Category: English

We found them deep in the Sacred Grove,hidden among the laurels. A fierce Alpha scent choked the air.Mingling with the sweet,cloying scent of my sister’s Omega heat. Her clothes were falling off as she clung desperately to him.To the man who,in a past life,had been my mate. I once stood by him,watching him rise from an exiled Bloodrage rogue to the heir of North America’s supreme Silver Moon Syndicate. Heh…she had timed her heat perfectly. She flashed an incredibly smug smile. “Selena,such a powerful Alpha…in this life,I will be the one crowned as his Luna.” “Have fun rotting away in some human college.” I took a step forward.He shoved me back. He pulled her behind him,and his icy wolf eyes locked onto mine.”Who said you could touch her?Get out.” I swallowed every feeling that clawed up my throat. That night,I took my Ivy League letter and left my homeland behind. Ready to start over. …… Bella stood in the center of the Sacred Grove,her fur vest torn to shreds. A wild,victorious grin stretched across her face. She looked like a she-wolf who just sank her teeth into the ultimate prize. “Dad!Mom!” She shouted,her voice dripping with triumph. “I want him!I want him to mark me right now.He’s my mate!” Her manic joy should have stung.It didn’t. My mind drifted back to my past life.I could still see the madness in her eyes just before she died. Faking a friendly visit,she broke into the estate Kane and I shared. But in her hand was a silver dagger coated with wolfsbane. She lunged at me like a madwoman. My loyal Beta pinned her to the floor before she could even get close. She thrashed around,screaming. “Selena,I saw them drug you!I saw them drag you into the woods!” “I let it happen.I wanted your reputation trashed!” “It was the only way Dad would give me that Ivy League spot!” “But those rich Alpha heirs treated me like a plaything!They ruined my life!” “I lost everything!You married a Bloodrage rogue!Why do you get to have it all?It isn’t fair!” “If I got one chance,you’d be the one tossed to the human world to suffer!” As the guards moved to drag her away,she shoved them back.She vaulted over the balcony edge,plummeting to her death.

And now,in this new life. She moved faster than I could.Drugging Kane with a heat-inducing herb,she forced herself on him. Kane’s eyes were still glazed over from the drug. But the moment she demanded to be his mate,his ears turned red. He stared down at her.His voice clumsy but serious. “I’ll take responsibility for this.I’ll spend my life protecting you.” The exact same vow he made to me in my past life. But my parents exploded first. They turned and slapped me across the face. My cheek burned. “You’re supposed to be the older sister!” “If you watched her,she wouldn’t have snuck into the woods!Now some rogue has defiled her!” “You ruined her life.You’re a curse from the Moon Goddess.” They tried to drag Bella away,refusing to bless the mate bond. The pack only knew a daughter of our family got into trouble.They planned to make me take the fall. Even though the timeline had changed,when it all came down to it,I was still the sacrificial lamb. My heart went cold.

Bella leaned in,whispering Kane’s true identity to them. My parents’faces shifted.They eyed Kane up and down,then nodded. “If what you said is true,then this bond…should be made.” “If it turns out to be a lie,come back.Your sister can take your place.” Fearing I would steal him away,Bella demanded the mating ceremony take place that night. And to top it off,she forced me to help prepare the celebration. The pack talked behind her back,calling her shameless. Nobody set foot inside the venue.They stood outside,tossing out nasty insults. Bella’s eyes turned red with rage.She pointed at them and screamed. “Wait till my Alpha reclaims his throne!You pathetic losers will crawl to me like dogs!” The pack roared with laughter. Mom took her anger out on me,pinching my arm viciously. “They’re humiliating your sister!Are you just going to stand there?” She hurried inside to comfort Bella. Dad flipped the table.A wooden bowl of ritual wine splashed all over my dress. “Clean it up now,or I’ll punish you myself.” Nursing my bruised arm,I stood frozen.Numb inside. A red wildflower was pinned to Kane’s chest.He walked in with a satisfied smile,only to catch the whole scene.

Without pausing,he marched directly toward me. My chest tightened. Fifty years of past-life memories flooded my brain. I remembered how he used to shield me when my parents beat me.When the pack pushed me away. My throat closed up.I wanted to scream his name. But his voice cut like ice. “Watch yourself.Don’t ever try to hurt your sister again.” I froze,staring at him in shock. He stepped into my space,backing me against the wall. His dominant Alpha aura crushed me. He grabbed my chin,his words laced with venom. “Bella told me how you treat her.You love bullying her.” “You lured her into the Sacred Grove.She stumbled upon me while I was drugged.Now her innocence is gone and that is on you!” “Then you brought some pack members here just to destroy her reputation!” “How could you be this cruel?” A boulder slammed into my chest.I bit down on my lip. “I brought them to save you…” He scoffed,cutting me off.He looked at me like I was a stranger and a threat. “Enough.Save your fake tears and lies.” “Pray you never fall into my hands again,Selena.I’ll make you pay for this ten times over.” The last spark of warmth in my heart flickered and died.

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“Elara, I carved your Ascension Vow into a Mortal Bind.” Lila’s voice dripped with smugness through our mind-link. A lowblood from a fringe clan. Right now, she was laughing like a gambler who just hit the jackpot. Before I could even speak, my fiancé, Kaelen, cut in, already lecturing me. “Lila never touched the Sacred Stone before. She made a tiny mistake. Aren’t you supposed to be the bigger person?” His voice echoed right next to hers. Clearly, they were together, teaming up to screw me over. He snapped the link shut. A cold chill washed over me. Only one minute left on the countdown. Forcing the link back open, all I heard was an annoyed sigh. “Elara, what’s the big deal?! She was just terrified of you leaving us!” “With all your Golden Dragon resources, just hibernate and wait a century for the next cycle!” The countdown hit zero. The array was sealed, locking the Mortal Bind forever. I snapped back to reality and cracked a quiet smile. Kaelen forgot one little thing. Before his Arena Duel this morning, he handed his Blood Sigil to me! So that contract carved into the Sacred Stone right now? Whose blood is it actually binding? I couldn’t wait to find out. I wonder if he’ll still be the ‘bigger person’ the day he realizes he’s trapped in the mortal realm forever. … Half an hour later, Lila posted a tearful apology on the clan forum. “Elara, I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to. I guess my lowblood spiritual energy was just too weak.” She claimed it was her first time touching the Sacred Stone. The energy was overwhelming. She panicked, accidentally overwriting my Dragon Sanctuary Ascension into a Mortal Bind. —the kind of curse that binds you to a human, burning out your dragon core until you turn to ash. She attached a selfie at the end. Half-dragon form, eyes rimmed red. Playing the victim to perfection. “My clan can’t even afford a single Dragon Crystal.” “I was only trying to help Elara test the inscription array.” “I’ll take whatever makes her feel better… even if that means the Council.” “Guess us lowbloods were just born unworthy of pureblood magic.”

The second those messages dropped, the clan forum blew up. Everyone flooded the comments with sympathy for Lila, tearing into me for overreacting. Before I could even type a reply, Kaelen’s dragon-eye avatar lit up. “Elara, say something!” “Lila already apologized. What, you need her groveling and bleeding out just to satisfy your damn ego?” Lila chimed in almost instantly. “Kaelen, please don’t yell at her. It’s all my fault.” That set Kaelen off. “You’re too damn nice. That’s why entitled purebloods like her think they can walk all over you!” “Elara, hibernating for a century until the next Ascension won’t kill you.” “But Lila is different! Her clan even sold the firestone for her sister’s egg just to get her into this trial! She can’t take this kind of shock!” I stared at the screen. My nails dug into my palms so hard that the edges of my dragon scales flared white. Did it hurt? I couldn’t feel a thing. This was the man I grew up with. The one who had protected me for eighteen cycles. When we were young, an Earth Drake slammed into me and snapped my wing bone. He carried me on his back across two valleys, crying the whole way. Swearing he’d tear apart anyone who ever laid a finger on me. And now, for Lila—a girl he’s known for barely six months—he wiped out everything I’d worked for without a second thought.

People in the forum started stirring the pot. “Come on, Golden Dragon Princess. Cat got your tongue?” Lila dropped another voice note. Her tone was sickeningly sweet. “Please, guys, stop attacking Elara.” “I don’t blame her. Kaelen has been spending a lot of time helping me practice Draconic magic lately. She probably just got the wrong idea…” The forum went silent for two seconds. Then, a flood of popcorn emojis took over the screen. “Ooh—so the Princess is just jealous.” “No wonder she won’t let the whole Ascension Vow thing go.” I opened a private chat with Kaelen. “Are you absolutely sure you want me to just drop this?” He replied right away, acting like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What did you expect? Drag her to the Council and get her banished to the Deadlands? Elara, when did you become so vicious?” I clenched my jaw and typed out one final message— “If you were the one locked into a Mortal Bind today, would you still be so quick to play the bigger person?”

For over ten seconds, the mind-link went dead silent. Then, Kaelen’s arrogant voice cut through. He was convinced I was bluffing. “Let me make this perfectly clear!” “If I were the one locked into a Mortal Bind today, I wouldn’t say a single harsh word to Lila!” “You have no idea how hard she’s had it. Unlike you, Elara, all you care about is your pathetic bloodline!” “It’s about time you learned how to be a real dragon!” The chat exploded. “Lord Kaelen is on another level!” “Now THAT is our future Guardian of the Sanctuary!” I let out a cold laugh. Sick of their mindless ass-kissing, I closed the chat.

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The day my mother was wheeled into the ICU, I knelt before my husband—the Don of the Valenti family—and begged him for the treatment money. He didn’t lift a finger. He said: “Every dollar this family has was bought with blood. I don’t throw money where there’s no return.” “I had Russo send you a list of private lenders. Clean ones. Handle it yourself.” But a moment later, I heard him on the phone with Serena Kovac, a Hollywood actress looking to break into producing. “The five million’s already in your production account.” “Even if the whole thing tanks, it’s on me. Consider it tuition for learning the business.” That was his new pet project. A twenty-four-year-old actress he called a “strategic asset.” I gripped the insurance denial so tight my nails broke skin. Dominic turned around and saw me standing there. No tears. No scene. No more begging. He nodded approvingly: “Good. That’s what I want to see.” “A Valenti woman doesn’t go crawling to someone else every time things get hard.” “You solve your own problems. That’s how this family survives.” I said a quiet “mm.” “You’re right, Dominic. I’ll solve my own problems.” Just make sure you can live with the consequences. He didn’t look at me again. He straightened his cuffs and left. I pulled out my phone and called my attorney. “Prepare the divorce papers. And those files—the ones that could bring the entire Valenti family to the ground? Get those ready too.” …… By the time Dominic came home, it was nearly one in the morning. I sat in the living room of the Long Island estate. In front of me were the hospital bills, the critical condition notice. And the signed divorce agreement. He walked in, saw me, and only frowned. “Why are you still up?” I looked up at him. “My mother is still in the ICU.” He hung his overcoat on the rack and walked to the bar to pour himself a whiskey. “I know.” His tone was as calm as if he were commenting on the weather. “But you’re no good to anyone running on empty. Rest. Deal with it fresh.” I stared at the glass in his hand, and suddenly thought of that afternoon in the hospital corridor. The way I’d looked when I begged him for money. I’d said: “Dominic, thirty thousand dollars. That’s all. Just to keep her alive.” He’d said: “Amber, people have to learn to accept what they can’t control.” I thought I was already numb, but seeing him come home as if nothing had happened— something still slammed hard against my chest. Dominic finished his whiskey. His gaze fell on the table. “What’s all this?” “Divorce papers.” His hand froze on the glass. A few seconds later, he looked as if he’d heard some absurd joke. “Amber, what are you throwing a fit about now?” I pushed the papers toward him. “I’ve already signed.” He didn’t pick them up. He just looked down at the words, his eyes going cold by degrees. “Because I didn’t give you money?” “No.” My voice was very soft. “It’s because I finally realized today—the Don of the Valenti family could not possibly be short of $30,000.” “You just won’t help me.” Dominic’s expression darkened. “I just don’t want my money to go into a bottomless pit; I won’t get anything in return for giving you $30,000.” I looked up and stared straight at him. “But you gave Serena five million dollars.” Dominic’s face turned grim. “The Serena deal is family business. It’s a laundering channel. It’s not personal.” “I’ve seen the wire confirmations.” I looked at him. “Sent from your personal offshore account. Personal guarantee. You eat the losses.” “You call that family business?” A flash of impatience crossed his eyes. “You went through my desk?” I smiled. So his first reaction wasn’t to explain. It was to blame me for finding out. Dominic set the glass down hard on the table. “Amber, you’re out of control right now. I’m not discussing this with you.” “Your mother’s situation—I understand. But you can’t take your pressure out on me.” I looked at him. “She’s been your mother-in-law for six years. She sat at your table every Thanksgiving.” Dominic looked away. “I never said I wouldn’t help.” “I just don’t think we should hemorrhage money into something with no foreseeable outcome.” After he said it, as if realizing how harsh it sounded, he added: “I can have Dr. Ferraro make calls. Pull some strings at the hospital.” “But the cash—you need to figure that out yourself.” I suddenly felt my stomach lurch. I stood up, picked up the divorce papers, and slid them into the folder. “Tomorrow morning. Ten o’clock. Russo’s office. We sign together and file uncontested.” Dominic stared at me for a long time. “Valentis don’t divorce. The last wife who tried ended up in witness protection—and even that didn’t save her reputation.” “Also, if you leave me, how exactly do you plan to pay for her treatment?” The moment those words landed, my fingers went white. He knew exactly what I feared most. And exactly what I needed most. So he used it to force me to submit. I looked up at him. “I’ll figure it out myself. I always do.” “But Dominic—you might want to think about what I’ll figure out to do with you.” Something shifted in his jaw. A barely perceptible tension. He recovered quickly. His expression turned cold again. “Don’t threaten me, Amber. The last man who threatened this family is feeding crabs off the Rockaways. You want to test whether I make exceptions for blood?” “I’m not threatening the family.” I held his gaze. “I’m warning my husband,a husband who won’t spend thirty thousand to keep my mother alive.” I said nothing more. I turned and went to the bedroom. Before I closed the door, I heard him answer a call in the living room. His voice dropped much lower. “Serena, I’ve gone over the distribution contracts.” “Don’t worry. I’ll be at the signing with you tomorrow.” I knew exactly what I was doing. In this world, betraying the family carried one sentence—and there was no appeals court. But Dominic had taught me something useful over ten years: fear only works on people who still have something to lose. I shut the door, leaned against it, and slowly sank to the floor. A low, dragging ache pulled through my belly. I’d been so consumed with my mother these past days, I never went back for the follow-up. A reminder from the hospital still sat unread in my phone. [Ms. Marchetti, you are currently 7 weeks pregnant. Please schedule your prenatal checkup.] I stared at that line for a long time. Then I pressed the screen dark.

The next day, Dominic didn’t show up at Russo’s office. I waited for him two hours. I called. He didn’t answer. It wasn’t until eleven-thirty that he finally sent a message. [Serena’s signing with Paramount is today. Can’t step away.] The next one popped up right after. [Before you file anything, remember where you are. You’re not some civilian wife walking into family court. You’re inside the organization. Think very carefully about what “leaving” means in our world.] I stood outside the brownstone law office, still holding the unsigned papers. Wind swept up from the street, stinging my eyes. I didn’t reply. I went to the hospital. The doctor said my mother’s condition had worsened. Insurance had denied coverage for the experimental treatment she needed, and the out-of-pocket cost was crushing. Without it, they could only keep her on the basic protocol. “The family really needs to sort out the funding for the advanced treatment. The longer you wait, the greater the risk.” I looked down and said okay. I listed my father’s apartment—the one place that still smelled like him—for emergency sale. Signed the papers with a hand that wouldn’t stop shaking,and maxed out my credit cards. The realtor went quiet for a few seconds when he heard my asking price. “Ms. Marchetti, this is way below market value.” “Can it close today?” “It can, but—are you sure?” I said: “I’m sure.” After I hung up, I crouched in the hospital stairwell, palms slick with cold sweat. A notification popped up on my phone. Serena Kovac had posted something new on Instagram. In the photo, she stood on a stage at a studio lot in a white blazer, shaking hands with a Paramount executive. Dominic sat in the front row, looking up at her with a patience I hadn’t seen from him in a very long time. The caption read: [Signed my first major deal with someone who has my back. So this is what it feels like to be chosen. ] Someone commented below: [Don Valenti is so generous with his people.] Serena replied: [He just said he didn’t want to see me fail on my first try.] I stared at those words, my fingertips going cold inch by inch. That afternoon, Dominic came to the hospital. He stood in the corridor, suit impeccably pressed, holding a manila envelope. “Russo put this together. Private lenders, all vetted. Off the books, no family paper trail. Clean enough that it won’t trigger any federal flags.” “A few of them have decent limits. Should bridge you through.” I stared at the papers. I didn’t take them. He pressed them into my hands. “The money situation—that’s your call.” Then he turned and left. I looked down at the loan applications in my hands, tore them up one by one, and dropped the pieces into the trash. A few minutes later, a nurse came running. “Ms. Marchetti, your mother’s blood pressure is dropping. The doctor needs you to sign off immediately.” My legs buckled. I grabbed the wall just in time to keep from falling. The pain in my lower abdomen flared again. This time, sharper than last night.

They worked on my mother for four hours. When the doctor came out, his mask was still on. “She’s stable for now.” “But she needs the advanced treatment protocol. Without it, we can only do so much.” I nodded. My throat was too dry to speak. The apartment sale closed that same evening. Fire-sale price. The buyer barely hesitated. The moment the funds hit my account, I called the hospital’s financial counselor to authorize the treatment. She glanced up at me from her desk. “Just you, then? No other family?” I said mm. “Your husband?” I didn’t answer. In that moment, my skin burned. I couldn’t look up. I was married to the Don of the most feared family on the Eastern Seaboard. A man whose name made federal judges recuse themselves. Yet I couldn’t get thirty thousand dollars to keep my mother breathing. That night, I went back to the estate to get my documents. The moment I pushed open the front door, I heard a woman’s laughter in the living room. Serena Kovac was sitting on the sofa. In front of her was a bottle of Dom Pérignon, two flutes already poured. Dominic was handing her a glass. When she saw me, Serena jumped to her feet immediately. “Amber! You’re home.” She said it sweetly. But around her neck hung a diamond pendant. I recognized that pendant. Last month, on my birthday, I’d lingered at the Cartier counter for a moment too long. Dominic had said: “The markup on those things is obscene. That’s not your style.” Now it was on Serena’s neck. Dominic frowned at me. “Why are you back?” I looked at him. “This is my home.” Serena’s expression froze for a second. Dominic set the champagne flute down. “Serena closed her deal with Paramount today. I brought her back to grab some contracts.” “And to celebrate, while we’re at it.” While we’re at it. My mother lay in the hospital with tubes in her body. I’d sold my father’s apartment to scrape together the money. And he was here, in our home, celebrating with another woman. Serena ducked her head, voice soft. “Amber, please don’t misunderstand.” “Mr. Valenti was just worried I’d be nervous for my first big signing, so he encouraged me.” She touched the pendant at her throat. “This was a token for the deal. It’s not what you think.” I walked over and looked at the writing on the champagne bottle—a custom engraving. It read: To Serena — First victory down, limitless future ahead. The handwriting was Dominic’s. He’d once told me even a birthday dinner out was unnecessary. Said that kind of sentimentality was pointless for people like us. I didn’t cry. I didn’t yell. I just went to the study, opened the safe, and collected my documents. Dominic followed me in. “Who exactly are you putting on this face for?” I gathered my passport, my birth certificate, and my important papers into my bag. “Move.” He blocked the doorway. “Amber, you’re becoming completely unreasonable.” “Serena is twenty-four. She’s alone in this country with no family. As her patron, is it so wrong for me to look after her?” I looked up at him. “My mother is alone in the ICU too.” “Have you looked after her?” He was caught short. His expression quickly turned cold again. “Your mother’s situation is different from hers.” “How is it different?” “Serena still has a future.” After those words left his mouth, the room went silent. Dominic seemed to realize it himself. But he didn’t apologize. He just turned his face away and said quietly: “What I mean is—every dollar has to factor in return.” I looked at him. My chest felt as though something had been carved out of it with a blade. My mother had no future. So she wasn’t worth it. I had no future either. So I didn’t deserve it. I picked up my bag and walked past him. In the living room, Serena was sipping champagne from her flute. Seeing me, she seemed to gather her courage and said softly: “Amber, honestly? A woman really should be more independent.” “You can’t rely on a man for everything.” I stopped. Dominic stood behind me. He said nothing to stop her. I looked at Serena, and I actually laughed. “Did he teach you that line?” Her face flushed. I nodded. “Then remember it well.” “The day he decides you have no return on investment either, you’ll hear that exact same speech.” I looked at her a moment longer, then added: “And Serena? When that day comes, you won’t have ten years of the family’s financial architecture stored in your head.” “You’ll just have nothing.” Serena’s smile froze. Her eyes darted to Dominic. Dominic’s voice cut in—the same tone I’d heard him use with soldiers who spoke out of turn at sit-downs. “Amber. That’s enough.” I didn’t look back. On my way downstairs, a sharp, dragging pain pulled through my lower abdomen. I braced myself against the elevator wall and stayed there a long time. My palms were drenched in sweat. My phone rang. It was the hospital. “Ms. Marchetti, your mother’s condition has deteriorated again. Please come back immediately.” My vision went black. I nearly collapsed right there in the elevator.

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Dominic had a rule. No one outside the family stayed overnight. Six years of marriage, and even my parents never got an exception. Last year my mother took the subway in from Brooklyn with a cast on her leg. She had a follow-up with the orthopedist in Manhattan the next morning and wanted to stay one night. Just one. Dominic pulled me into the bedroom and shut the door. “Your mother snores. I have a sit-down with the Lucianos tomorrow morning. You want me walking in there half-asleep?” That night I booked her a room at the motor inn down on Flatbush. I crawled into bed and cried until dawn, pressing my face into the pillow so no one would hear. After that, my mother never asked again. She said she didn’t want to be a bother. But I knew the truth—she didn’t want to make things harder for me. Until today. I came back early from a business trip to Boston—a distributor contract that needed my signature. I unlocked the front door of our brownstone on the Upper East Side and the smell hit me before anything else. Dominic was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled to his elbows, stirring the pot like he’d been doing it all afternoon. In the living room, Sofia Valenti sat on the sofa beside her mother, both of them watching television as if they lived here. Carmela Valenti smiled when she saw me. “Three months now, Nico cooks for me every night. Better than a son, I tell you.” Nico. The name only family used. Sofia was wearing a velvet house robe—the same one Dominic wore. Sleeves pushed up to her forearms, bare feet on my Persian rug, as natural as breathing. “Elena! We didn’t expect you back so soon. The place is a mess, I’m sorry.” I didn’t answer. I slid the ring off my finger—the platinum band engraved with the Conti family crest, the one Dominic had placed on my hand the day we married—and set it on the credenza by the door. Then I turned and walked out. My mother once said she wouldn’t come back. She meant it. So did I. …… The motor inn on Flatbush was still there. Half the letters on the sign were burnt out, flickering in the rain. I dragged my suitcase through the lobby. The girl at the front desk asked how many nights. “One.” She handed me a key card. The room number was two doors down from last year’s. I pushed inside. The sheets were stiff from overwashing. The window wouldn’t close all the way, and traffic noise from the BQE poured in like a tide that never ebbed. My mother had stayed on this floor. Cast on her leg, afraid to worry me, telling me over the phone: “The room is fine, sweetheart. There’s hot water. It’s close to the hospital.” The next morning when I came to pick her up, there was a half-empty glass of water on the nightstand, untouched since the night before. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes bloodshot, and the first thing she asked was: “Did Nico’s meeting go well?” I’d made excuses for him then. Said his sit-down was important. Said the rule about overnight guests was just how things worked. Said if you break it once, you can never say no to anyone again. My phone buzzed and dragged me back. A text from Dominic. 【You walk in and make a scene? Carmela made soup for you and you just left. That’s disrespectful.】 I sat on the edge of the bed, watching the screen glow and fade. Three minutes later, he called. “Elena, where are you?” “The motel.” I heard a pan clang against a plate on his end. His voice dropped a degree. “You actually went to a motel? The house is right there. Who is this performance for?” I stared at the mildew stain above the headboard. “You said no guests stay overnight.” A beat of silence. “Sofia and Carmela are different. Her father died for this family. They’re not guests, they’re blood.” “Three months is not ‘a few days,’ Dominic.” “Elena, don’t nitpick.” He lowered his voice. “Fine. Carmela’s a light sleeper anyway. Stay there tonight. Don’t come back late and wake her.” I almost laughed. “No important sit-down tomorrow?” “I took the week off. Carmela’s blood pressure has been bad. I need to be here.” He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Last year, my mother broke her leg, and he was afraid her snoring would cost him a meeting. This year, Carmela’s blood pressure dipped, and he took a whole week off to play devoted son. The rule was never unbreakable. My mother and I just weren’t worth breaking it for. “Are you listening?” His voice was edging toward impatience. “Pick up king crab legs on your way back tomorrow. Sofia likes them. And get Carmela’s blood pressure meds refilled. Oh, and a new pair of house slippers for Sofia—hers got stained.” I was quiet for a few seconds. “Dominic.” He grunted—already moving on, already sure I’d fold. “The credenza by the door. Did you see what’s on it?” “What?” “Never mind.” He hadn’t seen it. The ring was right there on the credenza. All he had to do was look down when he came in. But he never looked down to see what I left behind. After I hung up, I texted Gianna Ricci. 【Start the trust transfer. Everything under my name—La Fontana, the import company, the Arthur Avenue properties. Move it all into an independent trust. And reach out to that distributor in Savannah. Tell them I’m interested.】 She replied within minutes: 【You sure about this?】 【I’m sure.】 Then I messaged my mother. 【Mom, I’m coming to get you in a few days. We’re moving somewhere new.】 She took ten minutes to respond. 【Sweetheart, did you and Nico fight? I won’t come to your house, I promise I won’t. Don’t make trouble because of me.】 I pressed my face into my hands. My shoulders shook and I couldn’t stop them. Next door the television was blaring. Someone was laughing. A long time later, I wiped my eyes and typed back. 【It’s not about you, Mom. It’s about me.】 The next morning I went straight to the office. Dominic sent a shopping list. 【King crab legs, beef shank, skim milk, Carmela’s prescription refills. And a new pair of slippers for Sofia—hers got stained.】 I muted his thread. At noon, Gianna called. “You’re really pulling La Fontana out of the family books? That place is yours and Dominic’s.” I turned the page in front of me, pen hovering over the signature line. La Fontana. A small Italian restaurant tucked into a quiet street in the West Village. Old brick facade, window boxes I’d planted myself—basil and geraniums. Dominic had given it to me as a wedding gift, though it also ran as one of the family’s laundering channels. I was the legal owner. I was also the one who actually loved it. I remembered the day he took my hand and led me into the unfinished space, plaster dust on the floor, his eyes full of light. “Whenever we fight, we come here. After dessert, nothing feels that bad anymore.” That year, he still made pasta when I came home late. Still slid the fried egg from his bowl into mine. Still carefully labeled the jars of pesto my mother sent up from Brooklyn, writing the date in his slanted hand. He wasn’t always like this. That was why I’d lasted this long. “I’m sure. Move forward.” Gianna sighed. “Then come by the restaurant this afternoon to sign the final papers.” I closed the folder. “I’ll be there.” My phone lit up again. Dominic had noticed I wasn’t replying. 【Elena, don’t push it. Carmela is home waiting to eat.】 I turned off the screen and picked up my keys. I was halfway to the elevator when the restaurant manager called. A crowd of women had shown up at La Fontana wanting to throw a party. No reservation on the books. I stopped walking. La Fontana only took reservations. There was no booking for today.

La Fontana was full of laughter. Through the glass door I could see a dozen women crowded around the long table. The tablecloth was mine—hand-stitched Sicilian lace I’d brought back from Palermo, the kind of thing Italian families pass down like heirlooms. Pistachio shells and olive pits were heaped in little mountains across its surface. Behind the bar, Sofia Valenti was working a corkscrew into a bottle of wine. My wine. A 1971 Barolo from Piedmont. My father’s. He’d kept it for over thirty years, and my mother placed it in my hands on my wedding day. “Save it for your happiest day, Elena.” Sofia’s grip was clumsy. The cork snapped in half and red wine splashed across the white marble counter. Someone clapped. “Sofia, this place is gorgeous. Your husband really spoiled you.” Sofia’s cheeks flushed pink. “Oh stop, Nico would be embarrassed.” The table erupted in laughter. “It’s only a matter of time, honey. You two grew up together—that’s stronger than anything.” I pushed the door open. The bell chimed. Every head turned. Sofia froze, then shifted the bottle behind her back. “Elena! I didn’t think you’d be coming by. The restaurant seemed empty, so I brought my mother and some of the ladies over. Nico said you wouldn’t mind.” I looked past her to the wall behind the bar. There used to be a black-and-white photograph hanging there—Dominic and me on opening day, standing in front of the brick wall, paint on his hands, both of us grinning like fools. It had been replaced with a photo of Sofia posing against the geranium wall in a white dress. In her arms was Lucia—my Italian Greyhound. “Where’s Lucia?” Sofia’s smile thinned. “My mother is allergic to dog hair. Nico took her to a boarding kennel. Don’t worry—he paid for a whole year.” A year. I wasn’t home, and he couldn’t even tolerate my dog. The door swung open again. Dominic walked in carrying a cake box, saw me, and frowned first. “What are you doing here?” He set the cake on the table. Carmela waved him over immediately. “Nico, come, come. The ladies are all saying what a good man you are.” Dominic ignored her. He gripped my wrist and pulled me toward the door, his voice low. “Don’t make a scene. It’s Carmela’s birthday. Sofia just borrowed the place for a couple hours.” “Borrowing the place means opening my wine?” “It’s one bottle. I’ll buy you ten.” I looked at him and felt something inside me go very still. “Dominic, do you even remember how this restaurant came to be?” He blinked, thrown. The second year of our marriage, I’d had a miscarriage. For weeks I couldn’t sleep through the night. He brought me to see this old storefront—bare walls, cracked tile, a leak in the ceiling. “We’ll grow herbs together. We’ll cook together. We’ll make our life warm again.” On opening day he carried the first pot of geraniums to the windowsill with his own hands, got paint all over his fingers, and leaned in to nuzzle my nose with his. “Elena, things are only going to get better.” Better. So much better that he’d handed the place to another woman to play house in. “Stop digging up the past.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Carmela just got out of the hospital. Let the old woman have a nice afternoon. Go inside, say something pleasant, don’t make Sofia lose face.” I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Last year my mother broke her leg. Did you ever think about making her happy?” “That’s different.” “How?” He had no answer. Sofia appeared in the doorway, tissue crumpled in her fist, bottom lip trembling on cue. “Elena, don’t blame Nico. It’s my fault. I thought you didn’t come here often, so I borrowed it for my mother’s birthday. I can ask everyone to leave.” She glanced back inside. The women had gone quiet, every one of them listening. Dominic immediately stepped in front of her. “Nobody’s leaving.” He turned to me, voice gone hard. “Elena, enough. You keep throwing your mother’s situation in my face—what’s the point? I wired you money for the hotel, didn’t I?” I didn’t want to argue anymore. I took out my phone and called Danny, the busboy. “Danny, come to La Fontana. I need every tablecloth, every chair cover stripped and boxed. Now.” Twenty minutes later he pulled up in a van. I stripped the lace tablecloths myself—right in front of all those family wives, right in front of the pistachio shells and the spilled Barolo and every pair of watching eyes. In the world they lived in, this was the equivalent of flipping the table. Every woman in that room would carry this story home. Carmela stood up. “What kind of wife does this? Making a scene in front of everyone over a little party?” I dropped the last tablecloth into the box. “Garbage doesn’t stay overnight, Carmela. House rules.” Dominic’s face went dark. I turned away from him and pulled the trust transfer documents from my bag. “You’re pulling the restaurant out of the family? You know what runs through those books.” “My name is on the deed, Dominic. My signature. My liability. I decide what happens to it.” Sofia murmured from behind him. “Nico, let it go. Elena is probably just upset seeing us here.” Dominic stayed planted in front of her, shielding her. “You walk out that door, don’t expect me to come after you.” I signed my name, tucked the papers away, and walked past him. “When have you ever?” The bell over the door rang once more. Behind me I heard the sound of him slamming the cake into the table. Out on the sidewalk, my phone buzzed. A text from the hospital. My mother’s prescription refill was ready. A family member needed to pick it up by tomorrow.

The pharmacy line was long. I stood at the window holding my mother’s chart, waiting for my number to be called. She phoned while I waited. “Don’t worry about the medicine, sweetheart. My leg only hurts when it rains.” “I’ll get it today.” She hesitated a long time before asking. “Is Nico busy lately?” I tightened my grip on the chart. The corner bent under my fingers. “Busy.” “Then don’t fight with him. Every marriage has its bumps.” “The hotel last year was really fine, Mom. The mattress was even softer than home.” She was making excuses for him again. I didn’t know what to say, so I told her to eat on time and hung up. That’s when I heard the familiar voice from the concierge exit across the lobby. “Watch the step.” Dominic came through the private door with Carmela on his arm—one hand steadying her elbow, the other holding a thermos and a stack of medical reports. Sofia trailed close behind, gazing up at him with that look of helpless dependence she wore like perfume. At the curb, Carmela let out a small groan. Dominic bent down instantly. “Is it your knee again? I’ll bring the car around. Don’t move.” A security guard reminded him the emergency lane was no-parking. Dominic pulled a few hundred-dollar bills from his wallet and held them out. “The lady’s knees are bad. Two minutes.” The guard took the money. Didn’t say another word. Sofia spotted me first. “Elena, you’re at the hospital too?” Dominic turned. His eyes dropped to the chart in my hands, and his tone went flat. “What’s wrong with your mother now?” “Picking up her medication.” He glanced at the pharmacy queue, brow furrowed. “Don’t start comparing again. Carmela was really unwell today—that’s why I brought her through the VIP.” “My mother broke her leg last year. Was she not really unwell?” Irritation flickered across his face. “Can you stop putting an edge on every sentence? I really did have a sit-down that week.” Sofia shifted closer to her mother and said softly, “Nico, don’t argue with Elena. If she’s upset, let her take it out on me.” I looked at her. “You’re not worth it.” Her chin dipped. She pressed her lips together and looked away. Dominic stepped forward, half shielding her. “Elena, Sofia’s always been sensitive. Don’t be so aggressive.” I suddenly felt tired of all of it. I used to be sensitive too. After the miscarriage, the sound of a stroller bell on the street below would keep me up all night. Dominic would close the window, pull me against his chest, and whisper, “Don’t be scared. I’m here.” I’d believed, then, that I had been chosen. Firmly and finally. Later he started telling me I was overthinking. Making mountains out of nothing. Making things hard for him. The cruelest thing about having been loved is how long it takes to admit that someone’s heart has already left the room. I reached into my bag and found the Miraculous Medal. Two years ago, Dominic was ambushed by a rival family. Shot in the shoulder. I drove to St. Patrick’s Old Cathedral in Little Italy in the middle of the night and knelt before the statue of the Virgin until morning. I bought the medal at the church gift shop. By the time I got home it was four a.m. and my fingers were blue with cold. Dominic had worn it around his neck for two years, the silver disc pressed against his heart. A few months ago he said the chain didn’t go with his new suits. Took it off and tossed it in the nightstand drawer. It was never just the chain he’d discarded. I dropped the medal into the trash can beside me. The lid swung shut with a soft clang. Dominic’s face went white. “What the hell are you doing?” “Old things. No use anymore.” Carmela shook her head. “Nico, your wife has some temper. Throwing away a holy medal—what kind of woman does that?” Dominic’s phone rang. He turned away to answer, spoke briefly, then relayed the message without looking at me. “Mamma wants us at the house for Sunday dinner. She says to bring Sofia and Carmela.” A pause. “And you, if you’re coming.” If you’re coming. The ordering said everything. My own phone vibrated. A flight confirmation from Savannah. Tomorrow evening, seven forty-five. I tapped confirm. Behind me, Dominic’s impatient voice: “Did you hear me? Don’t be late tonight. Mamma hates waiting.” The pharmacy called my number. While I waited for the prescription bag, I pulled up my messages and texted Gianna. 【File the petition. I’ll sign when I get home.】 This dinner would be my last.

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The day before the engagement banquet, I changed the bride’s name to another woman’s. Because I’d finally realized that the most important person in my fiancé Ethan’s heart wasn’t me. It was my best friend, Lily. It started with my birthday dinner. When we were ordering, Ethan asked what I wanted to eat. I said, “Whatever you like.” By the time all the dishes arrived, the entire table was covered in spicy food. But three days earlier, I’d been hospitalized for acute gastritis. The doctor had explicitly told me to avoid anything spicy. Ethan knew this perfectly well. And yet there he was, piling spicy dishes onto my plate without a second thought. “Lily just got back in town,” he said casually. “I told her to come celebrate your birthday with us. The more the merrier, right?” I gripped my glass of ice water, a dull ache spreading through my stomach. Again. Lily. The friend I’d grown up with. And the first person she’d contacted when she returned to the country was my boyfriend. I looked up at him. Ethan didn’t seem to notice anything wrong. He was studying the menu, absently picking the bones out of a piece of fish. He placed the tenderest fillet on the empty plate in front of Lily’s seat. She hadn’t even arrived yet. But her plate was already taken care of. There was a time I would’ve made a scene. I would’ve snatched his phone, told him point-blank: “We’re a couple. Date night means just the two of us.” But now, I simply nodded. “Sure.” Ethan blinked, caught off guard. He probably hadn’t expected me to be this calm. He quickly looked back down and snapped a photo, posting it to our group chat — the one with all three of us. “Little foodie, saved this just for you. Get here soon or there’ll be nothing left but bones.” I stared at the message. The ache in my stomach crept upward, settling into my chest. I set down my chopsticks and picked up my bag. Ethan was grinning at his phone screen. He didn’t even notice me stand up. Just as well. Some departures were never meant to include a goodbye. … Twenty minutes later, Ethan finally texted. “You’ve been in the bathroom forever. Lily’s here — she’s already eating.” I sat in the back of a taxi, staring at the screen, my eyes stinging. I had been gone for twenty minutes. He thought I’d gone to the restroom. He hadn’t even noticed I’d taken my bag. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Miss, you want me to keep circling?” I was quiet for a few seconds. Did I want to keep going? Keep waiting for him to realize I was gone. Keep waiting for him to ask, “Where are you?” Keep waiting for him — just once — to choose me when a third person walked through the door. And then what? I’d go back? My phone buzzed. A message from a contact saved as “N.” “Is your stomach still hurting? I had someone pick up some medicine. I’ll bring it to you tomorrow.” I looked at it for a few seconds, then replied: “No need. I won’t be home tomorrow.” The response came quickly: “Okay. Get some rest.” I closed the chat and said to the driver, “Stop circling. Take me to my parents’ place.” The car had just merged onto the main road when Ethan texted again. “Are you upset again?” “Lily came back from her trip and even brought you a gift. Walking out without a word is pretty rude, you know.” “Again.” Funny word. It meant he knew this wasn’t the first time I’d been hurt because of Lily. It also meant he’d always thought I was making a big deal out of nothing. Lily had come back to the country today. Ethan knew. I didn’t. Two days ago, she’d messaged me: “Emma, I really can’t get away. I’ll definitely make it back by Sunday for your engagement.” I’d even reassured her. Told her it was fine. Told her to take care of herself. But she’d flown back on Friday. And gone straight to Ethan. It suddenly hit me — this was my fifth birthday since Ethan and I got together. The first year, Lily had insisted on joining us. Ethan had frowned and said, “Can’t we have some time alone? Your friend really doesn’t take a hint.” I’d laughed and teased him for being jealous. The second year, he was the one who suggested it. “Invite Lily. More people, more fun.” By the third and fourth years, I didn’t even have to say anything. He’d already arranged it. It was always the three of us. Dinner, shopping, trips. Every time, I sat on the sidelines watching them talk about things I couldn’t follow. This year, Lily was away on a business trip. I thought I’d finally have a birthday that was just ours. A few days ago, Ethan had held me and said, “This year it’s just the two of us. We’ll do it right.” I’d been happy about that for days. Looking back now, it was laughable. I opened the group chat. Lily had posted a string of photos — all of the spicy dishes on the table. She’d also shared the same pictures on her social media, captioned: “Someone knows I can’t live without spice. He really gets me.” Comments appeared almost immediately: “The three of you reunited again? You guys are literally inseparable.” Lily replied with a laughing emoji. I stared at the word “inseparable.” Every time I saw something like that, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. They all thought the three of us came as a package deal. But what I’d wanted was never to be crammed into the same photo with two other people. And certainly not to end up as the one who got cropped out. Soon, another comment appeared: “Who ordered a whole table of spicy food? Doesn’t Emma have a thing about spice?” I held my breath. The next second, Ethan replied: “She’s too prissy. Couldn’t hang with us.” I actually laughed. Two days ago, he had been the one who drove me to the hospital. The medical chart said in bold letters: avoid spicy and irritating foods. He’d promised he would remember. And it had been — what — two days? My inability to eat spicy food had become “prissy.” Today was my birthday. He’d promised to spend it with just me. And now it was me who couldn’t hang with them. The taxi stopped at a red light. My phone lit up again. Ethan had sent a voice message. “Emma, where’d you go? I slipped up — I forgot you can’t eat spicy—” I didn’t listen to the rest. I pressed the screen dark. Outside the window, the city lights stretched on like a runway with no end. I had been running on this track for five years. I’d always believed the finish line was his arms. Now I saw it for what it was — a loop. The start and the finish were both just me. And he had never once changed course for me.

By the time I turned the key in the lock, my parents were already asleep. A sticky note was pressed to the refrigerator, in my mother’s handwriting. “Sweetheart, if you come home, the cake is on the second shelf. Happy birthday.” If. She didn’t even know whether I’d come back. But she’d made me a cake anyway. I opened the fridge. A white cake box sat there, quiet and still. I scooped a bit of frosting with my finger and put it in my mouth. It was sweet. I was halfway through when Ethan called. I hesitated, then picked up. “You didn’t come home. Where are you?” I said nothing. Didn’t come home? I did come home. I’d even packed up all my things. Half the closet was empty. The vanity was bare. But he hadn’t noticed. His attention had always been on the person who wasn’t there. “Emma, if you have something to say, just say it.” Ethan’s voice was edged with impatience. “Lily came all the way back, and you just took off. It’s awkward for everyone.” I took a bite of cake. The frosting stuck in my throat. I let out a small laugh. So in his eyes, I was the one who’d made things awkward today. The two of them had eaten happily, posted photos, replied to comments, tagged each other. He remembered Lily liked spicy food. Remembered which kind of fish she preferred. He forgot I was still sick. Forgot I couldn’t eat spicy food. Forgot that I was the birthday girl. I hung up. A flood of old memories surged forward. Back in school, Lily’s family had been struggling. Her mother had gone to mine, invoking their old friendship, asking for help with Lily. My mother paid her tuition. My teacher asked me to tutor her. After graduation, her credentials weren’t strong enough. She hit walls everywhere looking for work, so I recommended her to a good company. Later, she used my connections to get into Ethan’s startup. And then, inch by inch, she moved closer to Ethan. While I was pushed to the margins. My mother got up in the middle of the night and found me sitting at the dining table. She froze. “Sweetheart, what are you doing home? Where’s Ethan?” She was still half-asleep, but worry had already crept into her eyes. “I missed you guys,” I said softly. She walked over, smoothed my hair, and didn’t ask anything else. I knew she was waiting for me to be ready to talk. But I couldn’t bring myself to say it. How was I supposed to tell her that her daughter had spent her birthday sitting in front of a table full of food she couldn’t eat, then taken a taxi home alone? How was I supposed to tell her that the man she believed would marry me couldn’t even be bothered to say, “Where are you? I’ll come get you”? I opened my phone. Ethan hadn’t sent any more messages. He probably figured he’d done enough to smooth things over. And I figured I’d had enough. I didn’t want to wait anymore. At one in the morning, I lay in bed and scrolled through my chat history with Ethan one last time. I swiped back to our first year together. He hadn’t been so busy then. There hadn’t been so many “something came up” excuses. He used to video-call me every night. One message made me stop. “From now on, every birthday of yours — I’ll spend it with just you.” “I missed all the ones before. I’m going to make up for every single one.” And he had. He’d bought twenty small cakes. Prepared twenty gifts. Made up for every birthday I’d ever had. I burst out laughing when I blew out the tenth candle, and frosting sprayed all over his face. Those memories were so good. Good enough that I almost softened again. My phone buzzed. Ethan. “Emma, I packed up the leftovers and put them in the fridge. Heat them up tomorrow — they’ll still be good.” “I also ordered an extra fish dish you like. Not spicy.” I stared at the dish he’d named, and laughed out loud. He’d gotten it wrong. Again. That was Lily’s favorite dish. She ordered it every single time we ate out. I’d told him to his face that I didn’t like it. Too rich. He’d been sitting right there and said, “Then eat something else.” He only remembered what Lily liked. He never remembered what I didn’t like. I opened his social media page. I thought he would have at least posted something about my birthday, the way he had in previous years. But his latest post was a photo of himself and Lily at the restaurant. The caption read: “Old friend’s back in town. Had to celebrate.” No mention of me. No mention that today was my birthday. I closed the page and deleted our entire chat thread. Memory cleared. From now on, my birthday had nothing to do with him.

The next morning, I woke at dawn. Three missed calls on my phone. All from Ethan. And a message. “Call me when you’re up. Lily’s mom is arriving in the city tonight. Go pick her up from the station.” A second one followed right after. “Lily’s coming with me to meet a big client. I want her to get some practice. Help me out and pick up her mom, would you? She said last time she really liked you.” I looked at the screen. It was almost funny. Almost. Ethan’s memory could be remarkably sharp when it suited him. He remembered that Lily’s mother had made an offhand comment six months ago about “liking” me. He remembered that I was the person who could run errands, lend a hand, show up whenever and wherever he needed. He just couldn’t remember how I felt. Or that we’d had a fight just yesterday. I got up and washed my face. I was about to head out when my mother came from the kitchen carrying a bowl of congee. “Sweetheart, where are you going? I wanted to talk to you about the engagement tomorrow.” She’d barely finished speaking when a message from the hotel arrived. “Ms. Emma, Mr. Ethan has confirmed the menu for tomorrow’s engagement banquet. Please review the attachment.” “If any changes are needed, please contact us by 5 p.m. today.” I opened the attachment. A dozen or so dishes on the menu. One glance told me everything — all spicy. I kept scrolling. The head table flowers had been changed from white tulips to red roses. The background music had been switched to “Slowly Falling for You.” The dessert station had gone from fruit tarts to a chocolate fountain. I didn’t know why Ethan had allowed these changes. But I knew that red roses were Lily’s favorite. The chocolate fountain was the thing she’d once called “like a fairy tale.” And that song was her ringtone. As for me — I was allergic to chocolate. I didn’t cry. I didn’t tremble. I simply replied, very calmly: “That’s fine. Could you help me with one last change?”

When I was done, I turned off my phone. My mother was still going over tomorrow’s plans beside me. “Your uncle keeps asking. I’m thinking, if you two want to move the wedding up after the engagement, I’ll push back some of my other commitments…” She picked up her phone as she talked. “Actually, we need to discuss this with Ethan. Let me call him over.” “Mom.” I placed my hand over hers. “We don’t need him to come.” My mother froze. I didn’t explain. I took a taxi to the apartment Ethan and I had been sharing. I’d left in such a rush the night before that I’d forgotten my passport in the bedroom drawer. After retrieving it, I walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. The takeout container from last night was sitting inside. I picked it up and dropped it straight into the trash. Then I closed the door. And didn’t look back. … The engagement banquet was scheduled for noon the next day. Inside the ballroom of a five-star hotel, servers were setting up the head table. Ethan arrived with Lily. As soon as Lily walked in, she set her bag on a chair and complained in that half-joking, half-serious way of hers: “Honestly, Emma. She made my mom wait forever at the station yesterday.” “Ethan, you spoil her too much. Being your fiancee doesn’t give her the right to act like that.” Ethan’s expression was stiff. “I sent my assistant to pick her up in the end. Your mom didn’t wait that long. Forget it.” Lily paused, then said softly: “But last night we were with the client so late, we just stayed over. Emma’s not going to be upset about that, is she?” “I mean, your engagement is today, and you spent the night before with another woman. No matter how you look at it…” Ethan cut her off. “It was work. What’s there to be upset about?” “This client matters. If we close the deal, I can buy her a wedding apartment downtown. Paid in full.” His expression softened slightly as he said this. He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a gift box. Inside was a necklace. Emma had looked at it many times. But the company’s cash flow had been tight, and she’d always been frugal. She couldn’t bring herself to buy it. On Friday night, he hadn’t had a chance to give her the birthday present before she left. He was, in truth, a little angry. He thought she was being unreasonable. That she’d picked the wrong time and place to throw a fit. But he had forgotten she couldn’t eat spicy food. Fine. He’d take out the necklace in a little while. Apologize. Hold her. She was always easy to win back. Every time she got upset, all he had to do was make the first move, and she’d come around. Ethan walked to the door of the bridal suite and took a deep breath. He pushed it open. “Emma, I’m sorry about your birthday. I—” The words died in his throat. He stood frozen.

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When I was ten, my family brought my older sister home. Mother said, “She has always been delicate, so we had to raise her at a mountain retreat for her health.” “Your temperament is too domineering. We are changing your name, just to yield to her a little.” And so, I became Gill. When it came time for our debutante season and betrothals, my sister set her eyes on Lady Beatrice’s son, Henry. My brother said, “She has always been the good one, never asking for anything.” “Lord Henry favors you, so restrain yourself. Let her have this one.” On the day of the introduction, everything went wrong. Both my sister and I fell into the lake during the boating party. When I woke up, the doctor said I had lost my memory. “Gill,” Lady Beatrice said, holding my hand by the bedside. “I’m your mother.” I stayed silent for a moment, then whispered, “Mother.” 01 I wasn’t always called Gill. When I was eight, my parents brought Charlotte back to our estate. It was Easter. The Governor had gifted our family an exquisite silver rabbit statue, crafted by a master jeweler. My father, flushed with wine, decided to host our annual parlor game—a classic poetry recitation contest. “With ‘Light’ as our theme, whoever can recite the next stanza without faltering wins the silver rabbit.” I had a photographic memory, sharp and relentless. After five rounds, my brother Elliot was out. At the end, only Charlotte and I remained. She spoke in a tiny, trembling voice, flushing with embarrassment, unable to recall the next verse. Young and arrogant, I laughed. “Then the silver rabbit is mine!” Charlotte didn’t say a word. Her eyes just filled with tears, and a heavy drop spilled down her cheek. The laughter in the room died. My mother reacted first, pulling her into her arms. “Oh, my sweet girl.” Charlotte buried her face in Mother’s neck, sobbing. “She just couldn’t remember a verse,” I said, genuinely confused. “Why is she crying?” No one answered me. They all crowded around her. Elliot offered his handkerchief. “It’s just a decorative piece,” Father sighed, rubbing his temples. “Why don’t you let your sister have it?” “Why?!” I yelled. “I won it fair and square.” Ever since Charlotte arrived, her allowance was larger, and she got the best room in the east wing. “I won’t give it up,” I cried, years of quiet resentment bubbling over. “It’s mine.” “Quiet!” Mother snapped. “Always so aggressive, always needing to win. You have no compassion.” Her eyes were freezing cold. “Victoria, you disappoint me.” That was the last time she ever called me Victoria. 02 “Smack.” The wooden ruler struck my palm. It burned like fire. Mother sat in her high-backed chair. “Do you admit your mistake?” “I did nothing wrong,” I said stubbornly. “I won it honestly.” “Smack.” Another strike cut through the air, the pain so sharp I gasped. “What did I do wrong?” I asked through tears. “Why do I have to yield to her?” “Because she is your sister!” Mother said. “She was born sickly. We had to send her to a private sanctuary in the hills just so she would survive.” “She was away from us for years, suffering. What is so hard about giving her this one small thing?” I looked down, sniffing, fighting back the tears. “First you tried to outdo Elliot in everything, and now you must compete with Charlotte.” Mother sighed. “Why must you be so stubborn?” My vision blurred. A suffocating tightness gripped my throat. But then, Mother set the ruler down. She reached out, took my hands, and pulled me into her lap. Her familiar, lavender scent enveloped me. She looked down, gently stroking my red, swollen palm. She rarely held me like this. This simple embrace washed away all my anger. “The vicar was right. The day Charlotte returned, he said your spirits would clash.” “Charlotte is fragile. Your presence is too demanding, too loud. I’ve been thinking about changing your name.” I looked up, tears finally spilling over. “True grace lies in restraint, in leaving room for others. From now on, your name is Gill.” Mother stroked my hair. “You must learn that in this life, you cannot demand absolute fulfillment.” 03 In the end, neither Charlotte nor I got the silver rabbit. It was placed on the mantelpiece in the grand hallway, right outside Charlotte’s bedroom. Every afternoon, when I finished my tutors’ lessons and walked down the corridor, I would see that silver rabbit, and I would hear the laughter coming from her room. Elliot’s boisterous laugh: “Charlotte, you lost again! No cheating!” Mother’s soft chuckle: “This sweet girl is so clever, always keeping us on our toes.” Sometimes even Father’s rare, quiet laugh. Before her marriage, Mother had been a senator’s beloved daughter, showered with affection. Now, her love was the center of our household. Wherever she turned, that was where the warmth went. At first, I tried to join them. The first time, I noticed Charlotte’s room had twice as many maids as mine. Walking back in the shadows, I told myself: “She is weak. She needs the care.” The second time, I noticed the peaches brought to her room were sweeter than mine. Under the moonlight, I thought: “Maybe I just picked a bad one.” The third time, I saw Charlotte wearing a beautiful pearl hairpin I had never seen before. Had Father bought it? Or Elliot? I stopped in my tracks. A design that exquisite, crafted with such delicate care—only Mother could have chosen it. I looked down at the paper lantern in my hand, its base crumpled from where I had gripped it too hard. It felt like my heart. Why didn’t Mother give one to me? I asked myself, over and over. Why never me? 04 The last time I went to Charlotte’s room was on her fourteenth birthday. Years of careful nurturing and expensive doctors had restored her health. Yet, when I walked in wearing my riding habit, she was draped in a thick wool shawl, despite the warm early summer air. “Riding again?” Charlotte’s voice carried a sharp edge. “Elliot told me you even managed to hunt a deer.” Society was modernizing; girls riding and hunting was no longer scandalous. Happy about my ride, I smiled, ignoring her tone. “Just luck.” My seat was right next to hers. As I sat down, Charlotte suddenly pressed her handkerchief to her mouth and turned away, retching. Mother gasped. I stood up quickly. “Do my clothes smell of sweat?” “You know your sister is delicate,” Mother frowned. “Why would you come here dressed like that?” Charlotte didn’t speak. When she looked up, her eyes were red, tears brimming. “I… I’ve ruined the mood,” Charlotte sobbed, pushing her maid away as she fled the room. Everyone froze. Elliot was the first to react. “I’ll fetch the doctor.” A cold rain fell that night. The lamps in Charlotte’s room stayed lit, servants hurrying back and forth. At midnight, Mother came to my room, smelling of herbal tonic. “You are not to go riding anymore,” Mother said immediately. “And do not wear those riding clothes in front of your sister.” “Why?” I asked, incredulous. “Did she fall ill just because I rode a horse?!” “Yes,” Mother said, her face expressionless. “Because you went riding.” “You know Charlotte can barely leave her room, let alone ride. Today, seeing you so free and happy made her spiral. She coughed up blood. Can you not just restrain yourself for once?” The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. Thunder rumbled outside. Suddenly, I laughed out loud. “Because she is sick, I cannot even ride a horse?” I stared into Mother’s eyes. “If she dies tomorrow, do I have to die right along with her?!” “Smack.” Mother’s hand struck my face. 05 My head snapped to the side. My hairpin flew off, and loose hair fell over my face. The ringing in my ears was followed by a sharp, throbbing pain. “Silence!” Mother’s hand and body were shaking. “How can you say something so malicious?” “Am I the malicious one?” I cried, my tears thick with hatred. “You tell me to yield, and I must yield. You tell me to endure, and I must endure.” “Is Charlotte the only daughter who matters? Am I nothing to you?” Mother said nothing. The shadows of the candlelight hid her expression.

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I drove all the way to the airport cargo terminal to pick up a crate of fresh peaches, shipped overnight from back home in the South. They were ripe, heavy, and smelled of the sweet, humid summers I’d left behind. My heart was light as I dialed Elliot’s number. Once. Twice. Nineteen times. No answer. My best friend, Daphne, picked up my FaceTime call on her second ring. She was flush-faced and breathless, clearly in the middle of a jog. “Still no answer?” Daphne panted, wiping sweat from her forehead. “Megan, for God’s sake, have some self-respect.” “He’s probably just in a meeting,” I defended weakly. “If a man isn’t there when you call nineteen times, he’s not worth the battery life. What if you were in a ditch somewhere? He wouldn’t even know.” I forced a laugh, trying to play it off with my usual easygoing optimism. “Don’t be dramatic. He’s just busy. Make sure you come over early tonight, okay? I’m making a feast.” She rolled her eyes, shaking her head at the camera. “You are utterly hopeless, Megan. A textbook romantic fool.” I ended the call and slipped my hand into my coat pocket, tracing the crisp edges of the positive pregnancy test. I wanted to surprise them both tonight—my husband and my best friend. But twenty minutes later, standing outside the door of the private VIP room at Elliot’s gym, my world fell apart. The door wasn’t fully closed. Through the narrow crack, a conversation drifted out, stripping the strength right out of my bones. “After today, we have to end this,” Daphne’s voice was a low, breathless murmur. “If Megan finds out, it will destroy her.” Elliot’s response was immediate, sharp, and dripping with an intensity he hadn’t shown me in years. “End it? You want to kill me, Daphne? Then we just don’t let her find out. We take it to our graves.” Seven years of freezing in this brutal northern city, trying so hard to adapt, to make this place a home. “Give up, Megan,” a cold, quiet voice inside me whispered. “Just give up.” … I stepped back into the shadows of the hallway. Ten minutes later, Elliot and Daphne walked out, one after the other. The moment Elliot saw me standing there, a flash of pure panic crossed his eyes before he quickly masked it, hurrying his pace. “Megan? What are you doing here?” He pulled out his phone, staring at the nineteen missed calls. “I’m so sorry, babe. I was in a meeting and had it on silent. Is everything okay?” The worry in his eyes looked so genuine, so real. But the faint scent of Daphne’s signature perfume clinging to his collar made me want to throw up. I flinched, stepping back to avoid his hand as he reached out to touch my forehead. “Megan, don’t let him off too easy,” Daphne chimed in, glaring playfully at Elliot before grabbing my hands. “Look at you, your hands are freezing.” Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing still slightly uneven. “Don’t be mad, sweetie. Once we get back, I’ll make sure he pays for keeping you waiting.” In her mouth, the word “pays” sounded heavy with a sickening intimacy. “Daphne,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “I thought you were jogging outside.” Daphne’s expression stiffened for a fraction of a second. She forced a bright, easy smile. “Oh, it was way too noisy on the street. I ran into Elliot in the lobby, and he offered to show me some form adjustments in the private room.” She looped her arm through mine, leaning in. “What, are you auditing my gym sessions now? Afraid I’m going to steal your husband?” It was phrased as a joke, but her eyes held a sharp, calculating scrutiny. I looked down at her hand resting on my arm. Around her wrist was the delicate, hand-woven red friendship bracelet I had crafted for her birthday. Gently, but firmly, I pulled my arm away. “I was worried you’d be hungry. I got the peaches. They’re already in the car. I’m going to make dinner for us.” Elliot let out a subtle sigh of relief and stepped forward, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “You’re the best, honey. Come on, let’s go home.” When we reached the SUV, I automatically reached for the front passenger door. But Elliot’s hand shot out, gently but firmly blocking the handle. “Megan, why don’t you take the back seat?” I froze, staring at him. He avoided my gaze, looking over at Daphne instead. “Daphne just had a crazy workout. She’s soaked in sweat, and the AC vents in the back blow directly on you. She’ll catch a cold.” Daphne waved her hands in mock protest, her tone sweet and dripping with false consideration. “Oh, no, really, I’m fine! Megan gets carsick so easily. She should definitely sit up front.” She made a show of refusing, yet her feet were already moving toward the open passenger door. Elliot glanced at my pale face. “Are you feeling sick again? Did you eat something bad? Just bear with it for a few minutes, honey. We’ll be home soon.” Without giving me a chance to reply, he opened the passenger door wider for Daphne. Daphne slid into the leather seat with an apologetic pout. “Well, I guess we’re putting our sweet Megan out a little bit.” I climbed into the back alone, pulling myself into the darkest corner of the seat. Up front, Elliot was adjusting the seat angle and the AC vents for her. His movements were so practiced, so completely natural. “Is this angle okay? Not too cold?” he asked, his voice softening to a register he rarely used with me anymore. Daphne gave a soft hum of approval. Leaning my head against the cold window, I watched their quiet, synchronized interactions. My mind drifted back to when I first moved up North. The brutal winter air, the dry heat indoors, and the foreign food had triggered a massive allergic reaction. I had been miserable, covered in hives, throwing up for weeks. Elliot had held me through the long, freezing nights, kissing the tears from my swollen eyes, whispering vows into my hair. “I swear to God, Megan, I will never let you suffer. I will spend the rest of my life making sure you’re protected.” “If I ever betray you, may I rot.” Seven years. The vows were still fresh in my memory, but the man holding them had already rotted from the inside out. I gently rested my hand against my flat stomach, letting my tears fall silently in the dark. Daphne leaned back, closing her eyes to rest. Every few seconds, Elliot’s eyes would drift from the road to steal a glance at her, his face filled with an aching tenderness he couldn’t hide. It was only when we pulled into our driveway that he finally remembered I was in the car. He caught my eye in the rearview mirror and asked casually, “So, what are we having for dinner?” I stared back at his reflection, holding his gaze. “Let’s have the peaches,” I said, my voice thick and slow. “One last time.” Elliot was busy draping his jacket over Daphne’s shoulders to keep her warm. He just nodded absently at my response, completely missing the raspy weight of my voice, or the finality in my words. Inside the house, Elliot stood by the kitchen island, slicing a peach for me. As the sticky sweet juice ran down his fingers, his brow furrowed, his movements tightening with a subtle irritation. “Megan, let’s stop buying these Southern peaches,” he said, tossing the knife into the sink. He pushed the plate of sliced peaches toward me and turned on the faucet to wash his hands. “We’ve been importing them for seven years. To be honest, I’m getting tired of them.” The knife in my hand slipped. The blade sliced clean into my index finger, and a bright bead of blood welled up instantly. “How are you still this careless?” Elliot sighed, grabbing my hand and pulling it under the cold running tap. I stared down at the crown of his head. My chest felt as if it were packed with frozen cotton wool. Every breath I took scratched the inside of my lungs. When I first arrived in this city, I couldn’t stomach the heavy, starchy foods. I lost fifteen pounds in the first two months. Elliot had been so worried that he spent his entire weekend driving around specialty organic markets, spending half his paycheck to order a crate of Southern peaches just to see me eat. When he peeled the first one and fed it to me, his smile had been so pure, so full of devotion. “As long as you love them, Megan, I’ll peel them for you for the rest of our lives.” The rest of our lives had only lasted seven years. I pulled my hand back gently, wrapping a paper towel around the cut. “It’s fine. Just a scratch.” Daphne leaned against the kitchen doorframe, chewing on a slice of peach. “Don’t mind him, Megan,” she murmured around the fruit, her voice dripping with casual familiarity. “As long as you like them. He’s just always hated sticky things.” Elliot didn’t deny it. Instead, he flicked a few drops of water from his hands onto her face, offering a mock scowl. “Keep your mouth shut.” Then, he naturally took the knife from my hand. “Let me finish up. Go sit down.” I forced a polite smile. “No, I’ve got it.” I turned back to the stove, sliding the chopped vegetables into the hot pan. The loud, crackling sizzle of the oil drowned out my quiet sigh. “You’re right,” I murmured. “I won’t buy them anymore.” Elliot seemed surprised by how easily I’d yielded. He cast a sideways glance at me, opening his mouth as if to say something, but ultimately picked up the bowl of peaches and walked into the dining room. From the dining room, Daphne’s voice drifted back, playful and teasing. “Come on, Elliot, peel another one! Nobody peels them as well as you do.” “Watch it, you’ll get a stomachache,” Elliot replied, his voice soft with indulgence. I brought out the last dish. Elliot was carefully pulling the bones out of a piece of fish, placing the clean meat onto Daphne’s plate. “Megan, Daphne’s stomach has been acting up lately,” he said without looking up. “Try not to make things so oily next time.” He added a piece of steamed fish to her bowl, then tossed a lonely stalk of broccoli onto my plate. “Thanks for cooking tonight.” Daphne took a bite of the fish. She chewed twice, and then her face went completely white. Suddenly, she clutched her throat, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. “Water… I need water…” Elliot scrambled to pour a glass, but when Daphne tried to drink, she choked and threw it back up. Bright red, angry hives began blooming across her neck and chest at a terrifying speed. “Elliot… I can’t… I can’t breathe…” Elliot’s face drained of color. He gathered her into his arms as she began to slump over, his voice cracking with pure terror. “Daphne! What is happening? Daphne!” She pointed a trembling finger at the plate of fish. “The glaze… there’s… peanut oil…” Elliot spun around, his eyes wild and bloodshot as he roared at me, “Megan! You know she has a severe peanut allergy! What the hell did you put in this?!” I froze, my hands shaking. “I didn’t… I only used the regular sesame glaze. I didn’t put any peanut oil in it!” “Stop lying!” Elliot shrieked. He lunged forward and shoved me out of his way. The force of his push caught me entirely off guard. I stumbled backward, my lower back crashing violently against the sharp edge of the wooden dining table. A sharp, white-hot pain flared through my abdomen. I doubled over, clutching my stomach, barely able to breathe. But Elliot didn’t even look back. He swept Daphne up into his arms and kicked the front door open, sprinting out into the night. I crumpled onto the hardwood floor, the cramping in my womb growing sharper, deeper, and heavier. Something warm and wet began to trickle slowly down the inside of my thigh. Staring at the empty, open doorway, I gathered every ounce of strength left in my body and screamed into the void: “Elliot, I’m pregnant!” But my voice only dissolved into the cold, empty air of the apartment. With shaking fingers, I pulled out my phone and dialed 911 myself. At the hospital, the doctor stood over my bed, his expression grim as he reviewed my charts. “You have signs of a threatened miscarriage,” he said softly. “We need to keep you for observation. Strict bed rest. No moving, do you understand?” I lay there, staring at the sterile ceiling, listening to the muffled chatter of two nurses changing the IV bags nearby. “ER was a madhouse tonight. They brought in a girl with anaphylactic shock. Almost didn’t make it.” “Yeah, her boyfriend was practically on his knees begging the doctors to save her. Talk about true love.” A cold chill ran down my spine. “Excuse me,” I croaked, my voice dry. “The patient in the ER… what was her name?” “I think it was Daphne,” one of the nurses offered gently. Despite everything, a lingering sense of worry made me crawl out of bed. I dragged my IV pole down to the second-floor observation ward. “Daphne,” I whispered, seeing her lying pale and fragile under the white blankets. The swelling in her face had subsided. I reached out to touch her hand. But Elliot’s hand shot out, shoving me away. “She just fell asleep. Don’t wake her.” He carefully tucked the blanket around her chin, then grabbed my wrist, pulling me roughly out of the room. “How is she?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Is she going to be okay?” “Megan!” Elliot snapped, releasing my wrist with a look of absolute disgust. “She is your best friend. How could you do this to her?” “I didn’t! I swear I didn’t!” My voice cracked, my fingers icy cold. “I didn’t touch anything with peanuts. I know how dangerous it is for her. Why would I ever want to hurt her?” Elliot let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “You were the only one in that kitchen, Megan. Who else could have done it?” I held my aching abdomen, taking a step back. “Is that really who you think I am?” He turned his face away, refusing to meet my eyes. “Just go home. I’ll stay here with Daphne. We’ll talk when she wakes up.” I couldn’t bring myself to go back to my empty room. I waited in the far corner of the hallway, desperate to make sure Daphne was safe, desperate to make him believe me. Hours later, the ward doors opened. Elliot was gently supporting Daphne as they walked out. I took a step forward, but the words that came out of Daphne’s mouth froze me in my tracks. “Elliot, it’s been three years. I can’t keep doing this. I want to tell Megan.” “Tell her? Tell her what?” Daphne’s voice rose, trembling with a fragile hysteria. “Tell her that three years ago, when she was crying in a hospital bed waiting for her appendix surgery, we were hooked up in a hotel downtown?” “Tell her that I’ve been sleeping with her husband behind her back?” “We made a mistake, Elliot! We betrayed her!” “Don’t you dare say that!” Elliot’s voice was fiercely protective. I bit my lip so hard I tasted the warm, metallic tang of blood. “Three years ago.” I remembered that night. I had been rolling in agony on a hospital cot, calling Elliot over and over. He told me he was stuck at a last-minute corporate retreat. I had called Daphne, and she had cried on the phone, claiming she was stuck on a business trip out of state. I had actually spent my energy comforting “her”, telling her it was fine, that I would be okay. How could I have been so incredibly blind? “You almost died tonight, Daphne!” Elliot urged, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want to hide anymore. I want to be with you openly!” Daphne let out a broken sob, her voice softening. “I don’t blame her, Elliot… but think about how much this will destroy her. She moved all the way up North for you… seven years of her life…” She wept into his chest. Elliot cupped her face, tenderly wiping away her tears before pulling her into a desperate, passionate kiss. “I won’t let her hurt you again, Daphne. I promise. I’ll handle everything, okay?” Watching them hold each other in the dim light of the hospital corridor, something inside me clicked shut. I turned around, walked back to the doctor’s office, and scheduled the earliest appointment for a termination procedure. It was late afternoon by the time I returned to the apartment. Elliot was waiting in the living room. The moment I walked through the door, he rushed toward me, trying to grab my hands. “Megan, where the hell have you been? You look terrible. Do you have any idea how worried Daphne and I were?” I slipped my hands behind my back, avoiding his touch. “I stayed at a friend’s place.” Elliot’s hands hovered awkwardly in the air before slowly dropping to his sides. “Well… as long as you’re okay.” “Megan!” Daphne leaned against the doorframe of the guest room, her face still slightly washed out. “I’m so sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to keep Elliot away from you.” Seeing her, Elliot immediately rushed to her side, offering his arm. “You’re still weak. Why are you out of bed? Megan’s back now, you can rest easy.” Daphne looked at me, a tight smile on her face. “Megan, let’s just put last night behind us. Tomorrow is Elliot’s birthday. What secret gift did you plan for him?” She was desperate to steer the conversation away from the kitchen. “It’s a surprise,” I said quietly. I walked over to the coffee table, picked up my phone, and opened a forum link I had saved. “Daphne, I saw a thread online earlier. I thought it was pretty interesting and wanted to get your take on it.” I turned the screen toward her. The headline was bold: “I just found out my partner of seven years has been sleeping with my best friend for three. What should I do?” Daphne’s face drained of what little color she had left. She shot a panicked look at Elliot. Elliot froze, staring at the screen, his breathing suddenly heavy and ragged. “Why… why are you reading garbage like that?” Daphne forced a laugh, her voice trembling violently. “Just curious,” I said, looking her dead in the eye. “If you were the girlfriend, what would you do?” Daphne bit her lip, her eyes darting around the room. “I… I’d dump him, obviously. Start over.” “Exactly,” I nodded. Elliot’s jaw clenched, his posture incredibly stiff. “Daphne and I need to go make reservations for tomorrow night before they fill up.” He grabbed his coat, pulled Daphne with him, and slammed the front door behind them. The moment the lock clicked, a massive wave of relief washed over me. I walked into the bedroom and packed my bags. I didn’t take a single thing Elliot had bought me over the last seven years. I only packed the worn-out clothes and personal keepsakes I had brought from the South. I slipped my engagement ring off my finger and placed it in the center of the kitchen island. Next to it, I laid my house key. I rolled my suitcase out of the building and hailed a cab straight to the airport. As the plane roared down the runway and lifted into the night sky, I looked out at the city lights shrinking below me, and finally let go. That night, Elliot and Daphne didn’t come back to the apartment. The following evening, Elliot’s birthday dinner was held at an upscale downtown restaurant. Friends were laughing, clinking glasses, and Daphne was tucked close to his side, radiant. “Where’s Megan?” one of their mutual friends asked. “Didn’t she say she had a surprise for you?” Elliot frowned, pulling out his phone. The last message from me was still from three days ago. Just then, a waiter approached their table carrying an elegant, beautifully wrapped box. “Pardon me, is one of you Mr. Elliot? A local courier just dropped this off from a Ms. Megan.” Elliot’s face relaxed into a smug smile. “I knew it. She might be stubborn, but she’d never miss my birthday.” He proudly opened the box in front of everyone. But the moment he saw what was inside, the blood completely drained from his face. “No… this can’t be…”

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Intimate photos of me and Chris, the industry’s reigning golden boy, were plastered across every tabloid and social media platform. Beneath the trending tags, his fans had already doxed my apartment. Some called me a desperate, aging leech clinging to his coat-tails; others threatened to camp outside my office to “clean up Chris’s trash.” I called him. His voice was a soothing, gentle balm, just as it had always been. “Don’t be afraid, baby. I’m holding a press conference in an hour. I’m going to make us public.” “You’ve been by my side for ten years, building me from a nameless extra to who I am today. It’s about time I gave you the recognition you deserve.” At the press conference venue, I stood in the wings, my heart in my throat, waiting for him to reach out and take my hand. Instead, Chris walked onto the stage with Selena, the sparkling new IT-girl. “Selena and I have been together for three years.” “As for the photos online, they were leaked by my former manager, Naomi. She has been obsessively stalking and harassing me.” The flashbulbs instantly pivoted toward me. Someone lunged forward, ripping at my hair; a chair was flung in my direction, splintering near my feet. When security finally dragged me out of the screaming mob, Chris didn’t even glance my way. Half an hour later, he found me in the shadows of the subterranean garage. He reached out, smoothing down the torn collar of my blouse. His touch was still agonizingly gentle. “I’m so sorry, baby.” “A scandal like this would destroy me, so I needed someone to take the fall. It had to be you.” I looked into his beautiful, hollow eyes. “You leaked those photos yourself, didn’t you?” Chris hesitated for a fraction of a second, then let out a soft, mocking chuckle. “Otherwise, how would I convince the world that you’re the one obsessed with me?” I looked down, my fingers quietly tapping the screen of the phone hidden in my pocket. The voice recorder was running. He thought I was waiting for him to beg me to stay. He had no idea that from this moment on, the only thing I was waiting for was his complete and utter ruin. 1 When Chris found me, I was tucked into the darkest corner of the underground garage. He pulled down his mask, his first words completely devoid of any concern for my bruised temple. “I’ll handle the press, but you need to play along.” “Resign from the agency and walk away from the industry. I’ll wire you two million dollars as compensation.” I leaned against the cold metal of my car, staring at him. “And us?” Chris frowned, genuinely surprised I’d even ask. “Nothing changes between us.” “Selena is just for the public. I’ll still see you once a month. You pick the hotel.” He said it so casually, as if handing me a generous promotion. Ten years ago, he was a nobody in LA, living off cheap ramen and fifty-dollar extra gigs. When it rained and he had no place to sleep, I took him into my cramped studio apartment. I paid for his acting classes. I held him when directors spat in his face, and I ran lines with him until our throats were raw. I quit my residency at the hospital to become his full-time manager. Now, his grand finale for us was one day a month in a nameless hotel. “You want me to be your mistress?” “Naomi, don’t make it sound so ugly.” Chris checked his Rolex. “Selena just signed a Tier-A contract. She has major backing from the network and big capital. Binding my name to hers for six months gets us more resources than we could claw our way to in a decade.” “It’s business. It benefits both of us.” “You’re the only one I love, Naomi. A title is just for show.” I wanted to laugh, but my throat was too tight. “You promised you’d marry me.” “Ten years. Does that promise still count?” His silence was my answer. I let out a soft breath. “Fine. Two million to buy out ten years of my life.” “Wire it tomorrow, and we’re done.” He visibly relaxed. “Naomi, I knew you’d understand.” He said my name with that old, familiar warmth. I didn’t bother correcting him. His phone buzzes. “Selena” lit up the screen. When he answered, his entire demeanor softened instantly. Selena’s voice floated through the speaker. “I want a home that’s truly ours.” “You’ll have it,” he murmured. “And what about the rest of your life?” He smiled. “It’s yours too.” There was a brief pause on the other end. “Is she handled?” “Yes. Go back to the penthouse and wait for me.” He hung up and looked back at me. “The two million will have to be paid in installments.” “I need to buy Selena a penthouse first. I can wire you two hundred thousand tomorrow. Your brother is still in treatment, right? That should cover your emergencies.” I stared at him. “Give me the full amount first.” His face darkened slightly. “I said I’d pay you.” “If you’re that desperate, you can always go to Beckett. He’s thrown enough offers your way. You know exactly what he wants.” “Make use of your options while you still have them.” He knew exactly where to twist the knife. When we were young, his father ran off with a mistress, and his mother abandoned him. He used to hold me tight, whispering that he despised home-wreckers more than anything. Now, he was begging me to become one. I opened the car door. “Fine.” Chris blinks, caught off guard. “What?” I just smiled and got into the car. 2 Chris had no idea that my brother didn’t need that money anymore. Months ago, Declan was diagnosed with terminal bone cancer. As a cardiothoracic surgeon, he knew the prognosis better than anyone. At the time, Chris claimed he had no cash on hand and begged me to secure a high-paying reality TV contract for him. “The cash flow is fast. Once the network pays out, we’ll get Declan the best care.” I believed him. To land that deal, I drank myself into stomach bleeding with the network executives. The night the contract was signed, my father called. His voice sounded like he had aged a decade overnight. “Naomi… Declan is gone.” Declan didn’t want to be a burden. He pulled his own ventilator. Before he died, he left me a final voicemail. “I won’t make it to your wedding with Chris.” “But when you have a moment, bring him to my grave. Pour a drink for me, so I know my little sister is being taken care of.” I ran to the funeral so fast I broke the heel of my shoe. Someone snapped a photo of my tear-streaked face, and it went viral. Chris complained that my disheveled appearance ruined his brand image, and he didn’t speak to me for three days. Only later did I find out that the reality show wasn’t for Declan’s treatment. It was the launchpad for Selena’s career. He made me destroy my body to secure resources, not for my dying brother, but to elevate his new lover. Back in the garage, Chris was still pressuring me to sign the NDA and exit agreement. “Those photos,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “You leaked them to the tabloids, didn’t you?” He froze. “Who told you?” “The camera angle. It could only have come from the old security camera in our living room.” “You’re the only one who has the login.” He dropped the act. “So what if I did?” “How else was I supposed to explain why you’re always around?” “How else do I make the public believe you’re a stalker and Selena is my true love?” My fingers gripped the steering wheel, but I was entirely calm. “You were terrified that if you broke up with me publicly, you’d be branded an ungrateful bastard.” “So you painted me as the villain first, to pave a golden path for Selena.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Even if you figured it out, what can you do?” “You have no proof.” “The agency’s social media accounts, the contracts, the PR narrative—they’re all mine. If I deny it, you’re just a crazy ex-manager.” “Take the money and run, Naomi.” “Push me, and I’ll make sure you can’t even find a job in this city, let alone get a dime of that two million.” He didn’t know my phone was recording every word. He didn’t know that after ten years of managing him, I was the one who cleaned up every single piece of his dirt. “Selena is innocent, so I have to be sacrificed?” I asked. Chris didn’t hesitate. “You’ve had ten years of my life. It’s only fair you step aside for my future.” I pressed save. File length: Forty-seven minutes, eighteen seconds. This time, he handed me the knife himself. 3 I didn’t release the recording immediately. Chris was right about one thing: a simple recording of a bad breakup wasn’t enough to destroy him. I wanted him ruined. That night, the agency released an official statement under Chris’s name, claiming I used my position as his manager to control his life, even using surreptitiously filmed videos to blackmail him into a relationship. Selena immediately reposted it: “I have never come between anyone. I’ve let go of the pain of the past, and I only hope Ms. Naomi can move on.” Several tabloid blogs concurrently posted “sources” claiming I bullied rival actors, stole resources, and slept around with younger talent. The “evidence” consisted of photos of college students helping me into a car after an exhausting press event. Two hours later, the video of me running hysterically to my brother’s funeral was leaked. The caption read: “How many years did this emotionally unstable manager hold Chris hostage?” I watched the video on a loop, then closed my laptop. Keira arrived with antiseptic. She gently cleaned the gash on my forehead from the thrown chair. “What’s the plan?” “We wait.” “Still?” “He only wants me out of the industry right now.” I turned my screen toward her. On it was a backed-up ledger of Chris’s agency over the last five years—tax evasion, paid internet mobs, predatory pricing, and the original metadata of the leaked photos sent to the tabloids. “I kept these to protect him. Now, they’re going to save me.” Keira asked, “Why not post it now?” “He just announced his relationship. The spotlight isn’t bright enough.” “I want him at the absolute peak before I pull the rug.” My phone rang. It was Beckett. He had just got back from Europe, and he was the primary sponsor for this year’s Screen Guild Gala. Three years ago, he asked me to leave Chris and join his firm as the Director of Talent. I refused. He told me the offer would stand until the day I regretted it. “I hear you’ve been thrown out on the street,” his voice was as dry as ever. “Are you calling to gloat, Beckett?” “No.” He paused. “I’m calling to ask if you need a lawyer, a media blitz, and a stage big enough to burn it all down.” I looked at the files on my laptop. “Save the stage for me.” 4 The next day, Chris showed up at my door with Selena and his mother. Three paparazzi were already positioned in the hallway. Selena was wearing a simple, soft-colored dress, her eyes red. The moment the door opened, she slapped me across the face. “Why won’t you just let Chris go?” Then, right where the cameras could see her, she dropped to her knees. “We’ve been together for three years. Please, give him back to me.” Chris’s mother lunges forward, grabbing my hair. This was the woman who abandoned him when he was ten. She only returned once he started making millions. Back then, Chris’s only comment about her was, “She’s not my mother.” Now, to paint me as the monster, she was the mother he must protect. I wrenched myself free. Chris “coincidentally” appeared around the corner just as his mother and Selena were on the floor, and I was standing over them. “Naomi! What are you doing?” He rushed forward, shielding them. “I respect what you did for my career, but that doesn’t give you the right to abuse my family.” I looked toward the end of the hall where the paparazzi were hiding. “Are you done acting?” Chris’s eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?” “I upgraded the security cameras outside my door last week. The audio is incredibly clear.” “Selena’s slap, your mother pulling my hair, and your pre-arranged paparazzi—it’s all recorded.” Selena’s face went pale. But Chris quickly recovered. “Footage can be edited. The public believes what they see.” “Do they?” I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. “Let’s let the police look at the raw footage first.” They were taken to the station to file reports. That night, another round of articles dropped: “Naomi Forces Chris’s Pregnant Fiancée and Elderly Mother to Kneel; Police Intervene.” Chris thinks he still controls the board. On the same day, the Screen Guild Gala announced its nominations. Chris was nominated for Best Lead Actor for the very show I nearly killed myself to get him. In his red carpet interview, he said: “On the night of the awards, Selena and I will be sharing some very special news.” Beckett called. “He’s planning to propose on stage. Are you still going?” I opened the evidence folder and hit send to Beckett and my legal team. At the bottom of the email, I wrote: “Special segment for the awards ceremony. Run time: Seven minutes, forty-three seconds.” “Of course I’m going.” “He wants the crown and the girl. I’m going to make sure he gets exactly what he deserves.”

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I was famous for my cold, deadpan stare on “The Spark”. To me, everyone on that beach looked like a walking corpse, and speaking even a single word to them felt like a chore. The network wanted to prop up their favorite “sweetheart couple,” so they deliberately paired me with Ryder—a shameless player so greasy the internet was practically screaming to have him canceled. We were the designated trainwreck. Our director pointed a finger right at our noses. “One’s a brick wall, the other’s a sleazebag. You two make the perfect contrast to get the audience rage-watching.” Ryder ran his hands through his hair, putting on a cheap show of desperation, misery, and helplessness. But underneath the act, I caught the faint twitch of his lips curving upward. One of us was a peacock desperate for an audience, a textbook performer who lived off emotional validation. The other was an iceberg who refused to throw him a single lifeline. Individually, we were toxic reality TV rejects. But together? That was pure gold: “The Player Begging for Scraps, the Ice Queen Pulling the Strings.” The ultimate slow-burn romance. I kept my hands in my pockets, watching him put on his little show. When he realized I wasn’t giving him an ounce of feedback and awkwardly peeked at me to check my reaction, I said quietly, “Your acting is absolute trash. If you actually want to make it through this, from now on, you follow my lead.” … “Daisy’s group: five thousand dollars in starting cash and the oceanfront villa.” “Maeve’s group: fifty dollars and Cabin 3 on the shore.” The director’s voice boomed through the megaphone. I stood with my hands tucked in the pockets of my windbreaker, watching a crew member slap a crisp fifty-dollar bill onto the rickety wooden table. The sea breeze whistled through a gaping hole in the window. Daisy stepped over the threshold, wearing a designer sundress and sandals. Two cameras followed her every move, one practically pressed against my face. “Oh, Maeve… how are you guys even going to live here?” She pulled a hundred-dollar bill from her purse and held it out to me. “Don’t be mad at the director, Maeve. He’s just following the rules. Take this. Get yourselves a warm meal tonight. I’d hate for you to starve while we’re filming.” Her eyes welled with performative tears. I stared at the bill, unmoving. Ryder instantly slapped on his signature grin. “Daisy, you’re an absolute angel. Unlike some people who don’t know how to appreciate anything.” He reached for the money, his fingers lingering just a second too long as they brushed against the back of Daisy’s hand. “Smack.” I kicked the back of Ryder’s knee. He stumbled forward, his hands slamming hard onto the wooden table. “Ow—Jesus, Maeve! Are you insane?” he yelped, clutching his hand. I ignored him, stepped forward, and snatched the hundred-dollar bill from Daisy’s fingers. A tiny, triumphant smirk played on her lips. I flicked my wrist, tossing the bill right back into her chest. “Get out.” Daisy’s tears spilled over instantly. “I was only trying to help, Maeve! Why do you always have to humiliate me?” She turned, burying her face in her hands, and ran straight into the arms of Trent, her screen partner, who had just arrived at the door. Trent glared at the camera. “Seriously, Maeve? Don’t be ungrateful. Daisy was just trying to do something nice. Have some class.” Daisy sobbed against his chest as he ushered her away. The damp cabin fell quiet, leaving only me and Ryder. He stormed up to me, his finger practically brushing my nose. “What the hell is wrong with you? What are you trying to prove? That was a hundred bucks! That’s two decent meals! You want to starve out here in the wind? Let me tell you something, Maeve. I was playing women before you even knew how to write your own name. Don’t try that dead-eyed routine on me!” When he finally stopped to catch his breath, I walked over to the corner, picked up a heavy splitting maul, and hefted it. Ryder took a sharp step back, his hands defensive. “Whoa, what are you doing? We’re live! Murder is a felony!” I walked out to the small dirt yard, propped a thick piece of driftwood onto the chopping block, gripped the handle with both hands, and brought it down with the full weight of my hips. “Crack.” The wood split cleanly down the middle, a stray splinter grazing Ryder’s cheek. I held the axe in one hand, turning my cold gaze toward him. “Get over here and carry the wood.” Ryder swallowed hard. His throat bobbed, and his loud mouth shut tight. He walked over, rolled up his linen sleeves, and began stacking the logs I had split. 8:00 PM. On the table sat two bowls of watery, plain oatmeal and a tiny dish of preserved pickles. Ryder stirred his bowl listlessly with his spoon. He looked up, winking at the cameraman stationed in the corner. “Come on, man. Look at how pathetic we are. Can’t you talk to the director? Throw us a bone, maybe a piece of chicken?” I reached out, grabbed the back of his head, and shoved his face straight down toward the table. “Ow!” His nose smacked against the rim of the bowl. I let go, reached into my pocket, and pulled out a small plastic bag containing half a cold, hard-boiled egg I had pocketed from the morning buffet. I tossed it into his bowl. “Eat. Then go patch the hole in the roof.” I pointed up at the gap where the night stars were visible. “If it’s not fixed, you’re sleeping on the beach.” Ryder looked at the half-egg in his oatmeal. He looked up at me, his eyes slightly raw, his cheeks flushing a sudden, deep red. He looked down quickly, scraping his bowl clean, eating every last bite of the oatmeal. Amid the ocean of hate comments on the live stream’s chat, a few strange remarks began to slip through: “Wait… why is the player suddenly acting so… submissive around the ice queen?” I picked up my bowl and took a slow, quiet sip. “Hurry up. The boards are outside.” The next morning, the top trending hashtag on X was: #MaeveAggressiveLove. Ryder climbed down from the roof with dark circles under his eyes, carrying a hammer. “You’re seriously looking at your phone right now? My reputation is completely shot because of you!” He threw the hammer aside. I locked my phone, ignoring him. “Attention, guests,” the director’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Today’s challenge is Island Treasure Hunt. Your points will directly determine the quality of your dinner tonight. Daisy’s group, head to the East Beach. Maeve’s group, head to the West Cliffs.” Ryder yelled at the camera, “Are you serious? The west side is nothing but jagged rocks and sheer cliffs! There isn’t even a path! You want us to die out there?” The director’s voice held a sickening amusement. “Ryder, you two are currently public enemy number one. Be glad you’re even getting airtime. If you don’t like it, pack your bags and pay the thirty-million-dollar breach of contract fee.” Ryder clenched his fists. I walked up to him and pulled a length of climbing rope from my backpack. “Stop whining. Give me your hand.” He hesitated, then held out his left arm. I tied the safety rope securely around his waist in a double knot, wrapping the other end tightly around my own wrist. “Stay close,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “If you fall, nobody is coming to save you.” The waves crashed violently against the moss-covered rocks. The ground was slick and treacherous. I led the way with steady, practiced steps, while Ryder slipped and stumbled behind me. “There’s literally nothing out here. What kind of treasure is hidden on a cliffside?” “Maeve, slow down! Is there a fire?” The cameraman struggled behind us, trying to find a stable angle from a distance. Ryder’s eyes flickered with an idea. As we reached a steep, muddy slope, he accelerated, catching up and stepping beside me. “Hey, Maeve, careful. It’s slippery. Let me help you.” His voice dropped to a low, husky register as he reached out to wrap an arm around my waist. I saw his hand out of the corner of my eye. I didn’t even turn my head. I simply dropped my shoulder, shifting my weight half a step to the left. Ryder’s hand grabbed empty air. His foot lost traction on the mud, and he went tumbling down the embankment. “Holy shit—!” He rolled down the slope, landing straight in a deep, stagnant pool of muddy seawater and silt. “Splash.” Mud flew everywhere. When he finally stopped moving, his designer windbreaker was covered in black slime, and his face was caked with muck. He sat there in the puddle, stunned. Ryder slowly lifted his head. I squatted at the edge of the slope, looking down at him. I pulled a bottle of water from the side pocket of my backpack, unscrewed the cap, and tossed it down. The bottle landed in his lap, splashing water over his chest. “Wash your face. You look hideous.” Ryder stared at me, his jaw clenched. He opened the bottle, poured water into his palms, and aggressively wiped his face. Muddy water dripped from his chin. When he looked up again, his eyes were bloodshot. “Maeve, do you actually have a heart?” His voice was raw. “Can’t you just give me a normal reaction? Even calling me an idiot would be better than this!” I looked at his reddened eyes. “Is this how you usually play the devoted gentleman? By staging dangers, forcing a display of chivalry, and then demanding gratitude?” Ryder froze. His mouth parted, but no words came out. He looked down, squeezing the empty plastic bottle until his knuckles turned white. “Wait… now that Ryder isn’t acting greasy, him sulking like that is actually… kind of hot?” “The tension is insane.” I stood up, tugging the safety rope on my wrist. “Once you’re clean, climb back up. Don’t waste my time.” That night, the crew set up a bonfire on the beach. The director stood with his megaphone, announcing the rules of the mid-season game. “Tonight, we’re playing Anonymous Vote. You will write down the name of the guest you believe performed the worst today. The person with the most votes faces the ultimate penalty: handing over their safety gear and spending the night alone in the deep woods of Devil’s Cove.” The guests whispered nervously. Devil’s Cove was a notorious thicket on the north shore—even local fishermen avoided it. Spending a night there with zero gear was a nightmare scenario. Daisy sat across the bonfire, the flames dancing across her face. During a camera transition, I saw her whispering to the other guests, her lips silently forming the name: “Maeve.” I looked down, adjusting the collar of my windbreaker. My finger brushed the power switch of a tiny, high-grade recording pin hidden on my lapel. A faint red light flashed once. Recording started. “Before we begin the anonymous vote, does anyone want to say anything?” the director asked. Daisy immediately raised her hand, her eyes glistening. She looked at the camera. “I think this rule is really harsh, but if I have to choose…” She bit her lip, turning her gaze to me. “I have to vote for Maeve. This afternoon, Ryder fell into that horrible mud pit, and Maeve just stood up there, watching him. She didn’t even offer a hand. I don’t think partners should be so heartless to each other.” The moment she finished, Trent chimed in. “Daisy’s right. People with zero team spirit are just dead weight.” Several other guests nodded in agreement. I sat on my folding stool, hands clasped over my knees, entirely silent. I turned to look at Ryder, who sat next to me with his head bowed. His body was rigid. I knew the director was screaming in his earpiece, ordering him to vote for me. Ryder gripped his voting pen, the veins on the back of his hand bulging. He looked up, scanning Daisy, then the other nodding guests, and finally me. I didn’t return his gaze; I just stared into the fire. Suddenly, Ryder stood up. “Slam!” He smashed his voting board onto the table, snapping it clean in two. Silence fell over the beach. Ryder pointed a finger directly at Daisy’s face, laughing coldly. “She didn’t pull me up because I tripped over my own damn feet! But are you people blind? Didn’t you see the safety rope tied to her wrist? If I had actually slipped down the cliff, she would’ve gone down with me!” He yanked his collar open, glaring at Daisy. “You play the fragile little flower day in and day out. Aren’t you tired of the act? Because watching it makes me want to throw up. I’m voting for Daisy. Anyone got a problem with that?” The bonfire crackled in the dead silence. Daisy’s tears froze on her eyelashes. The director’s voice boomed through the megaphone, furious. “Enough! Ryder, you are openly soliciting votes and verbally abusing another guest! That is a severe violation of the rules! Ryder’s vote is void! Maeve has the most votes, her penalty stands! And because Ryder broke the rules, you will both serve the penalty. You’re spending the night at Devil’s Cove together!” Staff members stepped forward to remove our safety ropes. I stood up, brushing the sand off my pants. Without a word, I walked toward the dark tree line. As I passed Ryder, I paused. “You actually acted like a man for once. Get ready to freeze tonight.” Ryder stood frozen for a second, then looked at my back and laughed. He jogged to catch up. “Hey, Maeve! Wait up!” The north shore housed an old, abandoned cannery. The glass roof was mostly shattered, the rafters creaking loudly in the wind. There were no lights, no heat, nothing. Tonight was the show’s “Heartbeat Live Connection Night.” All guests were forced to wear black heart-rate monitors, with their data synced in real-time to the live-stream screen. While Daisy and the others sat in the heated studio sipping hot cocoa, Ryder and I were locked inside this drafty, leaking ruin. “Boom—” A flash of lightning ripped through the sky as a sudden squall hit the island. Cold rain began pouring through the shattered roof. In the studio, the main screen displayed our split-screen feed. Daisy cradled her warm mug, pointing at Ryder’s heart rate on the screen, letting out a soft laugh. “Oh, where did Ryder’s legendary charm go? Alone in a dark room with Maeve, and his heart rate is flatlining at seventy? He looks practically dead. I guess the rumors are true—their chemistry is totally fake.” “Keep the cameras rolling!” the director hissed into his headset. “Don’t open those doors! I want to see them drenched, miserable, and tearing each other apart!” Rainwater quickly pooled on the concrete floor. Ryder was soaked, his lips turning blue from the cold. But he didn’t complain. He didn’t even look at the cameras. Instead, he gently pushed me toward a dry corner of the room. “Stay back there. Don’t get wet. There isn’t even a basic first-aid kit on this godforsaken island.” His voice trembled slightly from the cold. I leaned against the damp concrete wall, watching his broad shoulders block the wind for me. My heart monitor still read a steady seventy. “Crack—Crash!” A sudden gust of wind sheared off a heavy wooden support beam from the ceiling. A massive sheet of glass, along with half the timber, came hurtling straight down toward my head. I closed my eyes. But the impact never came. Ryder threw himself over me, shielding me with his body, his back taking the brunt of the falling debris. “Thud. Shiver.” Something warm and thick dripped onto my collarbone. The copper smell of blood cut through the salty rain. I opened my eyes and looked at Ryder. His face was contorted in pain, his jaw clenched so hard his muscles shook. In the studio, Daisy’s smile vanished. Her mug slipped from her hand, shattering on the floor. Every guest stood up in shock. On the screen, Ryder’s flatlining heart rate of seventy began to climb. …120… 140… It tore past 160. A flashing red warning light lit up the screen. Through the static-heavy audio feed, Ryder’s ragged, breathless voice cut through: “Cut the crap…” His warm, shaky breath brushed against my neck. “Maeve… are you okay?” The director screamed into his microphone: “Cut the feed! Cut the feed now!” The live stream went completely black.

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When the wedding limousine pulled up to the venue, Jack didn’t get out right away. He rolled down the window halfway, looking at me through the falling white rose petals. His gaze was entirely too calm. “Mallory is back.” The bridesmaids’ laughter died instantly. I stood frozen on the steps, clutching the bouquet he had personally arranged for me. He flicked the ash from his cigarette. “She called me in the middle of the night. Said she couldn’t survive over there anymore.” “When I arrived at her place, she was on the floor. Half a bottle of sleeping pills next to her, three deep cuts on her wrists, blood everywhere.” A sudden, violent chill swept through me, starting from my toes and seizing my chest. Mallory was his first love. Five years ago, she had supposedly gone abroad for terminal cancer treatment, vanishing without a trace. Only thirty minutes ago, he had sent me a voice note: “Fiona, my hands are shaking. I’m so nervous. I can’t believe I finally get to marry you today.” Jack flicked his cigarette again, ignoring the gray ash smudging his custom tuxedo. “She was clutching the matching rings we bought back in college.” “Fiona, if I go through with this wedding today, she won’t survive.” He pulled out the diamond ring—the one I had waited seven years for—extended his hand out of the window, and simply let go. The ring dropped into a muddy puddle at the bottom of the steps, splashing dirty water over the pavement. “Consider it my debt to you.” “Fiona, I’m sorry. We have to call off the wedding.” “She needs me.” … After the limousine drove away, I knelt down, my heavy silk train soaking up the muddy water, clinging to my knees. I reached blindly into the puddle for the ring. Hearing a car door click open behind me, I assumed one of my bridesmaids had come down to help. I didn’t look up. But then a shadow fell over me. Jack was standing there, holding a black umbrella, shielding the woman beside him from the wind. He hadn’t actually left. The door to the luxury van at the back of the caravan was still wide open, showing a glimpse of blankets, an IV drip, and a first-aid kit. Mallory had been in the procession the entire time. He had brought her to my wedding. He frowned, looking down at me on my hands and knees in the mud. “Fiona, don’t. It’s dirty.” I looked up. He tilted the umbrella back slightly to cover Mallory, who stood there wrapped in his suit jacket, thick white gauze wrapped around her wrist. She spoke in a weak, fragile voice. “Jack… maybe you should go inside with Fiona. It’s your wedding day, after all.” Jack looked down, his voice softening into a gentle murmur. “Don’t think about that. I told you, I’m never leaving you alone again.” My fingers finally closed around the ring that was supposed to go on my left ring finger. I held it tightly and let out a quiet, hollow laugh. We had been together for seven years. Back when he had nothing, he saved up for three months just to buy me a cheap silver band. His ears had turned bright red when he slipped it onto my finger. “Fiona, one day, I’ll buy you a better one,” he had promised. He did buy a better one. But he let someone else wear it first, and then he threw it into the mud. My mother, her face completely pale, came rushing out of the hotel lobby. “Jack! What on earth are you doing? All our friends and family are waiting inside! How can you just call it off like this?” Jack lowered the umbrella, his voice incredibly steady. “Mrs. Sommers, I am deeply sorry. I will cover all the wedding expenses in full. Fiona can keep the house in Bellevue and the financial settlement.” My mother’s eyes filled with tears. “Is that what you think this is about? Fiona waited seven years for you!” Suddenly, Mallory whimpered, swaying on her feet as she clutched her bandaged wrist, which was beginning to show a faint spot of red. Jack immediately caught her, his voice instantly turning sharp and defensive. “Mrs. Sommers, Mallory literally just returned from the brink of death last night. She cannot handle any stress right now.” My mother gasped, silenced by his sheer coldness. I squeezed the ring in my hand until the metal bit into my palm. “Jack, she can’t handle stress? But I can? Standing here like this?” He was silent for a moment before looking at me. “Fiona, you’ve always been the sensible one.” “Sensible.” I had heard that word from him from the age of twenty to twenty-seven. When his startup was struggling, I ate instant noodles with him. When he lost his funding, I gave him my wedding dress savings to keep his business afloat. I spent our anniversaries alone so he could work. It turned out that being “sensible” was just his license to hurt me without feeling guilty. Mallory tugged weakly at his sleeve. “Jack, don’t fight with Fiona because of me. I can leave. I’ll be fine on my own.” She made a motion to slip off his jacket, exposing the faint red marks on her wrist, but Jack quickly held her hands down. “Where would you go? You just got discharged. You don’t even have a place to stay.” Mallory looked down, whispering, “But Fiona is your fiancée.” Jack glanced at me. “She’ll understand.” A suffocating weight pressed down on my chest. The hotel manager jogged out, looking incredibly uncomfortable. “Mr. Grayson, the guests are waiting inside. Should we begin dismissing them?” Jack nodded. “Put everything on my card.” He paused, then added, “Keep Fiona’s dressing room open for her so she can change out of her dress.” Even in the middle of ruining my life, he still remembered to be polite enough to let me take off my ruined gown. I stood my ground, wiped the mud off the ring, and held it out to him. “You say the wedding is off. What about us? Our relationship?” He stared at the ring but didn’t reach for it. Beside him, Mallory murmured, “Fiona, Jack is just overwhelmed right now. Please don’t force him.” Jack didn’t correct her. He wrapped his arm around Mallory’s shoulders, pulling her close. “Let’s go. Your nerves are shot today.” Those words weren’t meant for me. Muddy water slowly dripped from between my fingers. I pulled my hand back and walked into the hotel. Behind me, I could hear Mallory’s quiet sobs and Jack’s gentle murmurs: “Don’t worry. I’m here.” My train dragged along the carpeted stairs, leaving a long gray streak. The wedding dress I had tried on a dozen times was completely ruined. I sat in front of the vanity mirror, my hands shaking so hard I couldn’t unpin my veil. I pulled at it, but the lace only tangled further in my hair. My bridesmaid, Bridget, pushed the door open, tears streaming down her face as she looked at me. “Fiona, I’m going to go out there and rip him apart.” I caught her wrist. “Don’t.” Bridget was furious. “He left with her! Your mother is sitting out there, nearly faint with rage, and you’re still trying to save his dignity?” I sat pale and silent. Heavy footsteps echoed outside. For a fleeting second, I thought it might be Jack. Instead, the door swung open to reveal Mallory. Her eyes were red, but she had already changed into a cozy knit dress with fresh bandages wrapped around her wrist, carrying a designer shopping bag. “Fiona, Jack wanted me to bring this to you.” She placed the bag at my feet and pulled out a credit card. “Jack said you can pick up the keys to the lake house from the property manager whenever you want. And this card has five million dollars on it. The PIN is your birthday.” “Fiona, please take the money. Jack said you went through a lot of hardships with him in the early days. He wants you to have this so he can have some peace of mind. I’m so sorry.” Bridget lunged forward, pushing her back. “Are you insane? You steal her fiancé and then come in here acting like a martyr?” Mallory stumbled back, her shoulder hitting the doorframe, her face draining of color. Right at that moment, Jack appeared in the doorway. His gaze immediately locked onto Mallory before shifting to Bridget. “Have you lost your mind?” Bridget let out a harsh laugh. “You’re asking us? Who ruined the wedding today?” “This is between Fiona and me,” Jack said coldly. Mallory tugged at his sleeve. “Jack, don’t blame them. I shouldn’t have come. I just wanted to deliver these things to Fiona myself.” He looked down at her wrist, noticing a tiny speck of red bleeding through the clean gauze. “Your wound is opening up again.” Mallory shook her head. “It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt.” The sheer theatricality of it was almost comical. Jack stepped toward me, keeping his voice low. “Fiona, take the card. Your mother’s health isn’t great, and she needs the financial security. Don’t let pride make you do something stupid.” “Jack, is that what you think I’m doing? Holding out for more money?” He frowned. “Stop making a scene.” “Then what should I say? Should I congratulate you on your beautiful reunion?” He had no answer for that. Mallory spoke up, her voice trembling. “Fiona, I know you feel wronged. But I didn’t leave him because I wanted to. I was alone in a foreign hospital for five years with no family. Jack was the only thought that kept me alive.” She raised her arm, showing the bandage. “You had him for seven years. I only wanted to see him one last time.” I stared at her, momentarily speechless. Jack reached out, gently holding her wrist to support it, a gesture so practiced and familiar it made my chest ache. I remembered the night before the wedding, when he had wiped away my tears in that exact same way. I had asked him if he was nervous, and he had kissed my forehead, whispering that his only fear was me changing my mind. Now I realized he wasn’t afraid of me backing out—he was terrified Mallory wouldn’t let him back in. Bridget was practically shaking with rage, but I placed a hand on her arm to quiet her. “Mallory, you think I ‘had’ him for seven years?” I stood up, dragging my heavy gown across the floor until I was standing right in front of her. “Do you have any idea what those seven years looked like? When he had a high fever, I was the one who stayed awake all night. When his company was drowning in debt, I was the one working overtime to pay it off. The first time he landed a major client, he drank until his stomach bled, and I carried him on my back to the emergency room at three in the morning.” Mallory’s face went white. Jack immediately stepped between us. “That’s enough, Fiona. I remember everything you did. That’s why I’m making sure you’re taken care of.” “Taken care of.” That was what my seven years were worth to him. “Mallory was on the brink of death last night,” he insisted. “She has absolutely nothing left. Don’t push her.” I clenched my fists so hard my nails bit into my skin. “And what about me?” Jack fell silent for a few seconds. “You’re stronger than she is.” On the vanity, a corner of our customized wedding monogram sign peeled off, blocking my reflection in the mirror. I ripped the cardstock sign down, crumpled it into a tight ball, and shoved it into his hand. “Take it,” I whispered. “Since she has nothing, you might as well give her this too.” My mother collapsed as the remaining guests were being ushered out of the venue. Relatives crowded around us, whispering and casting sidelong glances at my muddy wedding dress. My aunt lowered her voice, but her words still carried clearly: “The wedding is called off, and his family didn’t even show up. How is Fiona ever going to show her face again?” Another relative sighed. “Jackary is a multi-millionaire now. Men always have a soft spot for their first love. Fiona is just too stubborn. If she just humbled herself a little, she’d still be the one wearing the ring. Now she’s left with nothing.” I held my unconscious mother close, my fingers freezing. The ambulance arrived soon after. My mother spent the night under observation in the ICU before her blood pressure finally stabilized. The next day, she was transferred to a regular ward. The doctor pulled me aside. “Your mother’s heart is very weak. She cannot handle any sudden shocks or stress.” I held her frail hand, nodding repeatedly. A little while later, Jack showed up, but I blocked him at the door. He placed a thermos of soup on the floor, keeping his voice low. “I didn’t handle things well yesterday.” I stared at him, cold and silent. He sighed. “But Mallory’s situation is unique. She almost died last night. She really can’t take any more pressure.” From the bed inside, my mother heard his voice. She struggled to sit up, her chest heaving. “She can’t take pressure? What about my daughter?” I rushed back to hold her gently by the shoulders, then turned to glare at the man in the doorway. “Get out.” Jack stood there for a long moment before finally turning to leave. But Mallory just had to choose that exact afternoon to show up. It was on the third afternoon. I had stepped out to the nurse’s station to pick up some test results—a quick ten-minute errand. When I returned, the door to the room was cracked open. Mallory’s soft voice drifted out. “Mrs. Sommers, please don’t be angry with Jack. It’s my fault. I never should have come back to disrupt their lives.” My mother didn’t answer. Mallory sniffled, her voice thick with unshed tears. “I spent five years abroad, thinking about him every single day. But I knew he had Fiona. I didn’t dare come back. It was only when I couldn’t hold on anymore that I finally reached out.” She paused, her voice dropping to a loud whisper. “Actually, that night, I only wanted to catch one last glimpse of him from afar and then disappear. But when he arrived, I saw his keychain. It was a photo of Fiona. I knew then that his heart belonged to her. Mrs. Sommers, do you know how that felt?” She let out a fragile, bitter laugh. “I felt like those five years of suffering were for nothing. The only hope keeping me alive had already become someone else’s. That’s why I did something so foolish.” I threw the door open. Mallory looked up instantly, tears pooling in her eyes. “Fiona, I was just trying to apologize to your mother…” My mother’s face had turned an alarming shade of gray. I pointed a trembling finger at the door. “Get out. Now.” Mallory stood up but didn’t leave immediately. She looked down at the bed, her voice a soft, venomous whisper. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Sommers. Jack is just too soft-hearted. Please don’t blame Fiona for not being able to keep him. Any man would feel his heart break if his dying first love begged him in tears, wouldn’t he?” She raised her bandaged wrist, turning it toward the bed. “Look, Mrs. Sommers. I literally put my life on the line. Fiona only waited seven years. I loved him with my life.” My mother’s breathing turned ragged, and the heart monitor beside her began to beep frantically. I rushed to her side, gripping her hand as I used my free arm to violently shove Mallory away. “Get the hell out!” Mallory stumbled back, colliding hard with the doorframe, instantly clutching her wrist with a cry of pain. The door swung open from the outside. Jack walked in, catching Mallory just as she began to collapse backward. He saw the monitor flashing red and me pushing Mallory against the frame, and his face instantly darkened. “Fiona Sommers!” The alarm kept blaring. My mother gasped for air, her fingers clawing at the bedsheets. I shook off Jack’s hand as he tried to grab my arm, and slammed my hand onto the emergency call button. Jack held Mallory close, glaring at me. “Fiona, Mallory came here out of the goodness of her heart to apologize. Was that really necessary?” I didn’t even have the energy to argue with him. Fortunately, the nurses rushed in, and they managed to stabilize my mother’s condition. But from that day on, she was a shadow of her former self. She refused to eat, refused to speak, and would only grip my hand tightly, repeating the same words over and over: “Fiona, sweetie… don’t marry him.” I looked into her tired eyes and held her hand to my cheek. “I won’t, Mom. I promise. I won’t marry him.”

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