipped away. But the lingering scent of unfamiliar men’s cologne was thick in the air, impossible to miss. My stepmother was a pro. Tears flowed instantly as she pulled a beautifully wrapped bottle of men’s cologne from her bag. “Honey, I bought this as a surprise for you…” A ghost wouldn’t believe that excuse. But my father had no proof. The ambulance wailed as it arrived and took my brother away. Before getting in, my father stared at my stepmother, his voice squeezing through gritted teeth. “If I find out my son lost his legs because of some wild man, I’ll kill his entire family!” I was anxious but helpless. I knew my stepmother was cunning and prepared. I couldn’t defeat her immediately. I had to wait for another chance. In the hospital, my brother cried from the pain. I immediately threw myself by the bed, holding his small hand, sobbing. “Don’t cry, Benny. Sissy is here.” My brother was probably in shock, or maybe my fake kindness had worked. He instinctively shrank into my arms. “Sissy saved me.” My father stood by, praising me for being “sensible.” But seeing my brother’s casted legs, he sighed again. “At least he’s alive.” Since there was no evidence of who opened the gate, my father could only stare suspiciously at my stepmother. She played the role of the obedient wife to perfection, insisting the gate was old and the latch was loose. The matter passed, unresolved. Back home, my stepmother treated me incredibly well. She cooked my favorite sweet and sour ribs, bought me new dresses, and tucked me in at night. Her gentleness made it seem like I was her biological daughter. My father saw this, and his suspicion faded. He probably thought that even if there was something, a woman would settle down for the sake of her child and family. But I knew the truth. The nicer she acted, the guiltier she was. She was desperate to wash herself clean and dump the dirty water back on my head. I was waiting, too. Waiting for her to show her fox tail. I guarded against everything, calculated everything, but I still underestimated her viciousness. One weekend, she sent me to my room early to do homework, while she took my sleeping brother in his wheelchair to the second-floor balcony for some sun. I lifted my head from my workbook, a bad feeling growing in my gut. Sure enough. The moment my father opened the front door, a loud crash and my stepmother’s piercing scream echoed from the stairs. “Ah—Lily! How could you push your brother?!” My father froze in the doorway, looking up to see me standing on the second-floor landing, while my brother and his wheelchair lay overturned at the bottom of the stairs. Chapter 3 I clenched my hands. Calm down. I must stay calm. “Daddy, I didn’t push Benny. I was writing homework in my room. Mommy was watching him on the balcony.” My voice trembled just right, sounding like a terrified child. My father held my unconscious brother, his bloodshot eyes fixed on me like a beast about to lose control. My stepmother immediately interjected. “I clearly told Lily to watch Benny upstairs while I went to borrow some green onions from Mrs. Jones next door! Mrs. Jones can testify!” I sneered internally. The golden cicada sheds its shell. She timed it perfectly with my father’s return and went to establish an alibi. Sure enough, Mrs. Jones, who was always close with my stepmother, squeezed out of the gathering crowd. With a righteous face, she chimed in, “It’s true, Dave! Sarah just came to get onions from me. She said she was making your favorite braised fish! I saw her walk in the gate myself!” She pointed a finger at me, shaking her head. “But your daughter… when we came over, we saw her standing on the second floor, looking down coldly. Not a reaction at all! Hey, Lily, how can a child be so cruel? Did you open the gate on purpose last time too?” A stone tossed into a pond creates a thousand ripples. The neighbors started whispering. “Yeah, that kid never looked right.” “So young and so jealous. What will she be like when she grows up?” Seeing this, my stepmother covered her face and sobbed, leaning weakly against my father. “Honey, don’t blame Lily. Maybe the gate was an accident last time, maybe this wasn’t on purpose either…” Her retreat was an advance, cementing my guilt. My father’s eyes went completely cold. He saw it. He saw his wife rush in anxiously from outside, while I stood like a cold spectator on the second floor. Seeing is believing. “Last time, I saw you pull him back, so I believed you.” My father’s voice was terrifyingly raspy. “Now, I see you push him down! What else do you have to say?!” The trust in his eyes collapsed, replaced by a thick loathing. “You don’t even look scared. Lily, was saving him last time just an act?” Tears streamed down my face. I screamed, “It wasn’t me! It was the uncle Mommy brought home! The same uncle from last time! That’s why Mommy had time to go to Mrs. Jones’s house!” “Daddy, don’t you believe me?” I cried and yelled with all my strength, “Call the police! We have to call the police! The officer on TV said if there’s trouble, find the police! Check the wheelchair for fingerprints! It will prove I’m innocent!” Seeing my father’s grip on my stepmother loosen slightly, I knew my words hit home. I choked back sobs, staring straight at my unconscious brother in his arms. “Daddy, if there really is a bad man hiding in our house who wants to hurt Benny, what will happen to Benny next time?” That sentence was a needle, piercing my father’s softest spot. My stepmother’s face turned deathly pale. She bit her lip hard, then, as if making a huge decision, looked up at my father with teary eyes. “That sentence should be mine! Our family of three was happy. If it wasn’t for you, this disaster, we would have peace!” She wept, every word seemingly squeezed from her gut. “Husband, I gave up everything to follow you, I gave you a son. How could I harm my own flesh and blood? I cook for you every day, I keep this house perfect. Have you forgotten all of that?” “I don’t care if you misunderstand me, but I’m afraid for you! I’m afraid you’re being blinded by this ungrateful wolf you raised, and you’ll regret it!” Chapter 4 My stepmother’s speech was full of emotion, the grievance of a wrongly accused wife. My father wavered. He remembered how she had been submissive all these years, managing the house and obeying him. A woman who gave up everything for him and bore his only son—how could she harm her own child? Seeing him soften, my stepmother struck while the iron was hot. She put on a look of utter heartbreak. “Husband, investigate if you want! But if you find nothing like last time, you break my heart and destroy our trust! If that happens, I’m taking my son and leaving. We’re getting a divorce!” The word “divorce” slammed into my father’s heart like two mountains. He believed her. He felt she was truly hurt by my viciousness. Mrs. Jones chimed in again. “Sarah, don’t say such things! We all see how much you do for this family. I say this girl is just jealous of her brother. Rotten to the core!” “Exactly! Comfort your wife, Dave. Good women are hard to find. If she leaves, you’ll regret it!” The neighbors’ chatter was the final straw that broke my father’s reason. He turned around, eyes spitting fire, glaring at me. “You won’t be satisfied until you destroy this house, will you? All that schooling went to the dogs!” Before he finished speaking, he marched to the toolbox in the corner and pulled out a heavy black whip. It was used to train the German Shepherd we used to have. It was covered in tiny barbs, old dried blood giving it a rusty, metallic smell. “Since school can’t teach you, I’ll teach you how to be a human being right here!” Snap! The whip lashed across my back. The neighbors offered fake advice like “don’t go too far,” but I could hear the satisfaction in their voices. “Good! Disobedient kids need a beating!” My stepmother held my brother, a smug smile on her lips, looking at me like a lamb to the slaughter. “Daddy, really, it wasn’t me! Check the fingerprints…” I gritted my teeth as the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. But my father was deaf to it. With a flick of his wrist, the barbs dug into my flesh and ripped out. Tearing pain. I hated them! I shook with hatred! Why? Reborn, planning every step, why can’t I escape this fate! Just as I closed my eyes in despair, thinking I was doomed to repeat the past, my father raised the whip for a second strike, aiming for my face! I was finished. In that split second, my unconscious brother in my stepmother’s arms moved and let out a weak moan. “Don’t… don’t hit Sissy…” Everyone froze. My brother struggled to open his eyes. With all his strength, he spoke in a milky voice: “It was an uncle… an uncle who smelled like perfume pushed me!”

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1 To raise the astronomical sum for my son’s cancer treatment, I flew into a war zone. I went to the Middle East alone, risking my life to sign a hundred-million-dollar deal for my company. But the day I returned, I got a call from the hospital. My husband had stopped our son’s treatment. And the money, our son’s lifeline, he’d given all of it to his female secretary as a “bonus.” I couldn’t understand how Mikkal could just halt Leo’s chemotherapy. I stormed into the hospital room to find Mikkal sitting by the bed. Leo was lying there, his face as pale as a sheet of paper, so fragile he looked like he might shatter. “Mikkal, how could you do this!” Mikkal stood up, avoiding my eyes, his voice devoid of any warmth. “This disease of Leo’s… it’s a drain on money and energy. Each round of chemo costs hundreds of thousands, with no guarantee it will even work.” “The company is just starting to get back on its feet. We can’t let this drag it down.” A woman, Isla, was pressed against Mikkal’s side, one hand resting lightly on his arm. Her voice was as soft as water, but every word was a dagger. “Mikkal is just thinking long-term, Ava.” “There’s no point wasting time and money on a child with no hope.” I stared at Mikkal in disbelief, waiting for him to deny it, to say anything. But he was silent. He didn’t refute a single word. After a few seconds, he finally looked up, his tone so firm it sent a chill down my spine. “Isla understands the bigger picture better than you do. She’s a better partner for me.” “If you really can’t let go of Leo, then you can stay here and take care of him. Don’t worry about the company. I’ll send you money for living expenses every month.” “Don’t worry about it?” I repeated his words, the absurdity of it all hitting me like a physical blow. Why did he think I’d risked my life in a war-torn country? So he could take the credit I earned with my blood and sweat and use it to impress his new flame? So he could take my son’s life-saving money and hand it out as a bonus to another woman? I forced myself to stay calm, taking a step toward him. “When you say there’s no hope for Leo, is it because you truly believe he can’t be saved, or because you’ve already planned to cast us aside?” His pupils contracted, and he looked away again. “That’s not what I meant. The company is just in a difficult spot right now.” I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “The advance on that hundred-million-dollar deal is already in the bank! You’re telling me you can’t afford a few hundred thousand for his chemo?” Leo must have woken up. He opened his weak eyes and looked at us, scared. My heart instantly softened, and the pain became almost unbearable. I went to his bedside and gently took his small, cold hand. “Daddy, I want to get better…” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I want to live… I want to be with you and Mommy…” Mikkal’s face tightened, but his heart remained hard as stone. “The doctors said there’s no hope!” “Leo, sweetie, I know you’re in pain,” Isla cooed from the side, her sympathy utterly fake. “But Mikkal is just doing what’s best for you, for the family.” “Shut up!” I shoved her away. “This has nothing to do with you!” Isla stumbled back, shrinking behind Mikkal as her eyes instantly welled with tears. “Ava, I was just trying to help share your burden…” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Share my burden? Or share my husband and my son’s life-saving money?” Seeing Isla so “wronged,” Mikkal’s face darkened completely. “Ava, you’re becoming more and more unreasonable!” The tears finally fell. “We’ve been married for twelve years. I was with you when you had nothing. And this is how you treat me? Leo is your own son!” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, they were filled with nothing but ice. “I’ve said what I needed to say. If you want to take care of Leo, stay. If not, leave. I won’t force you. But stay out of the company’s business.” 2 News of the company’s celebration gala spread through the industry while I was in the hospital, giving Leo a sponge bath. They said Isla had become the new hero of Vance Corp, the woman of the hour. A few days later, a former colleague sent me a photo. Isla, sitting in my executive chair, her picture frame on my desk. All of my personal belongings had been tossed into a storage closet in the corner. The message read: “Ava, Isla has completely taken over your responsibilities. She said you should just focus on taking care of your son.” I stared at the photo of the office, so familiar yet now so jarringly foreign. All those late nights I’d spent working there, erased as if they’d never happened. But I didn’t have the energy to fight. Leo’s condition was unstable. He was in and out of critical care. One night, the light in the ICU stayed on all night as the doctor issued another critical condition notice. I sat outside the door, sleepless. Just as dawn broke, Isla arrived. She was wearing a champagne-colored evening gown, the hem trailing on the floor, her makeup flawless. It was the same one Mikkal had custom-made for me years ago, after we landed our first ten-million-dollar contract. He’d said he wanted me to always be his leading lady. Now, it was on Isla’s body, a dazzling, painful taunt. “Ava, Mikkal sent me to give you an update.” She sauntered over, her tone light and dismissive. “The company has decided to put me in charge of the energy project moving forward. I’ve already taken over all of your client contacts.” Just then, the ICU doors opened. Leo had just been pulled back from the brink of death. He was pale and so weak he could barely open his eyes. The moment he saw Isla, he flinched as if terrified, his small hand struggling to clutch the hem of my shirt. Isla, however, leaned down, reaching out as if to stroke his head. “Don’t be scared, little one. I don’t mean any harm.” I slapped her hand away. “Get out! You’re not welcome here!” Isla retracted her hand, the smile fading from her face. “Ava, don’t be so emotional. I’m just here to pass on Mikkal’s message.” “Besides, Leo’s illness… even if you keep treating it, there’s no guarantee of a good outcome. It might be better to just let go.” “Shut your mouth!” Isla just shrugged and said no more. As she turned to leave, her dress swept across the floor, leaving behind a cloying, suffocating cloud of perfume. I thought that was the worst they could do. I was wrong. Mikkal and Isla had a far more vicious plan in store. A few days later, I was served with a court summons. 3 Mikkal had conspired with Isla to forge evidence, accusing me of accepting bribes during my negotiations abroad. They weren’t just seeking legal action; they were trying to strip me of my visitation rights for Leo. The evidence was faked transaction records and so-called witness testimonies, all of it fabricated. I took the summons and went straight to the condo Mikkal had bought for Isla. When I pushed open the door, Isla was lounging on the sofa watching TV. Mikkal sat beside her, a glass of red wine in his hand. The decor was a mirror image of our old home. Even the paintings on the wall were the same. But that familiar comfort now felt like a nauseating betrayal. “Mikkal, why are you doing this to me?” He set down his wine, looking up at me as if I were a complete stranger. “I’m relaxed with Isla. She can give me the life I want.” He paused, his gaze softening as it fell on Isla’s stomach. “Including… a healthy child.” Isla nestled into his embrace, looking at me with triumph in her eyes. My heart sank into a frozen abyss. I couldn’t breathe. I stared at him, my voice hoarse. “You know that evidence is forged.” “So what if it is?” Mikkal said dismissively. “The court only looks at evidence. Who’s going to believe someone accused of bribery?” I was shaking with rage, but I couldn’t find the words to respond. This wasn’t the man who had once treated me with such tenderness. The man before me now saw only profit and his new love. Back at the hospital, Leo’s temperature spiked. He started convulsing. The doctors rushed in with a crash cart. “Mrs. Vance, your son’s condition has suddenly worsened. He needs a bone marrow transplant immediately!” the doctor told me urgently. “The surgery will cost a million dollars. You need to get the funds as soon as possible.” A million dollars. Right now, it felt like an insurmountable mountain. Left with no choice, my hands trembling, I dialed Mikkal’s number again. It rang for a long time before he finally answered. The background was noisy; I could faintly hear the thumping music of a bar and Isla’s laughter. “Mikkal, Leo is in critical condition! He needs a bone marrow transplant, it’s a million dollars!” I pleaded, my voice breaking. “Please, save him. He’s your son, too!” I sobbed, praying for a shred of compassion. But his voice came back, cold and distant. “I’m out with Isla. She just closed a huge deal for the company, and I’m not about to ruin her night. I’m not paying for Leo’s surgery. Give it up.”

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