Category: English

The first thing I smelled was the copper of my own blood. The last thing I felt was the jagged edge of a broken champagne bottle tearing through my carotid artery. Then, I blinked. The neon glare of the club was gone. In its place was the sterile, flickering fluorescent light of the Stratton & Co. marketing floor. I was back. Back to the Tuesday morning when Mindy first proposed the “team-building” night that would end my life. In my previous life, it started with a whim. Mindy suggested we book a private lounge at The Ace of Spades, a high-end club where a single bottle of Armand de Brignac goes for three grand. She ordered ten. By 2:00 AM, she’d slipped out the back with the rest of the team, claiming she was “checking the valet.” She never came back. The owner—a man with a shaved head and a temper like a pressure cooker—found me alone in the wreckage of the VIP suite. He didn’t care about corporate politics. He wanted his thirty thousand dollars. When I called Mindy, she laughed over the speaker. She told me the champagne tasted like it had been watered down and that the owner should be “honored” a firm like ours even stepped foot in his “dive.” He didn’t feel honored. He felt murderous. 01 “Friday night. Private lounge at The Ace of Spades. I’ve got ten bottles of gold-label bubbles on ice. Don’t even think about being a no-show, babes!” Mindy was leaning against my cubicle partition, a bottle of cold-pressed peach juice dangling from her hand. Her lip gloss left a sticky, coral-colored ring around the straw. Peach. It was always peach. Sweet, soft, and cloying. Five of our six-person team nodded eagerly. I was the only one who didn’t look up from my monitor. “Norah? You’re in, right?” She tilted her head, her blonde highlights catching the office light. I didn’t hesitate. “No.” The sucking sound of the straw stopped. She kept the bottle to her lips, but her eyes narrowed. “Wait, why? It’s Friday!” “I’m busy.” “Is it the money? Don’t worry about the money, sweetie. It’s coming out of the team-building budget. Howard already signed off on it.” “The quarterly budget is eight hundred dollars,” I said, finally turning to face her. “Ten bottles of Ace of Spades is thirty thousand, plus the lounge fee. How exactly are you planning to expense that, Mindy?” The rhythmic clicking of keyboards in the department faltered. Diane, our senior lead, let her fingers hover over the keys. Mindy slowly lowered her juice and stood up straight. The smile stayed on her lips, but the warmth vanished from her eyes. “Norah, you’re so literal. It’s a hookup. The owner is a ‘friend’ of mine. He’s giving us a massive discount.” “How massive? Give me a percentage. I’ll help you run the numbers against the company’s audit policy.” She didn’t answer. Her fingernail traced a sharp, nervous line down the side of her plastic bottle. “Fine. If you want to be a buzzkill, be a buzzkill.” She turned on her heel. On her way back to her desk, she dropped a gourmet chocolate on Chris’s keyboard and gave Diane a playful squeeze on the shoulder. Every move was calculated, a masterclass in social engineering. I had watched her play this game for a year. In my last life, I was just a pawn she sacrificed to clear her tab. At 3:00 PM, Howard called me into his office. “Norah, I heard you’re skipping the team event?” “Yes.” “Reasoning?” “The cost is astronomical, Howard. Even at a fifty-percent discount, it’s ten times our allotted budget.” He tapped his fingers on his mahogany desk. There was a Yeti tumbler sitting there, decorated with a crooked heart sticker drawn by his young daughter. He looked like a family man, a responsible VP. “I’ll handle the financials. But Norah, your attitude is becoming a problem. Mindy works hard to keep morale up, and you’re making her look bad in front of the group.” “I’m not trying to make her look bad. I’m asking a math question.” “Ask it privately then. You’re making it sound like she’s… skimming.” He cut himself off, realizing where that sentence was heading. “Just go. Try to be a team player for once.” When I stepped out, Mindy was waiting at the end of the hallway. She had a new juice. A larger one. “What did Howard say, Norah?” Her voice was pure honey. “Nothing.” “Good. Honestly, I’m sorry I didn’t consult you first. Next time, you’ll be the first person I ask, okay?” She draped an arm over my shoulder. It wasn’t heavy, but her sharp manicure poked right into the soft skin above my collarbone. “Mindy, how many of these ‘team events’ have you organized this year?” “I don’t know… seven? Eight?” “All on the company dime?” “Duh. That’s what a budget is for.” “Do you keep the itemized receipts?” Her grip tightened for a fraction of a second. Then she let go, her smile never wavering. “Why the sudden interest in accounting? Want to see them? I can show you everything.” “Don’t bother,” I said. “I’ll find them myself.” I walked away. Her voice trailed after me, sweet and bubbly as if nothing had happened. “Okay! Suit yourself! Next time then!” Back at my desk, my phone buzzed. A voice note in the department group chat. Four seconds. Mindy’s voice was a low, conspiratorial whisper, the kind meant to sound like a secret shared for your own good. “Norah’s been under a lot of stress lately, guys. Let’s all try to be extra kind to her, okay?” Five minutes later, Diane peered over the top of her monitor, checking to see if anyone was listening. “Norah,” she breathed, her voice barely audible over the hum of the AC. “You shouldn’t have picked a fight with her.” 02 “Morning.” No one replied. It was 8:06 AM. The office was a tomb of mechanical clicks and white noise. I set my bag down and saw my computer was already on. The screen was stuck on a red system alert: Your account has been forcibly logged out. Please contact your administrator. I looked under the desk. My power strip had been yanked out—not accidentally, but with enough force to leave a gouge in the plastic. Chris sat across from me, his noise-canceling headphones on, eyes glued to his screen. He didn’t even look up. I went to HR to borrow a spare cable. When I returned, a Starbucks cup was sitting on my desk. The label read: Peach Green Tea Lemonade. Double Syrup. No name. Mindy’s signature. She was the only one who ordered from that shop. Under the cup was a Post-it note. Pastel pink. Her favorite. Don’t be mad, Norah! My treat. Peace offering? ~M. I dropped the drink into the trash can. I kept the note, tucking it into my drawer. At the 10:00 AM weekly status meeting, Howard was outlining the Q4 roadmap. When he got to the Market Expansion column, he paused. “Norah, what’s the status of the Highpoint Media project?” Before I could breathe, Mindy cut in. “Howard, I actually chatted with the Highpoint lead yesterday. I think there’s been a little… friction in the communication? I’m not sure, but he sounded a bit frustrated.” She sounded hesitant, like she was protecting me. It was a perfect performance—just enough to plant a seed of doubt in Howard, but vague enough to make her seem innocent. “Friction?” Howard frowned. “What kind?” “Just… technical stuff. He said the handoffs haven’t been smooth. I didn’t want to dig too deep since it’s Norah’s baby, you know?” She turned to me, eyes full of performative sympathy. “Don’t be mad that I mentioned it, Norah. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” In less than fifty words, she had buried three landmines. One: she turned a non-existent complaint into a “fact.” Two: she posed as the “reluctant” whistleblower. Three: she framed a betrayal as an act of friendship. I stared at her. “The Highpoint lead told you this? When?” “Yesterday afternoon. He called my cell.” “Did you call him back? Do you have a log?” She laughed. It was the wounded laugh of a friend being interrogated. “Norah, you’re acting like a prosecutor. I don’t record my calls. Who keeps a log of a casual check-in?” Chris chimed in immediately. “Exactly. Mindy’s just trying to help, and you’re giving her the third degree—” “Enough,” Howard snapped. “Norah, I want a full log of every interaction with Highpoint on my desk by EOD. Meeting adjourned.” At 2:00 PM, I bypassed our local drive and logged into the corporate ERP system. Expense reports are filed under the Administrative module, one page per month. March: Omakase dinner. $4,800. April: Karaoke Lounge. $4,500. June: Cross-departmental mixer at a mountain resort. $12,000. The limit for a mixer is $5,000. I pulled up the scanned attachment for the June retreat. It was a handwritten receipt with a blurry stamp. Looking closely at the digital scan, I could see the faint white edges of liquid paper where the original number had been covered. The “5” had been clumsily turned into a “12.” I hit Print Screen. The second the file saved, a notification popped up in the corner of my screen. Mindy. What are you working on, Norah? Come downstairs for a snack! They have those new matcha cookies, my treat! She was sitting three rows away, smiling at me over the sea of cubicles. How did she know what I was looking at? No thanks, I typed. Don’t be a hermit. Everyone thinks you’re acting so weird lately. I heard the click-clack of her stilettos on the tile. She leaned over my shoulder, the scent of her peach perfume so thick it made my throat itch. I could see the outer ring of her colored contact lenses. “Norah,” she whispered, her voice a low frequency meant only for me. “Some things in the system are meant to be read. Others… aren’t.” “I’m just doing my job, Mindy.” “Good to know.” She straightened up and shouted to the room, “Afternoon snacks are on me! Add your names to the Slack thread!” Within seconds, six emojis flashed in the channel. No one tagged me. When the elevator doors opened at 6:00 PM, it was just the two of us. She spoke first. “Norah, just so you know… those workflows you were looking at? Howard was the one who signed off on all of them.” The elevator reached the lobby. The doors slid open. She stepped out, then turned back to look at me, a sharp, peach-colored smile on her face. “Who do you think Howard is going to protect? You… or the system?” 03 “Norah, Highpoint Media pulled out.” Howard didn’t even wait for me to sit down on Wednesday morning. He snatched the project folder off my desk. “Pulled out? Why?” “Their Director called yesterday. Said your communication style was ‘abrasive’ and requested a change in lead. Since they’re already halfway out the door, I’m giving the account to Mindy to see if she can save it.” “He called Mindy? Not me? Not you?” “He called Mindy. She brought it to me. It’s done, Norah.” He walked away. I pulled up my phone. I had the Highpoint Director’s personal number. Our last text was from three days ago. He had sent a data sheet and added, Great work on the proposal, Norah. Very solid. I typed: Hi, regarding the lead change, do you have a moment for a quick call? I hit send. A second later, a red exclamation point appeared. Message not delivered. It wasn’t a network error. He had blocked me. Three days ago, I was his favorite strategist. Today, I was a ghost. I didn’t know what had happened in those seventy-two hours, but I knew who had orchestrated it. At lunch, I walked into the breakroom. Chris and two other associates were huddled around the microwave. The second I entered, their voices dropped to a muffled hum. “…I heard the audit thing is getting serious…” “Shhh, she’s right there.” Chris grabbed his Tupperware and walked past me without a word. The others followed like ducklings. The microwave hummed, spinning someone’s abandoned leftovers. I stood there in the silence, feeling the oxygen being sucked out of the room. When I got back to my desk, I realized my drawer was slightly ajar. Everything had been moved. Not tossed—carefully searched and replaced. But my pens were facing the wrong way. My notepad had shifted an inch to the left. The pink Post-it was gone. Mindy had reclaimed her trail. And the thumb drive. The grey drive where I’d saved the ERP screenshots was gone. It had been sitting right next to my keyboard. Now, the space was empty. I logged into my computer. The screenshots on my desktop were gone. The trash bin had been emptied. The security cameras in our zone had been “out for repair” for three months. Mindy had joked about it in the group chat back then: “We’re all family here, who needs big brother watching?” Family. At 5:00 PM, Mindy returned from “off-site.” She was carrying a large bakery box. “Babes! I took a baking class! Who wants homemade sea-salt cookies?” She distributed them one by one. When she got to me, she set a large, crumbling cookie directly on my desk. “This one’s the biggest. Just for you, Norah. Don’t say I never give you anything.” Her voice was so sweet it felt like it was calcifying into sugar. She hadn’t said a single negative word about me in public all afternoon. But every person who walked past my desk looked away. You don’t need a broken bottle to kill someone. You just need to trap them in a world where everyone listens to you, and then slowly stop the air. At the bus stop after work, Diane appeared next to me. We both looked straight ahead. “Howard’s wife is Mindy’s cousin,” she said, her lips barely moving. I cut my eyes toward her. “How did you find out?” “Last year’s Christmas party. Howard’s wife came to pick him up. Mindy ran up and called her ‘Cuz.’ There were two hundred people in that hall, but I was the only one standing at the right angle to hear it.” The bus pulled up. Diane stepped on. Just as the doors were closing, she looked back. “You can’t win, Norah. Don’t kill yourself trying.” 04 Norah, please report to HR on the 19th floor immediately. The email arrived at 8:00 AM. CC’d: Howard, the HR Director, and Legal. Legal. In my last life, Legal never got involved in “performance reviews.” The conference room door was open. Five people were already seated. Meredith, the HR Director, sat in the center. Mark from Legal was on the left. Howard was on the right. At the far end sat a middle-aged man in a sharp suit, flipping through a stack of printed documents—an outside auditor. “Sit down, Norah.” Meredith’s voice was cold. She had a set of A4 papers spread out in front of her. Forms and signatures. “Do you recognize these?” She slid them across the table. Five expense reimbursement forms. $1,600, $2,300, $1,800, $2,100, $1,900. Totaling nearly ten thousand dollars. In the “Requested By” box was my signature. Every single one. The handwriting was terrifying. The slant of the ‘N,’ the way the ‘r’ looped—it looked exactly like mine. Except I had never signed them. “I didn’t sign these.” “These were submitted using your employee ID and login,” the auditor said, pushing his glasses up. “The system logs show five submissions over the last six months. Howard approved them under the impression they were for cross-departmental events—catering, venue deposits, travel stipends.” “We cross-referenced,” Meredith added. “Three of these events never happened. The other two cost less than five hundred dollars. The rest is… missing.” I looked at the signatures. In my last life, I hadn’t lived long enough for the audit to catch up. “Howard,” I said, looking him in the eye. “Did you look at the content when you approved these?” Howard’s face turned a dull grey. He gripped his Yeti tumbler until his knuckles went white. “Mindy told me you submitted them. She said she was helping you with the workflow because you were ‘struggling’ with the software. I trusted—” The door opened. Mindy walked in. Her eyes were red. She was clutching a tissue, her nose slightly pink. She had been crying, or she was perfectly prepared to. “Sorry I’m late,” she whispered. She took the last empty chair. Right next to me. “Meredith, I feel so responsible for this.” Her voice trembled. “I helped Norah enter these into the system. She said she was confused by the interface, so I just… I did it for her. I didn’t check the amounts. We’re friends. I trusted her.” She looked at me. In those watery eyes, I didn’t see guilt. I saw the deep, satisfied hunger of a predator watching its prey hit the trap. “Norah, just tell them. Tell them you asked me to do it.” “I didn’t.” “If you say that…” her voice broke, “then whose signature is that?” The auditor cleared his throat. “We’ve done a preliminary comparison. The signature on these forms is a 91% match for the signature on Norah’s original employment contract.” Meredith leaned forward. “Norah, you have two choices. You can cooperate and tell us where the money went, or we can involve the authorities and turn this into a criminal matter.” Mindy’s shoulders shook with a sob. She pressed the tissue to her eyes, careful not to smudge her makeup. Tears rolled down her cheeks, perfectly timed. “Meredith, Norah is a good person. Maybe it’s just a… a misunderstanding?” She didn’t finish. She buried her face in her hands. The four people in the room looked at Mindy with far more sympathy than they looked at me. My keycard was confiscated. My laptop was locked. I was told to leave the premises immediately pending a full investigation. The hallway was silent as I walked out. Mindy caught up to me at the elevator. The tears were gone. Her face was dry, her foundation perfectly smooth. “Norah, wait.” She stepped in front of the elevator doors. She pulled a bottle of peach juice from her bag, unscrewed the cap, and took a long sip. “Do you know why I picked you?” I didn’t speak. “Because you were ‘useful.’ On your first day, Howard asked who was willing to stay late to organize the archives, and you were the only one who raised your hand. I knew right then.” She wiped a drop of juice from her lip. “Just admit it, Norah. Ten grand isn’t that much. Pay it back in installments. I’ll talk to Meredith, tell her you’re going through a ‘personal crisis.’ They’ll fire you, sure, but they won’t call the cops.” “And if I don’t admit it?” She tilted her head. Her false lashes fluttered. “Don’t admit it? Norah, I’ve seen the agenda for the Annual General Meeting next week. Your name is on the last slide.” She shook the juice bottle at me. “That’s the slide for ‘Public Termination for Cause.’ See you then, babes.”

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I am the Chief Legal Officer for one of the largest multinational conglomerates in the Midwest. Recently, returning to Chicago from a grueling two-year overseas assignment, I decided to move into the luxury high-rise condo I’d purchased right before I left. It had been sitting completely empty since the day I closed on it. On my very first day in the apartment, I opened my mail to find a utility bill that nearly made my heart stop. Twelve thousand dollars. According to the city’s water department, my vacant apartment had somehow consumed over half a million gallons of water in the last sixty days. I immediately drove down to the municipal utility office to dispute it. I expected a clerical error, an apology, maybe a swift keystroke to fix a misplaced decimal. Instead, the district manager rolled his eyes at me, a smirk playing on his lips. “It’s just twelve grand, lady. You can afford to live in a penthouse but you want to stiff the city?” he mocked, leaning back in his squeaky swivel chair. “The meter turns, you pay the bill. That’s how the world works.” To prove my innocence, I paid out of pocket for an independent, certified plumbing inspector to examine the hardware. The result? The city’s water meter was well past its expiration date and severely malfunctioning. But the utility office didn’t just reject the certified report. In retaliation, they sent a crew to physically cap and lock the main water valve to my home. And then came the punchline: the very next month, with my pipes literally welded shut, I received an automated text alert charging me for another hundred and fifty gallons of water. When I slapped this undeniable proof onto the district manager’s desk, he doubled down. He flat-out refused to acknowledge the error and actually threatened to sue me for the malicious theft of municipal resources. In my fifteen years of corporate litigation, I had never encountered someone so profoundly, aggressively ignorant of the law. I quietly slipped my hand into my trench coat pocket, my fingers brushing the metallic edge of the digital recorder I’d kept running. If they thought this kind of petty extortion was just business as usual, then the ten-million-dollar lawsuit I was currently drafting in my head would be perfectly reasonable, wouldn’t it? 1 I stared down at the man across the desk, my palm flat against the absurd twelve-thousand-dollar bill. “Twelve grand. Half a million gallons of water in two months,” I said, my voice dangerously low and steady. “Since you refuse to recognize the independent inspector’s report, and you refuse to admit your meter is compromised, then my ten-million-dollar lawsuit will be sitting on your desk by the end of the week.” The man blinked, then threw his head back and laughed. A loud, grating sound that bounced off the drab fluorescent-lit walls of the municipal office. “Oh, I’m shaking in my boots,” he sneered. “A ten-million-dollar lawsuit? Who do you think you are, the feds? Let me tell you something, sweetheart. My name is Gary Higgins. I run the water for this entire district.” He stood up, leaning over the laminate desk to point a stubby finger right at my face. “Go ahead and ask around. I’ve been running this show for fifteen years. You think a piece of paper from some lawyer scares me?” “If the meter runs, you pay,” Gary barked. “Your toilet probably ran for two months straight. Your HOA’s property management already checked the pressure and said the mains were fine. That makes it a ‘you’ problem. So stop standing in my office pretending you’re some hotshot legal genius.” I met his gaze, my expression turning to ice. “A running toilet doesn’t generate half a million gallons, Gary. Do you think I have Niagara Falls hidden in my guest bath?” I kept my tone perfectly level. “The property management testing the pressure only proves the main line hasn’t burst. The independent inspector’s report explicitly states your meter is internally corroded and the gears are spinning wildly out of control. You ignored a state-certified engineering report and maliciously cut off my access to a basic human necessity.” I leaned in just a fraction. “That is the textbook definition of abuse of power and extortion.” Gary curled his lip, his face twisting into a mask of pure contempt. “A certified report? Please. You can buy those things online for fifty bucks. For all I know, you forged it.” He crossed his arms over his cheap polo shirt. “Let me make this crystal clear: your little third-party inspector means jack shit to me. I go by the data in my system. You’re going to pay this bill today. I don’t care if your condo was empty for two years. Maybe you were running an illegal aquarium in there.” He scoffed, looking me up and down. “Don’t think that just because you wear a designer suit, you get to steal from the taxpayers.” He slammed his palms on the desk. “I’m telling you right now, if you don’t pay, you will never see a single drop of water in that apartment for as long as you live. And I won’t stop there. I’ll send this straight to collections. I’ll tank your credit score so fast you won’t even be able to finance a Honda Civic.” He was practically glowing with the intoxicating thrill of his own perceived power. His face screamed, What are you gonna do about it? “Go ahead and sue me,” he mocked. “I’ve got friends in high places. A lawsuit? Your little piece of paper isn’t even fit for me to wipe my ass with.” I felt a strange, chilling calm wash over me. It was the same hyper-focus I felt right before tearing a hostile witness apart on the stand. I nodded slowly, gathering my documents and sliding them back into my leather briefcase. “All right. Remember everything you just said today,” I told him softly. “Gary Higgins, isn’t it? I sincerely hope you’re still laughing this hard when the process server hands you the summons.” I turned on my heel and walked out of the dingy utility office. As the glass door swung shut behind me, I could hear Gary’s voice booming down the hallway. “Stupid bitch thinks she can play hardball with me. She’s got no idea.” I stood on the sidewalk, the crisp Chicago wind pulling at my hair. I took out my phone and dialed 911. “Yes, hello. I need to report a crime,” I said, my voice echoing in the quiet street. “I am the victim of active extortion and the illegal destruction of private property.” If Gary thought he was untouchable, it was time to let the police remind him how the real world worked. 2 After hanging up, I stood on the pavement just outside the utility building, letting the chill of the afternoon settle my nerves. A few minutes later, Gary swaggered out the front doors, jingling his keys. “Still here? What, did you actually call the cops?” he jeered, pausing on the steps. “Let me give you a reality check, Val. The cops show up, they tell you it’s a civil dispute, and they tell you to take it up with me. You’re wasting your breath. Just pay the twelve grand, and maybe I’ll be nice enough to send a guy to unlock your pipes before dinner.” I didn’t even look at him. I just kept my eyes on the street. Five minutes later, a blue-and-white cruiser pulled up to the curb. Two officers stepped out, scanning the area. I walked straight toward them, retrieving my ID and the absurdly long, itemized water bill from my bag. “Officers. I’m the one who called. That man right there is Gary Higgins, the district utility manager,” I said, pointing directly at him. “My condo has been completely vacant for two years while I worked abroad. He is using fabricated data to extort me for twelve thousand dollars. When I provided state-certified proof that his equipment was faulty, he rejected it and illegally severed the water supply to my primary residence.” The older officer turned his gaze to Gary. Instantly, Gary’s arrogant sneer melted into a slimy, subservient grin as he practically jogged over. “Officers, hey, how are you? Total misunderstanding,” Gary said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “This lady is just trying to cause a scene. Her toilet had a massive leak, she racked up half a million gallons, and now she doesn’t want to foot the bill. We’re just following city protocol. Delinquent accounts get shut off. It’s the law.” The officer held up a hand to stop him. “There’s a legal procedure for shutting off residential utilities. Did you serve her with the mandatory written notices?” Gary patted his chest confidently. “Absolutely. Taped ’em right to her front door. Been there for days. Not my fault if she doesn’t read.” “That is a lie,” I cut in sharply. “I flew back into the country yesterday. My door was completely clean. And more importantly, I have a certified engineering report proving the meter is broken. On what authority is he enforcing a shut-off?” The officer glanced at the thick report in my hand, then back at Gary. “Since there’s a dispute over the physical property, we need to go to the residence and assess the situation.” Gary nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, fine by me! Let’s go. In fact, let me call Kevin Russo, the property manager over at her HOA. He’ll tell you exactly what’s going on.” He pulled out his phone and stepped away to make the call. Watching the smug tilt of his head, a cold knot of dread tightened in my stomach. Something wasn’t right. A short drive later, we pulled up to the circular driveway of my high-rise. Kevin Russo, the property manager, was already standing out front, flanked by two security guards. When he saw our little convoy approach, his face broke into an exaggerated, welcoming smile. “Gary, my man! What brings you by?” Kevin called out. Gary jerked a thumb in my direction. “This resident right here. Racked up twelve grand in water bills and swears the place has been empty for two years. Kevin, you’re running the building. You tell the officers—has this unit been empty?” Kevin slowly turned to me, giving me a long, theatrical once-over. “Officers,” Kevin said, his voice dripping with faux sympathy, “Ms. Monroe is one of our regulars. I see her coming in and out of the lobby almost every single day.” I froze. The breath hitched in my throat. “What are you talking about?” I demanded, my voice cracking like a whip. “I have been stationed at our corporate headquarters in London. I only transferred back yesterday. My furniture isn’t even fully delivered. How could I possibly be living here every day?” Kevin sighed, putting on the face of a disappointed parent. “Ms. Monroe, I understand nobody wants to pay a huge utility bill. But you can’t just lie to the police. I literally saw you carrying groceries into the elevator two days ago.” He gestured to the guards behind him. “It’s not just me. The concierge, the cleaning staff—we’ve all seen you.” The guards nodded in unison, their faces blank. I let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “Wow. You got your stories straight. You’re actually committing perjury on the spot?” I turned to the officers. “They are lying. It’s incredibly easy to prove. Pull the fob swipe data for the lobby doors, or the elevator security cameras. It will prove I haven’t been here.” The older officer nodded, turning to Kevin. “Mr. Russo, we’ll need to see the security footage for her floor from the last two months.” “Of course, officer. Right this way,” Kevin said smoothly, leading us into the marble-floored security room behind the concierge desk. He tapped at the keyboard, pulling up the feed for my floor. On the screen, the grainy image of a woman in a beige trench coat appeared. She was walking down the hall toward my door. It was only from behind, catching a sliver of her profile, but the haircut, the posture, the style of the coat… it was an uncanny resemblance to me. And according to the timestamps Kevin clicked through, this woman had been showing up every few days for the last month. Gary tapped the screen with a fat finger, beaming. “Well, look at that, officers. Cameras don’t lie, do they? She’s been living here, burning through the water, and now she’s trying to cry extortion to get out of it.” I stared at the screen, my legal mind racing, dissecting the trap they had just sprung. “Look at the timestamp,” I said, pointing at the glowing numbers. “Tuesday at 3:00 PM. At that exact moment, I was sitting in a boardroom in Canary Wharf. I have corporate attendance records, flight logs, and meeting minutes to prove it. That woman is a body double. Your property management is actively manufacturing evidence.” Kevin’s face darkened. “Ms. Monroe, be careful. That sounds a lot like slander. The camera clearly shows you. Why are you still denying it?” The officer sighed, looking between me and the monitors. “Ms. Monroe, frankly, the evidence right now is not in your favor,” the officer said gently, but firmly. “We have eyewitness testimony and video footage placing you at the scene. As of right now, the utility bill is a civil breach of contract. I highly advise you take this up in civil court. But as for your claims of extortion… there’s simply no probable cause for an arrest.” I swallowed the bitter taste of frustration. I understood the officer’s position. Law enforcement operates on surface-level evidence in the moment. Until I could definitively prove the video was staged, their hands were tied. After taking a brief statement, the police left. The heavy metal door of the security room clicked shut, leaving me alone with Gary and Kevin. 3 Gary leaned back against the console, a triumphant grin plastered across his face. “I told you, Val,” he sneered. “I’ve got friends everywhere. In this zip code, if I say you used the water, you used the water.” Kevin chuckled, adjusting the lapels of his suit. “Look, Ms. Monroe, let me give you some neighborly advice. Pay the toll. Twelve grand is probably pocket change to a fancy corporate lady like you. You pay the bill, we get your water back on, and we all go back to our happy lives.” I looked at the two of them, a cold fury settling deep in my bones. “Do you really think you can play God in this city?” I asked, my voice deadly quiet. “Tampering with surveillance, coordinating perjury… these are felonies.” Gary threw his head back and laughed. “Then go tell the judge! Weren’t you going to send me a lawyer letter? I’m terrified! Send me the ten-million-dollar lawsuit!” I didn’t waste another breath on them. I turned and walked out of the room. As I rode the elevator up to my silent, waterless apartment, the reality of the situation locked into place. They had built a wall of lies, thinking conventional methods would never break it. They thought I was just some rich, helpless woman they could bully into submission. But they didn’t know who they were dealing with. If they wanted to play dirty, I was going to bury them. Once inside, I opened my laptop and logged into my company’s secure VPN. As the Chief Legal Officer of one of the city’s largest real estate and tech conglomerates, my access to high-level data was something these low-level grifters couldn’t even fathom. I pulled up the original architectural blueprints for my high-rise. My company’s development arm had built this very building five years ago. I traced the blue lines of the plumbing schematics. There it was. The main water line for my specific residential tier had a bypass valve running directly down into the subterranean parking garage. Specifically, into the commercial car wash bay operating in the basement. I did a quick public records search. The car wash was an LLC registered to a man named Dominic… whose wife’s maiden name was Russo. Kevin Russo’s brother-in-law. The pieces clicked together perfectly. A commercial car wash burns through tens of thousands of gallons of water a week. To avoid paying the exorbitant commercial utility rates, Kevin had colluded with Gary at the city water department. They quietly spliced the car wash’s intake pipe onto the meter of my vacant condo. They figured since I was out of the country for years, the bill would just accumulate, unnoticed. And if I ever did come back and complain, they had their little system of forged footage and fake witnesses ready to force me into paying it to make the problem go away. It was a brilliantly executed racket. The next morning, I walked back into the city utility office, a freshly printed legal binder in my hand. Gary didn’t even look up from his computer when I walked in. “Oh, look who it is. Did you bring your checkbook, or are you just here to whine again?” I dropped the heavy legal binder onto his desk with a loud thud. “Gary, consider yourself served,” I said. “This lawsuit mandates the immediate restoration of my utilities, alongside claims for defamation, intentional infliction of emotional distress, and gross negligence, seeking compensatory and punitive damages totaling ten million dollars.” Gary picked up the binder, flipped it open, and skimmed the first page. “Ten million?” He let out a barking laugh. “Are you out of your mind? You think printing a big number on a piece of paper is gonna make me back down?” He grabbed the thick stack of papers in both hands and violently ripped them down the middle, tossing the torn shreds into his trash can. “I’m going to tell you this once. You aren’t getting a dime from me. Hell, you aren’t getting a penny.” He stood up, planting his knuckles on the desk, looming over me. “I’m telling you to back off, Val. You’re just a woman playing dress-up. You can’t beat the system. You pay the bill, or I will personally make sure you can’t even buy a cup of coffee in this town.” I didn’t flinch. I stared right into his eyes. “Destroying a legal summons means you waive your right to mediation, Gary,” I said smoothly. “And that statement you made yesterday—about meters ‘having momentum’—I already have that recorded.” I tapped the discreet, pin-sized lens clipped to the lapel of my blazer. Gary’s face went slack. The blood drained from his cheeks. “You wearing a wire? You bitch!” He lunged across the desk, grabbing for my jacket. I took a swift step back, easily evading his grasping hands. “Don’t touch me. You’ll just add assault to the charges.” I tilted my head, watching him panic. “Did you really think splicing the commercial car wash line onto my residential meter was a flawless crime?” Gary froze. He looked like he’d been struck by lightning. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about. What car wash? That’s defamation!” “We’ll let a federal judge decide if it’s defamation,” I replied, my voice chillingly calm. “Oh, and a quick piece of advice: hire a very good criminal defense attorney. Because what you’re facing isn’t just civil damages anymore. You’re looking at federal wire fraud and corruption charges.” I turned and walked out. From my car, I didn’t go home. I drove straight to the federal courthouse to officially file the suit. Then, I mailed thick, heavily documented whistle-blower packets to both the Mayor’s Office of Inspector General and the state’s anti-corruption task force. 4 The courts moved faster than I anticipated. When a lawsuit involves a ten-million-dollar claim and allegations of municipal corruption against a prominent corporate officer, judges tend to pay attention. Three days later, we were sitting in a sterile, wood-paneled mediation room at the courthouse. Gary and Kevin sat shoulder-to-shoulder, both flanked by their respective attorneys. The court-appointed mediator reviewed my filing, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Ms. Monroe, a ten-million-dollar demand is… highly irregular. While it appears the utility department may have skipped some procedural steps regarding your shut-off, this sum is—” I raised a hand, cutting her off politely but firmly. “Madam Mediator, the ten million dollars is not about a water bill,” I said, my voice ringing clear in the small room. “It is about a coordinated criminal enterprise. These men used their municipal and corporate authority to steal public utilities and fraudulently offload the financial burden onto an innocent private citizen. That transcends a billing dispute. It is systemic fraud.” Gary’s lawyer slammed his hand on the table. “I object to this entirely! Ms. Monroe, watch your accusations. You have zero material proof that my client stole anything. The HOA’s security footage clearly establishes that you were residing in the unit, making the water usage entirely plausible.” I reached into my leather tote and pulled out a manila envelope, sliding it across the table to the mediator. “These are certified corporate employment records, flight logs, and passport data,” I said, watching Kevin out of the corner of my eye. “For the last twenty-four months, I have been living in London, serving as Chief Counsel for our European division. Included are sworn affidavits from customs and border patrol verifying my entry and exit dates. They are indisputable.” Gary and Kevin stared at the documents. I watched the color rapidly drain from Kevin’s face. They had gambled everything on the assumption that I was just a wealthy ghost. They never imagined I could pull federal immigration data to prove my alibi. Kevin swallowed hard, a nervous sweat breaking out on his forehead. “Well… I mean… the security camera timestamps must have glitched. It’s a technical error.” “A technical error?” I leaned forward, locking eyes with him. “Then who is the woman in the video who looks exactly like me? You hired a lookalike to stage evidence. In the eyes of the law, Mr. Russo, that is conspiracy to commit perjury.” Gary couldn’t sit still anymore. He stood up, pointing a trembling finger at me. “Listen here, you can’t just throw us under the bus! Even if you were out of the country, your meter broke! Why the hell do you think you deserve ten million dollars?!” I stood up slowly, matching his height, radiating absolute authority. “Because I am the Chief Legal Officer for a Fortune 500 company,” I said, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “My billable rate is five thousand dollars an hour. You have wasted an entire week of my time trying to cover up your petty theft. Factor in the gross negligence, the emotional distress, and the attempted extortion? Ten million is a bargain.” The entire mediation room fell dead silent.

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Late at night, I saw a delivery order on my boyfriend’s phone. The note read, “For my darling,” but the delivery address was his cousin’s hotel room upstairs. “Jealous?” The man behind me wrapped his arms around me, his breath warm against my neck. The man was my boyfriend’s older cousin. 1 He grabbed the phone from me and turned off the screen. Liam pulled me over the covers to face him, asking, “Continue?” I suddenly felt a surge of panic. Taking advantage of the fact that neither of us was fully undressed yet, I scrambled off the bed, but I couldn’t find my other shoe. As I hesitated whether to crawl and check under the bed, a pair of unopened disposable hotel slippers was tossed my way. “Wear these.” He lit a cigarette. “The floor is dusty.” “My shoe…” “It’s not going anywhere.” Liam leaned back against the headboard, his tone languid. “I’ll find it and bring it to you.” Saying this, he glanced at me, his gaze lingering on me for two seconds before looking away. He impatiently loosened his collar. “Go to the bathroom and fix your clothes first. People might think I actually did something to you.” My face flushed red, and I turned and ran into the bathroom. In the mirror was a woman with a flushed, peach-blossom complexion, her shirt unbuttoned past her collarbone. Was that me? Liam seemed to have just showered; the bathroom still held residual steam, feeling damp and suffocating. The memories of what had just happened flooded back into my mind unbidden. 2 During the Thanksgiving break, I brought my best friend, Chloe, and my boyfriend, Ethan, brought his older cousin, Liam. The four of us went on a road trip together. That night, Ethan said he was going upstairs to keep his heartbroken cousin company. While I was using his laptop to send an email, I accidentally stumbled upon an anonymous post he had made: “Got rejected by my goddess. To see her every day, I started dating her best friend.” “The goddess confessed to me during our trip, but my girlfriend treats me really well. How should I choose?” “The goddess asked me to come to her room in the middle of the night. What should I do? Waiting online, it’s urgent.” “…” The timestamp on the last post was five minutes before he went upstairs. In an instant, the shackles of a double betrayal locked around me. With red eyes, I went to my best friend’s room, only to hear unbearable conversations through the door: “Aren’t you afraid your girlfriend will find out you sneaked up here to see me?” “Heh, I wouldn’t have come if I was afraid.” “Mhm… gentler… I can’t take it.” The ambiguous sounds of pleasure stimulated every nerve in my body. Ethan had probably forgotten— Today was our one-year anniversary. Wearing only a thin nightgown, I stood outside the door for a long time, so long that my hands and feet went numb and cold. What should I do? Kick the door open, catch them in the act, tear off their masks, and then be humiliated by them? I took a deep breath. In a moment of impulsive anger, I chose to turn around, knock on the door, and enter Ethan’s cousin’s room. Liam had just taken a shower, wearing loose pajamas, and I pushed him onto the bed and kissed him. And then. I saw Ethan’s phone on his bed. Liam was honest. He shrugged and told me casually— Ethan gave him the phone and told him that if I called, he should answer and cover for him. I unlocked the phone and saw the late-night delivery order Ethan had placed. Before going upstairs, he bought two boxes of ultra-thin condoms, and the delivery address was Chloe’s room. … “Taking that long?” Liam’s voice suddenly echoed from behind me. He leaned against the doorway, looking me up and down with half-closed eyes, his expression languid. I hurriedly retreated from the bathroom. “Then I’ll head back first…” After saying that, I walked around him to open the door. But unexpectedly ran into Ethan, who had just come out of Chloe’s room next door. Our eyes met. The hallway fell dead silent. 3 “Weren’t you supposed to be keeping Liam company?” After the silence, I chose to interrogate him first. “Yeah.” After a tactical pause, he feigned calmness and defended himself, “Just now, Chloe came knocking and said there was a cockroach in her room, and insisted I help her kill it.” “So dramatic.” Saying this, he walked towards me. “Why are you in my cousin’s room?” Hearing him ask about Liam, I inexplicably remembered that hot, lingering kiss from earlier. My earlobes felt burning hot. “I came looking for you.” I also lied without changing my expression. “Liam said you went out, and let me come in to see the phone you left behind.” Actually, at the moment we ran into each other, I wanted to expose everything. But now. I suddenly didn’t want to anymore. I wanted to see how long he could keep up the act. Ethan was feeling guilty, after all, so he didn’t dare press for details. He took his phone and put his arm around me, walking back to our room. We closed the door and got into bed separately. At my insistence, Ethan had booked a room with two double beds. He hesitated for a moment, then lifted my blanket and crawled in. “Audrey…” I felt disgusted and pushed him away forcefully. “Are you angry?” He hugged me tighter instead, one hand stealthily reaching under the hem of my dress. “Audrey, should we…” I kicked him in the knee. “Get out!” Ethan cried out in pain and let go, but he also secretly breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t have the energy right now anyway; he was just putting on a show, afraid I would get suspicious. Feeling a chill on his back, he threw off the blanket and got out of bed, seemingly angered by my kick. “Audrey, we’ve been dating for a year, who are you saving yourself for?” He angrily got into his own bed and turned his back to me. Probably tired from earlier, snoring soon echoed from his side of the room. The lights in the room were turned off. Therefore, when Ethan’s muted phone received a message, the lit screen was particularly conspicuous. I quietly got out of bed and took the phone. It was a message from Chloe: “Liar, didn’t you say you bought two boxes? We only used 3.” “[Smirk Emoji]” 4 At midnight, I was so disgusted by those two people that I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to go down to the lounge bar and have a drink. But I unexpectedly ran into Liam. He was easy to spot. Wearing a gray hoodie, an incredibly handsome face, but with an inherent, aloof vibe. As I hesitated whether to go up and talk to him, Liam already saw me. “Liam…” Just as I sat down, a glass of alcohol was shoved into my hand. Liam’s voice sounded across from me, “Impressive.” “When you forcefully kissed me, you called me Liam, but as soon as you walked out the door, you changed it to ‘Cousin Liam’ to be polite.” I felt a bit embarrassed by his words and could only take a sip of the drink. This liquor was so spicy. I forced myself to down it in one gulp. Then my face scrunched up from the burn. “Heh.” A low chuckle came from across the table. Liam asked, “Want me to swap it for juice?” “No need.” I replied with a muffled voice, grabbed the bottle, and poured myself a full glass. “If you’re a man, drink with me until we drop.” Liam smiled. He poured himself a glass too and asked me, “What’s your tolerance?” “Umm…” I bit my lip and thought for a long time. I had only had one glass, yet my thoughts were already slowing down. After thinking for a while, I looked up and answered honestly. “Never drank before.” I thought I could handle at least half a bottle. As a result, I started acting crazy after two glasses. I rested my chin on my hand and observed Liam across the table. At first, he just looked handsome, but as I kept looking— That face gradually morphed into my dad’s. I stared at him for a good while. “Dad?” The drink Liam had just swallowed almost choked him out. 5 While Liam was tipsy, I was completely wasted. He wouldn’t let me drink anymore. He said he wanted to take me back to the hotel. There was an unmanned 24-hour convenience store near the lounge. As I walked past the door, I stubbornly refused to leave. Liam rubbed his temples. “What do you want to do? My little princess.” “We’re buying too,” I pointed inside the store. “We’re buying three boxes!” My voice was a bit loud, instantly drawing the attention of passersby. Liam cursed under his breath. “Stop messing around.” He tried to pull me away, but was a step too late. I slipped into the store. As I was dizzyingly trying to operate the machine, a hand suddenly reached out from behind me. “Really want to buy them?” “Yes, I want to buy them.” He raised his hand and directly deleted the three boxes I had selected. The man’s voice behind me was inexplicably huskier, “You bought the wrong size.” 6 Bought the wrong size. Wrong size… My face flushed so red I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know if it was because I was dizzy from the alcohol or flushed from embarrassment, but I stumbled back to the hotel, my pockets bulging with three boxes. At the door of his room, he stopped to block me. “It’s not too late to back out now.” I was stubborn. “Whoever backs out is a coward.” He was much taller than me. He looked down at me, his gaze somewhat intense. “Are you sure?” “I’m sure.” The next second, I was pulled into the room. I felt a bit dizzy. His jacket was draped over my head, and his voice came from above, “I’m going to take a shower. Wait for me in bed.” By the time I clumsily pulled the jacket off, he had already gone into the bathroom. The sound of running water seeped through the crack in the door. It made me incredibly nervous. Catching sight of a few cans of beer on the table, I walked over, opened one, and took a huge gulp. “Burp…” I felt even dizzier. When Liam came out, I was curled up on the edge of the bed, and there were two crushed beer cans on the nightstand. “Drank by yourself?” He frowned. But I narrowed my eyes and evaluated him. It wasn’t the image of a beautiful man emerging from the bath wrapped in a towel like I had imagined. He came out wearing pajama pants and a shirt. Liam walked up to me. He was very strong. Reaching out and scooping me up, he pressed me onto the bed. “Didn’t you say we were going to use them?” He patted the pocket where I had stuffed the three boxes. My face flushed. Under his gaze, I quickly lifted my head and gave him a peck. “That’s it?” He chuckled. “You don’t even know how to kiss.” The hand cupping the back of my head suddenly tightened its grip, and he lowered his head to kiss me. A faint scent of tobacco engulfed me. Just as I was about to run out of breath, my phone suddenly rang. Ethan. 7 “Hello…” When I answered the phone, I was still panting slightly. “Audrey, where are you?” Facing Liam’s smiling gaze in front of me, my heart skipped a beat, and I turned my head away to lie, “At my friend’s place.” I have a friend I’m pretty close with in this city; Ethan knew about her. After symbolically comforting me with a few words, Ethan hung up the phone. Liam used his thumb to wipe the corner of my mouth. “Continue?” I shook my head, saying I couldn’t. Because of nerves, my hand clutched the hem of his shirt, refusing to let go. Knock, knock— A knock on the door suddenly sounded. “Liam, open the door!” Ethan’s voice unexpectedly rang out outside the door. I jumped in fright and instinctively looked at Liam. He seemed completely unfazed. He threw the blanket over my head and got up to open the door. “What’s up?” I heard the flick of a lighter; Liam seemed to have lit a cigarette. “Do me a favor, Liam, I’m begging you.” Ethan didn’t hold back. “Audrey went to her friend’s place. My phone is with you. If she calls, help me cover.” “I don’t care.” “Come on, Liam. Chloe doesn’t like being interrupted, but I’m afraid Audrey won’t be able to reach me and will rush back to the hotel.” As he spoke, Ethan suddenly saw me. “Liam, I was wondering why you took so long to open the door. Turns out you’re hiding someone in your room too.” I panicked and quickly pulled back the lower half of my leg that was exposed outside the blanket, but he still saw it. “Tsk, those legs are long and fair. You can tell she’s a beauty just by looking at her legs.” Liam seemed to chuckle. “Your girlfriend isn’t bad either.” “Her?” Ethan scoffed. “She only lets me look, not touch. She’s incredibly prudish.” “Forget it, talking about her in the middle of the night kills the mood. Have fun, Liam. Remember to cover for me if she calls.” With that, I heard the sound of the door closing. “Come out.” Seeing I wasn’t moving, Liam walked over and pulled the blanket off my head. I stared at him intently. Soon, familiar sounds came from next door—Chloe’s voice. I bit my lip hard and looked up at him. “Liam, let’s use those two boxes.” 8 Liam has a pair of very beautiful eyes. Right now. Those eyes were looking at me. The emotions surging within them looked like pure desire. I was about to melt into them, but he suddenly reined in his emotions. He grabbed me, pinned me down on the bed, pulled up the blanket, and piled it on top of me. “Go to sleep.” His voice was incredibly hoarse. The piercing sounds of pleasure continued to come from next door. I felt unwilling and leaned in to kiss him. Holding Liam’s face, I peppered it with kisses like a woodpecker. Until his breathing grew heavier. Then. Liam almost gritted his teeth as he wrapped me tightly in the blanket. “I don’t take advantage of people when they’re drunk. We’ll talk when you’re sober.” He rolled me into a burrito and hugged me from behind. “Sleep.” His breath was warm, puffing against the back of my neck, hot and ticklish. It was so uncomfortable. I rubbed against him uncomfortably, but his arms tightened around me. “Stop moving around.”

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For six months, I had been secretly dating my older brother’s best friend. I just hadn’t found the right moment to break the news to my brother. Then came the afternoon Tyler dragged me to the park out of nowhere, claiming we were going on a “sting operation” to catch Jackson on a date. “I finally caught the bastard,” Tyler said, practically vibrating with excitement. “He actually brought his new girl out in public.” Before my brain could even process the words, Tyler shoved me forward, right into the middle of the walking path. When my eyes focused on the couple standing in front of me, my vision blurred. The world tilted on its axis. My throat tightened so violently I could barely breathe, let alone speak. All I could manage to force past my trembling lips was a pathetic, broken whisper. “Hey, Jackson. Nice to meet you… both.” Jackson’s eyes locked onto mine, and the color completely drained from his face. 1. I stared at the man I knew better than my own reflection, the phone trembling in my grip. Tyler didn’t notice my world collapsing. He was too busy wearing a shit-eating grin. “Jackson, that sly son of a bitch. I knew if I trailed him long enough, I’d catch him on a private date.” He nudged my shoulder. “Mia, call him. Let’s see what he says.” I didn’t say a word. I just numbly pulled up the familiar contact and pressed dial. Fifty feet away, the young man strolling down the path pulled his phone from his pocket. He looked annoyed for a fraction of a second before answering. When he spoke, his voice was that same soft, familiar cadence I fell asleep to every night. “Hey. I’m tied up with something right now. Can we talk later?” I wanted to scream. I wanted to ask him if tied up with something meant holding another woman’s hand. But my throat was a desert. Nothing came out. Jackson glanced at his screen, his tone dropping an octave. “I have to go.” The line went dead. At that exact moment, a heavy hand shoved my back. My feet stumbled forward on autopilot until I was standing dead center in front of the golden couple. Looking at their intertwined fingers, a burning, acidic ache flooded my eyes. I clawed together every ounce of dignity I had left, pasted on a hollow smile, and offered my greetings. Jackson looked like he had seen a ghost. 2. “What are you doing here?” Jackson demanded, his voice tight. “Are you following me?” Before I could even open my mouth, Tyler leaped out from the bushes, waving his phone—which was currently broadcasting a FaceTime call to their college group chat—right in Jackson’s face. “Gentlemen! What did I tell you?” Tyler hollered. “Our boy is officially off the market! Who says he doesn’t owe us a steak dinner for holding out on us?” Seeing my brother suddenly materialize, the hostility vanished from Jackson’s face. The sharp, defensive edge he had directed at me instantly dissolved. “Dinner? Yeah, sure,” Jackson stammered, pulling the girl closer to his side. “Gia and I will treat you guys next time.” The pure, unfiltered adoration in his eyes as he looked down at her felt like a physical blow. There was nowhere to look, nowhere to hide from it. I suddenly realized I was staring at a total stranger. Only last night, this same man was on the phone with me, mapping out our future. We had spent an hour strategizing the perfect, seamless way to tell Tyler that we were in love. How does a man’s entire reality shift overnight? My phone buzzed in my palm. I looked down. It was a text from Jackson. Keep your mouth shut. Let me explain later. By the time I looked back up, Jackson had slipped his phone away and was laughing with my brother. The girl beside him smiled warmly at Tyler, then turned her gentle, doe-like eyes toward me. “And who is this?” she asked. Jackson didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, her? That’s the little sister I told you about.” Sensing Gia’s subtle hesitation, he quickly added, “She’s a total crybaby. Super clingy. Tyler and I used to do the dumbest things just to ditch her when we were kids.” Gia’s face lit up with understanding. She covered her mouth, giggling softly. “You’re so mean. You literally caused her to develop a stutter back then, and you still have the nerve to complain about her?” 3. For the longest time, I had only ever viewed Jackson as an older brother figure. Especially after the incident when we were kids—when he played a cruel prank on me just to get rid of me, traumatizing me so badly I developed a psychological stutter. After that, I kept my distance. Even when I ended up attending the same university he did, my boundaries remained firmly in place. But Jackson, apparently, had other plans. He started forcing Tyler to bring me along to their hangouts. He’d buy me iced lattes, pastries, designer bags. He’d drop them off without asking. I rejected them every single time, but his persistence was relentless. The turning point happened at a roommate’s birthday party. I had too much to drink, and Tyler, stuck at work, asked Jackson to pick me up. When Jackson tried to grab my arm, I shoved him away. I could barely walk straight, but my instinct to keep my distance was ironclad. I stumbled toward the curb to hail a cab, but he caught my waist and pulled me flush against his chest. He let out a heavy sigh. “You really hold a grudge, don’t you, kid?” He ruffled my hair, his tone suddenly dropping into something thick and indulgent. “Be my girlfriend, Mia. I’ll let you take your revenge on me for the rest of our lives.” The alcohol fog in my brain parted for a split second. Sensing my hesitation, Jackson cupped my face in his large, warm hands. “You’ve rejected my gifts a hundred times,” he murmured. “You can’t reject me tonight.” I was dizzy. Flustered. And, stupidly, I nodded. After that, he was the perfect boyfriend. He sat with me through evening lectures. He stayed at the library until midnight. When I had bad cramps, he’d show up with a hot water bottle and ginger tea. Tyler used to complain to me about it. “I swear to God, Mia, Jackson is hiding a girl. You have no idea how much he sneaks off campus lately. If I find out who it is… man, we swore we’d stay bachelors together, and he broke the pact.” Whenever Tyler said that, my heart would race. My cheeks would burn, and I’d look away. Later those nights, I’d text Jackson, asking how we were going to break the news to Tyler. He’d send voice memos, sounding dramatically aggrieved. “Man, I can already picture the day your brother breaks both my legs.” Then, his voice would soften into a raspy whisper. “But it’s fine. I stole his most precious treasure. It’s a price I’m more than willing to pay.” “I am not a treasure, idiot,” I’d text back, smiling into the dark. I had felt so incredibly lucky. And now, here I was. Watching the man who said he was willing to pay the price casually eat half-eaten fries off another woman’s plate. 4. Bile rose in the back of my throat. Tyler had bought a bunch of street food, but I hadn’t touched a single bite. Tyler happily devoured my portion, completely oblivious to my nausea, and kept teasing his best friend. “I knew you were too polished to be single for three years,” Tyler joked. “You turned down all those girls on campus. You were just waiting for the right one, huh?” Gia smiled brightly, tilting her head at Jackson. “Wait, didn’t you tell me no one ever had a crush on you?” Tyler’s eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas. He threw his arm around Jackson’s neck in a headlock. “Alright, spill it, man. How did you trick this gorgeous girl into dating you? I need to take notes.” I stood perfectly still, watching. Jackson purposefully avoided looking in my direction. Gia, clearly finding the dynamic endearing, let her eyes crinkle with laughter. “Honestly? He chased me for almost a year,” she said. Jackson looked away, the tips of his ears flushing red. Gia reached out and affectionately poked his cheek before continuing. “He’d ask me out every single day. Coffee, movies, dinner. But he’s so popular, and I have terrible trust issues. I didn’t feel secure, so I kept saying no. Until…” She went on to describe a night she had terrible stomach flu. How Jackson drove through a torrential downpour to get to her apartment. How he stayed up all night nursing her. How he gave her full access to his location and his schedule, proving his loyalty. Every single detail, every sweeping romantic gesture… it was exactly what he had done for me. “But the real kicker,” Gia said, her voice dripping with affection, “was that he truly understood what I cared about. I’m a massive Coldplay fan. He sat at his computer for three days straight, refreshing the page, just to score me a VIP ticket to their sold-out stadium tour.” “The March 1st show?” I asked. My voice sounded hollow, like it was coming from someone else. “Yeah, that exact one,” Gia nodded, sighing. “Because it was right near the college, it was impossible to get tickets. I would have been heartbroken if Jackson hadn’t pulled it off.” 5. I had wanted to go to that concert. I had wanted to go with him. I was the one who sat in front of my laptop for three days. I was the one who fought the digital queues and finally managed to snag two VIP tickets. I remember trembling with excitement when I showed them to Jackson. But we never went. He told me his frat brother was desperately trying to impress a girl who loved Coldplay, and begged him for the tickets. Jackson asked if we could give them up. He transferred double the ticket price into my bank account to make up for it. I had been crushed, but I figured there would be other concerts. If his friend was begging him, it felt petty to say no. Looking back now, I realized there was no frat brother. He took the tickets I fought for and used them to woo another woman. I had literally paid the price of admission for someone else’s love story. I mentally checked out. For the rest of the conversation, I stared at my phone, pretending I couldn’t hear Jackson awkwardly trying to rope me into the banter. A text popped up from a former senior at my college, someone I now worked with. It was regarding some outsourced project code that needed debugging. I threw myself into the chat, asking for specifics, burying my brain in data until the physical world faded away. When the chatter around me finally died down, I looked up. Tyler was staring at me, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Earth to Mia. I’ve been calling your name for two minutes. Are you hiding a secret boyfriend or something?” I opened my mouth to brush it off, but before I could speak, Jackson broke into a violent coughing fit. He pounded his chest, pretending he choked on a chili flake. Suddenly, I was completely out of fucks to give. “Actually, yeah. I am seeing someone.” The expressions on Tyler and Jackson’s faces were identical shades of thunderous black. Tyler practically launched himself off the park bench, looking like he was ready to commit a felony. “Mia! Call that son of a bitch right now! I am going to shatter his kneecaps!” “I guard you night and day, and some absolute degenerate still slips past the gates?!” Tyler yelled, pacing. “I want to see exactly who has the balls to lay a hand on my little sister.” I stared at him. You didn’t guard me very well from the guy standing right next to you, I thought. I could feel Jackson’s eyes burning holes into my skin. Even without looking at him, the sheer panic rolling off him was palpable. Why the panic, Jackson? Did you think I was texting you? Or did you think I was about to blow up your life right here, right now, and shatter Gia’s illusion of you? “Mia, you just started your internship,” Jackson said, his voice forced into a calm, authoritative older-brother tone. “You don’t know how to judge character yet. You need to let Tyler screen this guy for you.” I smiled sweetly. “You’re absolutely right. I’d love for both my big brothers to screen him.” Jackson stared at my phone as I raised it to my ear. The line picked up on the second ring. “Hey, Evan. Can we meet up?” Evan’s deep, soothing voice crackled through the speaker. “Send me the pin. It’s getting late—are you hungry? I’ll take you out.” “Just come here,” I said softly. “You can eat with us.”

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The exact moment my marriage to Vicky shattered wasn’t a screaming match. It was the moment she looked me dead in the eye, grabbed her ex-boyfriend by the wrist, and pulled him into a hotel room. Her mouth had curved into a glacial, mocking smile. You’ve been suspicious for so long, she had said, her voice dripping with venom. Why don’t you see for yourself? Within seconds, the heavy, muffled sounds of ragged breathing and undeniable intimacy bled through the heavy oak door. Standing in that carpeted hallway, I felt something inside my chest quietly and permanently snap. It was over. From that day forward, I stopped being jealous. I stopped picking fights. Much later, when a prominent gossip radio show blared a rumor about her and Wesley Mercer, she lunged for the dial, snapping it off before frantically turning to me to explain. I just looked at her, my voice perfectly level. “I know it’s fake.” But she kept talking, kept justifying, terrified that I was misunderstanding the situation. I couldn’t help but laugh softly. I patted her shoulder, a gesture devoid of any real warmth. “Relax,” I told her. “I’ll keep your secret. I won’t let your family know.” The words had barely left my mouth when she slammed on the brakes, the color draining entirely from her face. 1. The affection I held for Vicky Hastings died the moment she walked into that hotel room with Wesley Mercer. So, when I began hearing their names tethered together again—people in my periphery gushing about how they were a match made in heaven—I didn’t experience the mental breakdown I once would have expected. Wesley Mercer was a prominent lifestyle influencer. He had built a massive following on TikTok and Instagram by romanticizing his life as an Ivy League grad and a Stanford alum. A month ago, Vicky made her debut on his feed. It was a Live Photo. Just a brief, two-second flash. But in that fraction of a moment, Vicky’s unmistakable reflection was caught in the glass of a coffee table, right next to a crumpled, glaringly obvious box of Durex. The internet works fast. Within hours, sleuths had identified the woman in the reflection. The Live Photo rocketed to the top of the trending pages. Wesley’s comment section was a war zone of excitement: [Wes, tell us the truth! Are you finally off the market?] [Wait, is that the CEO of Vanguard Holdings?] [Holy shit, the woman in the reflection looks like a total boss.] When I saw the post, I froze in the middle of my living room. That bright blue box of condoms screamed the nature of their relationship. A creeping, icy numbness spread through my veins. When Vicky finally came home, I waited in the dark for an explanation. She offered me exactly four words, tossing her keys onto the entryway table. “It’s just a misunderstanding.” When I didn’t say anything, she let out a short, irritated exhale. “I’ve already had my PR team scrub the trending tags. It’s handled.” After that, Wesley’s name haunted my existence. I heard the nurses gossiping about him during my shifts at the hospital. The algorithm, cruel and precise, force-fed me every single one of his updates. The rumors of their rekindled romance only burned brighter, consuming the internet’s imagination. 2. The following weekend, Vicky told me she was going on a business trip. I took the opportunity to drive up to a luxury spa resort in the Catskills with a friend. I needed the quiet. Instead, I found Vicky and Wesley. I saw them by the outdoor heated pools. Vicky was in a sleek white bikini, her perfectly toned shoulders draped in an oversized, expensive-looking men’s blazer. Wesley stood next to her in a linen button-down, the collar unbuttoned deep, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He looked completely at ease, exuding a lazy, magnetic confidence. Walking side by side, they looked like they had stepped straight out of a Vogue editorial. Vicky leaned in, tilting her head to catch whatever he was saying. I watched them share a private, synchronized smile. Later, I saw her emerge from the changing rooms. She had swapped the swimsuit for casual white loungewear, but she was still wearing his blazer. I watched them walk into a private VIP lounge. Something ugly and impulsive hijacked my brain. I followed them. I pushed open the heavy mahogany door, the words spilling out of my mouth before my rational mind could stop them. “Vicky, did you really just bring him here to sleep with him?” The room went dead silent. I froze. They weren’t alone. A room full of executives and investors turned to stare at me. Vicky looked up. Her eyes were devoid of any emotion—just a flat, chilling indifference. She broke eye contact with me, turning her head slightly. “Davis,” she said to her assistant, her voice like ice. “Close the door.” I forgot how to breathe. The public humiliation, the sheer disdain in her dismissal, suffocated me. I had zero desire to stay at the resort. I found my friend, made an excuse, and drove back to the city immediately. Vicky didn’t return to our townhouse until late that night. Logically, I knew I had embarrassed her that morning, and a part of me felt guilty. But beneath that guilt was an uncontrollable, surging tide of betrayal. The sour, burning knot in my chest refused to be swallowed down. I cornered her in the hallway. “Are you seeing him, Vicky?” My voice shook. “What exactly is your relationship with him?” She offered me a single, sideways glance. She looked at me like I was a stranger bothering her on the subway. “What do you want our relationship to be, Simon?” she countered smoothly. “Did you even stop to think about how your little stunt today would affect his reputation moving forward?” My brain short-circuited. My heart plummeted into my stomach. Her coldness was a scalpel, sliding perfectly and painlessly between my ribs. She stared me down with those freezing eyes, then simply turned and vanished into the shadows of our living room. 3. We plunged into a bitter cold war. Vicky was suddenly “traveling for work” constantly. The final, catastrophic explosion happened at a boutique hotel owned by the Vanguard Group. I was walking past the lobby when I saw them—Vicky and Wesley, heading toward the private elevators. They pressed the button for the penthouse. I followed them up. “Vicky.” They both stopped in the middle of the plush hallway and turned to look at me. “Is this what your business trips are?” I asked, my voice echoing in the quiet space. “Booking suites with your ex-boyfriend?” She let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Alright,” she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous register. “You’re so convinced I’m screwing around behind your back? You want me to prove it?” She reached out, grabbed Wesley by the bicep, and physically pulled him toward the suite’s door. She swiped her keycard. The light flashed green. She turned back to me, her dark, unfathomable eyes pinning me to the floor. “Well? Aren’t you coming in to watch?” Before I could form a single word, she dragged him inside and slammed the heavy door shut. The click of the lock sounded like a gunshot. My eyes burned fiercely. My throat closed up. I stood there in the empty hallway, totally stripped of my dignity. I forced my legs to move, making it to the elevator bank. Just as the doors opened, my phone vibrated. An unknown number. I answered it. No one spoke. There was only the low, heavy, ragged sound of a man exhaling into the receiver. I stood paralyzed for what felt like hours. That muffled, deeply intimate sound was the final nail in the coffin. Vicky and Wesley. They had crossed the line. A sharp, violent sting hit the bridge of my nose. My marriage was dead. I hailed a cab outside. Sitting in the back seat, watching the city lights blur by, I found myself scrolling through Wesley’s digital footprint. Internet sleuths had dug up his old, private Twitter account from his high school and undergrad days. They had pieced together a comprehensive timeline of his romance with Vicky. They had gone to the same elite prep school. They started dating right after graduation, before both heading to Columbia University, studying in different departments. Scrolling through Wesley’s old posts, I was introduced to a version of my wife I had never met. College-era Vicky remembered his obscure food allergies and kept antihistamines in her purse. She patiently followed him around the city, taking aesthetic photos for his early blog. She studied men’s fashion just to help him curate his wardrobe. She went on trips to Disney, to the Hamptons, to the beach. The account was a digital museum of teenage devotion. Every single word he wrote proved how deeply she loved him. [She literally spent hours researching streetwear just to help me pick out outfits.] [She knows my allergens better than I do. I swear she loves me more than I love myself.] Underneath that specific post, an old comment read: [Wes, I’m a freshman from your high school! Everyone at Columbia knows about you and Vicky. You guys are the sweetest. Rooting for you both!] And right beneath it, Vicky had replied: [Thank you. We’re going to take good care of each other.] Because of the viral Live Photo, the long-dead Columbia alumni forums had resurrected the topic. [Vicky and Wes were the golden couple of our graduating class. They only broke up because he moved to the West Coast for his Master’s.] [So this is the grand reunion? I’m seated.] [I have a wild theory. Wes comes from a pretty normal, middle-class family, right? Stanford tuition and living in Palo Alto isn’t cheap. Do we think the Vanguard heiress bankrolled his degree? Omg, the CEO staying in New York to fund her man’s dreams. I’m obsessed.] Every single year, Vicky took a solo trip to California. Specifically, to the Bay Area. Right where Wesley had been studying. The phone shook in my grip. I couldn’t let myself think about it anymore. 4. Ten minutes after I walked through my front door, Vicky arrived. Her clothes were perfectly neat. Not a hair was out of place. She looked completely put-together, betraying absolutely nothing. My eyes were still bloodshot. I refused to look at her. She walked up and grabbed my wrist. “Nothing happened in there,” she said. “I was just angry. I was trying to hurt you.” She was explaining. But she was entirely too late. I nodded slowly, pulling my arm free. “I know.” I didn’t speak another word to her for the rest of the night. The next morning, feeling like a ghost, I took an Uber to the hospital. By the time my shift ended, the thought of returning to that townhouse made my stomach turn. Maggie, one of the senior attending physicians, was scheduled for the night shift but was stressing about missing her daughter’s parent-teacher conference. I offered to cover for her. The ER was brutal that night. We had multiple traumas roll in. By the time I scrubbed out of the OR and checked my locker, my phone screen was lit up with over a dozen missed calls. Maggie had rushed back from the school. “Simon, thank you so much,” she breathed, handing me a paper carrier. “I heard we got hit with a multi-car pile-up and you had to jump into surgery. I brought you coffee.” I didn’t pretend to be polite. I desperately needed the caffeine. “Thanks, Maggie. I’m going to head out.” “No, thank you,” she smiled. It was nearly midnight when I finally walked out of the sliding glass doors. I hadn’t driven that morning, so I ordered another ride. Sitting in the back of the car, I finally opened my phone. Every single missed call was from Vicky. Two texts sat unread: [Where are you?] [I’m parked in the hospital garage. Waiting for you.] I typed out a response, my thumbs moving mechanically. [Don’t bother. I’m already on my way home.] She must have driven recklessly, because she walked into the house only minutes after I did. Ever since the hotel incident, my entire psychological framework regarding my wife had shifted. Seeing her standing in our foyer suddenly made me feel incredibly suffocated. We stared at each other. The air was thick with an unbearable, heavy awkwardness. Her eyes were locked onto my face, tracking my every movement. I averted my gaze. Looking at her only conjured images of Wesley Mercer. It brought back the visual of her pulling him into that suite, the phantom sound of his breathless panting against my ear, the digital archive of their golden years together. I used to come home and eagerly tell Vicky every mundane detail of my day—the patients I saw, the terrible cafeteria food I ate. I had spent years desperately trying to manufacture conversation, trying to bridge the gap between us. Now, standing in our beautiful, sterile living room, I realized I had absolutely nothing left to say to her. The house was deafeningly quiet. My mind flashed back to one of Wesley’s old posts. [She talks so much. I’m literally falling asleep and she’s still rambling about what happened in her macroeconomics seminar today.] My chest tightened painfully. Vicky finally broke the silence. Her voice was cool, ringing out in the empty hall. “Weren’t you on the day shift? Why are you back so late?” I could feel the weight of her stare on my back as I walked over to the kitchen island to pour myself a glass of water. “Yeah.” I didn’t elaborate. I couldn’t be bothered to explain the shift swap. I just didn’t care enough to let her into my life anymore. When I turned around, she had closed the distance and was standing right in front of me. Her lips parted, hesitating on the edge of a sentence. I beat her to it. “I’m going to take a shower.” She swallowed whatever she was going to say. When I stepped out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, she was standing right outside the door. I jolted, startled by her presence. We made eye contact. I gave a tight, uncomfortable nod and walked past her. Lying next to her in the dark that night, my mind spun out of control. Even just sharing a mattress with her felt profoundly wrong. 5. Vicky was an early riser. By the time I finally dragged myself out of bed, she had already showered and dressed for the office. A full breakfast was laid out on the dining table. Vicky sat at the head of it, her expression unreadable and pristine. I stared at the spread, my mind slipping away again. Another memory from Wesley’s timeline. [Told her I was craving a breakfast sandwich last night. Woke up to find her in the kitchen making me one from scratch. Her cooking is actually getting decent.] A comment underneath: [You’re a lucky guy.] Wesley’s reply: [Haha, hope you find your happiness too!] “Simon.” Her voice pulled me back to reality. “Eat breakfast.” I blinked, checking my watch. “You go ahead. I’m running late.” I turned to leave, but a hand clamped down hard on my forearm. Vicky looked up at me through her dark, narrow eyelashes. Her gaze was intense, heavy with something I couldn’t place. “You have time,” she commanded softly. “I’ll drive you.” I surrendered. I sat down and forced a few bites down my throat just to placate her. “My grandmother wants us at the estate for dinner tonight,” she said, watching me chew. “I’ll come pick you up at the hospital this evening.” I nodded vaguely. “Okay.” When I stood up to leave, she pushed her chair back, mirroring my movement. Her tone brooked no argument. “I’m driving you.” This time, I didn’t yield. “No.” I pulled my arm away. “There’s no need.” I saw the faint, rare crease between her brows form, but I didn’t stay to analyze it. I grabbed my coat and walked out. 6. I grabbed lunch at the cafeteria with Maggie. Mid-bite, she brought up the upcoming fellowship exchange to Charleston, South Carolina. She sighed, stirring her soup. “Honestly, my daughter’s taking her SATs this year. I can’t just up and leave for three months,” Maggie lamented. “Most of the senior attendings have families. None of them want to go. And the newlyweds definitely aren’t volunteering.” I paused. “Maggie. If you don’t want to go, I’ll take your spot.” She stopped stirring. “Simon, are you serious?” I nodded, feeling the first real spark of clarity I’d had in weeks. “Yeah. I think it would be a great opportunity to learn from the program down there.” As soon as my lunch break ended, I marched into the department head’s office and formally submitted my name. Right as my shift ended, my phone rang. I was at the nurses’ station, and I answered it on speaker while organizing my charts. Vicky’s crisp, cool voice drifted out. Maggie and two other nurses happened to be walking by. They stopped, smirking at me with obvious amusement. “Oooh, Dr. Wright,” Maggie teased. “Is that the girlfriend?” I forced a polite smile and shook my head. “No.” “I’m in the underground parking garage,” Vicky said through the speaker. “Alright, coming down,” I replied, ending the call. The hospital garage was dimly lit. Vicky was leaning against the sleek black exterior of her G-Wagon. She wore a tailored wool coat, her silhouette tall, imposing, and elegant. As I walked toward her, Maggie suddenly emerged from the elevator bank, heading to her own car. She spotted us and her eyes lit up. She jogged over, eyebrows raised. “Simon! Is this the mystery woman?” Maggie beamed at Vicky. “She’s gorgeous.” My brain scrambled for an exit strategy. I lied without missing a beat. “No, Maggie. She’s my cousin.” I saw Vicky physically flinch. Her dark eyes snapped toward me, the temperature in them dropping to absolute zero. Maggie, oblivious to the sudden tension, lost interest in the gossip. “Oh, got it! Have a good night, you two.” I got into the passenger seat. Vicky’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. She turned her body toward me. “Why did you say that?” she demanded. “I just didn’t want my coworkers to get the wrong idea,” I answered, my voice perfectly steady. She stared at me, a flicker of genuine confusion crossing her features. “The wrong idea?” She put the car in drive and pulled out of the garage. The radio was on, tuned to a popular entertainment channel. The overly enthusiastic voice of a celebrity gossip host filled the cabin. “…Vanguard CEO Vicky Hastings and influencer Wesley Mercer broke the internet again after being spotted together at a luxury Catskills resort. Hastings was seen in a tiny bikini, draped in Mercer’s tailored blazer. The sexual tension? Absolutely off the charts, folks.” Vicky lunged for the console, violently shutting the radio off. She turned to me, words tumbling out in a rush. “You were there. You know there were other corporate partners present.” I looked out the window at the passing traffic. “I know.” She tried again, her voice tightening. “Nothing happened between us.” I offered her a small, placating smile, assuming she was just doing damage control so I wouldn’t rat her out to her family. “Don’t worry, Vicky. Your secret is safe with me. I won’t say a word to your grandmother.” Vicky slammed her foot on the brake. The tires screeched. I pitched forward against the seatbelt. When I looked over, all the blood had drained from her face. She was staring at me, her eyes chaotic, a storm of emotion violently warring beneath the surface.

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I was Ashton’s fiancée, and his childhood sweetheart. That day, I saw him kissing his so-called “bro”—who happened to be another girl. “She is so annoying. Always acting fragile and making a big deal out of nothing,” he complained, holding her close. His “bro” giggled. “She acts like that because you spoil her. I told you to set some boundaries so she wouldn’t dare act out, but you didn’t listen. Whose fault is that?” Oh, so that’s how it was. Actually, I didn’t need him either. Later, just as he wished, I left. But then he acted like a completely different person, claiming he wouldn’t marry anyone but me. 1 It was late when Ashton texted me, asking me to bring some liquor from our apartment to the club. I had caught a nasty bug yesterday—fever, dizzy spells—and had been in bed all day. He knew this perfectly well. “I’m not feeling well. Can’t you just order something there?” I texted back. He called me. When I answered, the first thing I heard was a chorus of cheering in the background. “Quiet down, everyone! Let’s see how our guy puts his foot down!” “Hahaha.” “You sure you want to do this, Ash? Your girl is pretty delicate.” Amidst the raucous laughter, he asked: “Did you eat dinner?” I paused. “Yes.” “The guys are all waiting. Why is it so hard to ask you to drop something off?” his voice dropped, sounding stern. “You have the energy to eat, but no energy to come over?” “…” “I took cold medicine. I’m really dizzy right now,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Ash, whatever, let it go! If you lose the bet, just pay up!” a sharp female voice cut in. I knew that voice very well. It was Ashton’s “bro,” Chloe. She giggled. “Looks like you’re losing money today, Ash. The little wifey isn’t obeying!” The cheering erupted again. A sudden wave of nausea hit my stomach. “Sienna.” Ashton’s voice carried that familiar tone of impatience. I closed my eyes. “Fine. I’m on my way.” 2 I caught an Uber and arrived at the club. Pushing open the door to their private VIP room, the first thing I saw was Ashton standing in the center, amidst a chorus of cheers, kissing Chloe passionately. Seeing me, the rowdy room instantly went dead silent. Sensing the shift, Chloe glanced over, let out a shriek, and shoved Ashton away. As if she had just seen a monster. Ashton stumbled back a few steps, frowning as he looked my way. He looked heavily intoxicated. Meeting my gaze, Chloe seemingly unconsciously wiped her glossy lips, looking flustered. “Sienna, don’t misunderstand… we were just playing a game and lost. It was a dare…” My eyes swept over her revealing crop top and white mini skirt. Ashton and his other friends had praised her more than once. Pure but seductive. “Oh.” I walked over, suppressing a pounding headache, and placed the expensive bottles on the glass table. “The drinks are here. I’m leaving.” “Oh my gosh, Sienna, please don’t be mad!” Chloe suddenly grabbed my arm, rubbing her face against my sleeve. I turned and frowned at her. “Everyone here can vouch for us. We’re just bros messing around. If you get mad over a misunderstanding, we’ll feel terrible…” Heh. Misunderstanding. I turned my head. “Bros messing around?” With teary eyes, she nodded frantically. I pointed randomly at one of the other guys in the room. “Then go kiss him too.” Chloe’s face instantly went white. “Sienna… what kind of person do you think I am…” As she said this, her eyes filled with humiliation, turning red like a wounded little rabbit. At that moment, one of the guys stood up. “Come on, Sienna, the guys were just playing a drinking game… Chloe’s a girl, don’t be too hard on her.” “Yeah, yeah…” “It was just a game…” Heh. I turned and looked at the crowd. “Too hard on her? So you guys actually know what that means? You didn’t think forcing me to deliver alcohol while I’m sick was being too hard on me?” The group fell silent, exchanging awkward glances for a long moment before looking at Ashton. “Ash… look at this…” “Enough.” I turned around. Ashton walked over and grabbed my arm. “What is wrong with you today? I told you it was just the guys messing around. Why won’t you let it go? You’re ruining the whole vibe.” “Chloe is a girl. Do you really have to embarrass her like this?” A girl. His “bro” had suddenly reverted to being a girl. “I’m sorry, Sienna, it’s my fault…” By now, Chloe was crying delicately. “If I knew you guys were going to fight, I wouldn’t have insisted on drinking this specific liquor…” Oh. So the alcohol was specifically requested by Chloe. My earlier suspicions were confirmed. A crushing wave of exhaustion suddenly hit me from all sides. In that moment, I just wanted to get out of this ridiculous, laughable place as fast as possible. I shook off Ashton’s hand and turned to leave. “Oh, Sienna, please don’t be mad!” Chloe tried to grab me again, but I pushed her away. “Ah…” She stumbled slightly and fell weakly right into Ashton’s arms. That little stumble seemed to instantly ignite Ashton’s fury. “Sienna! Stop right there!” he shouted from behind me. I looked back. He was holding a pitiful-looking Chloe, his face dark with rage. “Apologize to Chloe!” I stopped in my tracks and calmly looked at the face radiating anger. This face used to look at me with so many different expressions. Worry, love, heartache, helplessness… Now, because of his “bros,” he glared at me with pure hostility. “If you don’t apologize today, we’re done!” he continued. At this moment, all his good friends in the private room had the look of people enjoying a show, watching the three of us. I felt like a monkey in a circus. “Sure,” I took a step forward. “What?” Ashton frowned. “Oh Ash, look at you…” Chloe looked at me, then affectionately patted Ashton, her eyes getting even redder. “Why are you doing this? Don’t be so hard on Sienna…” “What did you say?” Ashton asked again. “I said, sure.” I looked at him calmly. “I agree. We’re done.” 3 Maybe because I was still dizzy, it wasn’t until I got into the Uber that I realized I didn’t have my apartment keys in my pocket. I probably dropped them in the club hallway. I had to turn back to look for them. Thankfully, the bartender had found them. Just as he handed the keys to me, the door to Ashton’s private room suddenly opened. Chloe was supporting a heavily intoxicated Ashton, complaining as they walked toward the restrooms. “Ugh, seriously. Even if you’re mad at Sienna, you need to take care of yourself.” “If you don’t care about yourself, someone else does.” Ashton smiled foolishly and cupped her face. “Tell me, why… why isn’t she as understanding as you? I just asked her to drop off some drinks and she gives me an attitude, even threatens to break up…” Chloe let out an “Oh.” “Well, Sienna is pretty immature. I mean, look how good you are to her. Any other girl would be so jealous… But honestly, she was definitely just saying that out of anger. You’re a rich heir; how could she bear to break up with you? Doesn’t she always come crying back?” “Rich heir, money…” Ashton paused blankly. “Maybe you guys are right. She’s just after my money…” After saying that, he muttered to himself: “Honestly, sometimes I find her really annoying. She’s sickly and weak, and I don’t even hold it against her, but she’s always complaining…” “Oh, Ash,” Chloe sighed. “You never like it when I’m honest, but Sienna acts like that because you spoil her. We all told you to set some boundaries so she wouldn’t dare act out. If you can’t bear to do it, whose fault is that?” “And stop wondering if she’s just after your money. Look at how she has you wrapped around her finger. Even if she is just after your money, you wouldn’t bear to break up with her, so stop making yourself miserable…” Talking like this, the two of them entered a handicap-accessible family restroom together. Click. The door locked from the inside. My stomach churned again. I turned and walked away. 4 Maybe because I caught a chill from the night wind, my fever spiked again in the middle of the night. In a hazy state, I seemed to dream about my past with Ashton. We both grew up in the same foster care system. I was sickly from a young age, and as far back as I could remember, Ashton was always by my side. He would fight off the kids who bullied me. He would run barefoot to find a nurse when I was sick. He would hold my hand and say in his childish voice, “Don’t worry, Sienna. I’ll take care of you forever.” And during the fire at the group home, he had already been rescued but ran back in to save me. A falling ember burned his shoulder, leaving a permanent scar. Back then, I thought, what kind of love could be more important than one’s own life? I had no parents, no family. Ashton was the best person in the world to me. So I told myself: Sienna, you have to be good to Ashton forever. When we were 16, Ashton’s biological parents found him. It turned out he was the long-lost son of a wealthy family. They took him back, and he instantly became rich. But he didn’t forget me. He would secretly visit me at my high school, bring me food and medicine, and we promised to get into the same college. And we did. We were the most envied couple on campus. And it was during that time that Chloe, along with his group of friends, entered our lives. Chloe was a minor influencer on campus, known for her “one of the guys” personality. The male friends around her all seemed to be her “bros.” The Ashton family’s business was huge in our city. I had seen enough of the cold realities of the world to understand exactly what the people surrounding Ashton were after. I warned him more than once. He didn’t care. In fact, he enjoyed the feeling of being surrounded and admired. After college, Ashton officially introduced me to his family. He knelt on the floor and told his parents I was the only one he would ever marry. Ashton’s biological mother had a kind face. She spoiled Ashton excessively, but she was incredibly harsh to me. In her eyes, a girl from the foster system with an unknown background was not worthy of stepping through their doors. When his parents refused, Ashton stood in the rain outside their mansion all night. The next day, he was hospitalized with pneumonia and a 104-degree fever. My heart broke for him. Not wanting him to be caught between me and his parents, I tried my hardest to make his mother happy. I endured her deliberate cruelty, accepted her constant criticism, and meticulously monitored my every word and action so no one could find fault. Over time, she reluctantly accepted me, but she still summoned me to their estate every weekend for what she called “Etiquette Training.” On those days, the staff were given the day off, and I was expected to serve his mother and all her friends alone. Serving tea, washing dishes, holding umbrellas. “You’re just sickly because you don’t get enough exercise,” his mother would say, watching me sweating and out of breath, while admiring her fresh manicure. “Doing more chores is good for you.” Her friends would look at me appraisingly: “She looks so weak. Can she even have kids? You should probably take her to get checked.” “No family background and can’t bear children? That would be a terrible investment.” In that house, I was like a commodity, constantly scrutinized, judged, and commented on by those condescending eyes. I never told Ashton any of this. I knew how hard he was working after taking over the company, and I didn’t want to add to his stress regarding me and his family. And honestly, it wasn’t that bad. As long as Ashton loved me, defended me, and stood firmly by my side, all these grievances meant nothing. After graduation, I received a great job offer. His family forbade me from taking it. That time, Ashton and I had a massive fight. He called me stubborn. “Don’t you know your own health condition?” he yelled. “I don’t get it. My family is letting you stay home, relax, and prepare to be my wife after graduation. What exactly are you unhappy about?” “Sienna, why are you always so selfish? I’ve worked so hard to get my family to accept you. Why can’t you be a little more understanding?” He started crying as he spoke. “I almost gave up my life to save you back then. Can’t you just compromise for me this once?” And so, I compromised again. Because he saved my life. Because he was so good to me in the past. Because he was the only light in my life. Whenever I thought of the boy who braved the fire for me, and the scar on his shoulder, no matter how bad the fight was, I always found a reason to reconcile. I didn’t ask for much. I just hoped we could be together for a long, long time. But today, I finally understood. He thought I wouldn’t leave him because I couldn’t bear to let go of his money. He actually found me incredibly annoying. Today’s deliberate “test” wasn’t the first time. And the reason I went to deliver the alcohol was probably because I was looking for the final straw to break my own heart. In my dream, tears wouldn’t stop flowing. In my memory, the sunny boy seemed to stand behind me, waving and happily calling out: “Sienna, wait for me! Let’s go together!” But I no longer wanted to walk with him. I was too tired. Letting the tears flow endlessly, I walked forward, step by step. Until I reached the end of the sunset. When I looked back— The figure in my memory had long been washed away by tears, vanishing completely. Leaving no trace that he ever existed. 5 I woke up the next day, my fever finally broken. Even though my body felt exhausted, I opened my suitcase and began packing. Just then, the front door of the apartment unlocked, and Chloe’s voice carried through the bedroom door. “Ash, the new basketball game is this afternoon. We agreed to go! I’m wearing my Lakers jersey!” Ashton gave a brief “Mhm.” My hands paused while folding clothes. Today was supposed to be the day Ashton promised to go with me to meet my biological parents. A week ago, the foster agency contacted me, saying they might have found my real parents. They requested a DNA test first. Today was the day the results were supposed to come out. I was nervous and anxious when I got the notice, but Ashton promised he would be with me. Yet, only a few days later, he forgot and made plans to go to a game with someone else. The bedroom door opened. It was Ashton. “What are you doing? Throwing another tantrum?” He frowned at me packing. “Don’t you know your own health condition? I won’t have time to go on vacation with you right now.” “I don’t need you to,” I said softly. “We broke up last night. I’m moving out today.” “Heh…” He froze for a second, then suddenly laughed. “Sienna, they always said I spoiled you too much, and I didn’t believe it.” “But look at you now. What have you turned into?” “Threatening to break up at the drop of a hat? Are you that confident I can’t live without you?” He crouched down and disgustedly batted away my hand holding the suitcase. “Enough. Didn’t you make enough of a scene last night?” “Using dropping off the liquor as an excuse to embarrass me in front of my friends, intentionally humiliating Chloe… are you satisfied yet?” A sudden surge of anger flared in my chest. I looked up and met his eyes. “Ashton. First, I told you I wasn’t feeling well, and you insisted I deliver the drinks. Second, you were the one kissing Chloe, and she was the one who spoke to me first. Third, you were the one who said we were breaking up.” I shook off his hand and zipped up the suitcase. “I’ve never been confident you couldn’t live without me. And I am perfectly capable of living without you.” “Are you serious right now?!” He raised his voice. “Constantly making a fuss about your health! Do I owe you or something?!” He exploded. “Sienna, do you have any self-awareness about how good I treat you? I literally risked my life for you!” “Last night I just asked you to bring some alcohol to see how much you actually cared about me. Turns out, I got my answer!” He grabbed my arm tightly. “Do you have any idea what my friends say about you behind your back? They say you’re a gold digger, and I’m an idiot. That you’re only here for my money!” “Shouldn’t you prove you aren’t? But what have you done? I’ve sacrificed so much for you. What have you done for me? What’s wrong with me wanting to verify things for myself?” I remained silent, which only fueled his anger. “I really loved the wrong person. You really want to break up, right? I won’t stop you. Go ahead!” “Before you walk out that door, you better think carefully. The position of Mrs. Thorne won’t be kept open for just anyone.” I looked up into his eyes, which were dull from a hangover. I used to look into these eyes and see a beautiful past, mutual support, sweet romance, and a hopeful future. Now, all I saw was a barren wasteland. “Ashton, you succeeded,” I said quietly. “What?” He froze. Ashton, you finally succeeded. You successfully made me disgusted with this relationship. You successfully made me stop loving you. 6 I left the apartment. Ashton didn’t chase after me. I hadn’t rented a new place yet, and I didn’t have a job. I spent half the day in a Starbucks on the corner, putting on some light makeup to hide my swollen eyes from crying all night. Just earlier, the DNA results came out. Tonight, I would meet my biological parents. Before, Ashton had said that parents who throw away their child right after birth must have terrible character. Now that I was looking for my family, maybe they just wanted to leech off the Thorne family’s money and resources because they knew about my relationship with him. And now, I was broken up with Ashton. I didn’t know if they would be disappointed when they saw me. What exactly is family? I didn’t really know. Ashton used to say he was my family, and his family was my family. But with his so-called “family,” all I felt was exhaustion and torment. The sunset today was beautiful. The clouds rolled gently across the horizon, bathed in a warm, golden light. I sat by the window, watching the sun slowly dip below the skyline. Finally, I grabbed my suitcase and walked out of the coffee shop. 7 The meeting place was a high-end restaurant not far away. I dragged my heavy suitcase, preparing to cross the street. Suddenly, an e-bike sped toward me from a distance. In a split second, I couldn’t dodge in time. A strong force from behind yanked me, spinning me and my suitcase around. The e-bike zipped past, brushing the edge of my skirt. “Are you okay?” The voice of the person who saved me came from above. It was a very nice, deep voice. I shook my head and quickly thanked him. “It’s fine. There are a lot of e-bikes around here, be careful when you walk or drive.” He smiled, but froze the moment he saw my face. “You… could you be… Sienna?” I froze too. “I am Sienna. You are…” “Your cousin’s brother-in-law,” he smiled. “Your face looks exactly like Aunt Nora’s. Why did we even need a DNA test? I guess the Sterling family has been scammed so many times they’re being overly cautious.” He sighed. “But then again, there have been quite a few scammers with plastic surgery trying to claim the inheritance, so we couldn’t be too careful.” “Let’s go.” He enthusiastically grabbed my suitcase. “There are too many gossips at Sterling Corp, so meeting at a restaurant owned by Vance Corp is to protect you. I cleared the place out. Don’t worry.” “You said… Sterling… Vance…” He thought for a second, then let out an “Ah.” “Forgot, you don’t know yet.” He smiled. “You are the only daughter of the second son of the Sterling Group.” “I’m Preston Vance from Vance Corp. My sister married your cousin, so our families are in-laws.” 8 Sterling Group, Vance Corp… Before I could fully process it, I had followed Preston to the restaurant entrance. A group of people were standing at the door, looking anxiously in our direction. At that moment, a beautiful, elegant woman suddenly rushed forward and hugged me. “Is it Sienna? Is it my Sienna?” She cupped my face, crying uncontrollably. “It really is my baby. Honey, our baby is back.” A tall man standing behind her walked over, his eyes also red. “Yes, our baby is back.” Looking at the face in front of me that shared seventy percent of my features, the corners of my eyes involuntarily grew hot and stinging. “Uncle Sterling, Aunt Nora, let’s go inside first,” Preston said softly from the side. Once inside the VIP room, my biological mother held my hand tightly the entire time. I could feel her hand trembling slightly. Today, the director of the foster agency and the police were also present. They collectively explained the process of finding me. It turned out that back then, after Nora gave birth to me, they had hired a nanny. Nora was ill for a while after having me, and the nanny, thinking she was attractive, tried to seduce my biological father, Sterling. He didn’t indulge her, and out of spite, the nanny stole me after being fired. Technology wasn’t as advanced back then. Even though the Sterling family had money, they searched for a long time without finding her. It wasn’t until six months later that the police found the nanny’s clothes and some baby clothes on an undeveloped beach, along with a suicide note. The note said that since she couldn’t have Sterling, she would make sure he never forgot her. So she took his child and died with her. The police later found the nanny’s abandoned car near the cliffs, but they never found me. They assumed the worst. Over the years, even though most people assumed I had died, my parents never gave up. They never had another child, holding onto a sliver of hope, searching and waiting. But the nanny didn’t actually kill me. Perhaps due to a final shred of conscience, or a twisted desire to satisfy her own narrative, she left me at the doorstep of a foster home in the next county. She left a note saying my name was Sienna and that my mother was a single teen mom who couldn’t raise a child. The last name she gave me was hers. Later, that foster home burned down, and we kids were transferred to a facility in the city. But because my background had a record—that my “biological mother” had a different last name—naturally, no one associated me with the supposedly deceased heiress of the Sterling family. For so many years, I was in the same city as my biological parents, yet we never met. Until recently, during a charity project by Vance Corp, CEO Preston Vance chatted with my former foster agency director, bringing up that tragic fire. The director pulled out childhood photos of the kids, and Preston noticed that my photo looked exactly like Nora when she was a child star. Suspicious, he informed the Sterling family. Over the years, the Sterling family had dealt with too many fake heiresses showing up at their door. Some even bribed hospitals to forge DNA reports just to inherit the massive estate. So this time, they were just as anxious as I was, not daring to hold out hope. Even though they were desperate to see me, they held back until now, fearing that the greater the hope, the greater the disappointment. 9 That night, I went home with my parents. My uncle and cousin’s family were there too. My mom held my hand and asked gently, “Sienna, the director told us you were dating the youngest son of the Thorne family. Is that true?” I froze for a moment. “I…” “Mom and Dad don’t mean anything by it,” she quickly added. “Even though the Thorne family isn’t as prestigious as ours, if you like him, we’ll support you.” I shook my head. “Mom, Dad, we broke up.” My dad asked what I wanted to do next, and if I was willing to learn how to manage the company. I hesitated. I had no corporate experience. “I’m afraid I don’t have what it takes,” I said, looking down. “Sienna just got back, why are you rushing her?” my mom immediately complained. That night, I slept with my mom. I’m a light sleeper. I knew she woke up many times in the middle of the night, gently stroking my hair, crying softly to herself. And my dad made breakfast for me himself the next morning. He watched me eat with red eyes, carefully asking if it tasted good. During the few days I was home, I felt a familial love I had never experienced before. They were doing everything they could to make it up to me, but I knew that these past years must have been more painful for them than for me. A few days later, my cousin Declan came to see me. Preston was there too. Declan told me that my dad’s health hadn’t been great in recent years. The mental torture of searching for me for years and the pressure of running the business were like two mountains crushing him. His doctors had long advised him to retire and rest. Actually, I had already noticed the grey at his temples. Even though he was five years younger than my uncle, he looked much older. “Sienna, Sterling Corp currently has two main business divisions. One is with me, and the other is with your dad. And his division will eventually need to be handed over to you.” Declan asked me, “Are you willing to take it?” I lowered my head, thought for a long time, and finally nodded. “I’m willing to try.” Declan let out a sigh of relief. Then Preston, who had been quiet, suddenly chimed in: “I think… dropping her straight into Sterling Corp might not be the best idea.” Declan looked up. “Why not?” “The people at Sterling Corp are shrewd. She looks so much like Aunt Nora; don’t you think people will guess who she is?” “Gossip is one thing, but that kind of complex interpersonal environment isn’t conducive to her learning.” Declan frowned slightly. “You make a fair point. Then…” “If you want to help, go all the way,” Preston smiled. He walked over. “If she really wants to learn corporate management, how about she comes to my place?” Me: “Huh?” He blinked. “Vance Corp is just as big as Sterling Corp.”

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It took twenty-four hours for a nurse to find my body. By then, I was a cold weight in a pool of my own blood, a piece of forgotten medical waste. On my tenth birthday, my parents left this world forever. From that day on, my brother threw me out of our home. He packed my life into a suitcase and sent me to a boarding school where I stayed for eight years. He didn’t just dislike me; he loathed the very fact of my existence. As I died on that operating table, I could hear him in the next room. His voice was a velvet caress, a comfort I hadn’t felt in a decade. He was telling Hailey, his adopted sister, not to be nervous. He promised he would save her. He didn’t mention that he was harvesting my brain—my life—to give to her. The last thing he ever said to me over the phone was: “What is it this time? Coughing up blood or another fake fainting spell? I’m warning you, unless you’re actually dead, stop bothering me.” Then, he hung up. 1 After I died, my soul remained tethered to my brother. I watched him, my tether, as he stood outside the Intensive Care Unit like a gargoyle carved from grief and anxiety. Hailey had been moved there after the surgery. Through the observation window, he stared at her pale, fragile face with a look of pure, agonizing devotion. “The next twenty-four hours will determine if the transplant was a success,” Dr. Whitmore said, stopping beside him to offer a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You’ve done everything a surgeon could do, Beckett. The rest is up to fate. If the best neurosurgeon in the state couldn’t save her, then no one could.” “By the way,” the doctor added, “your phone was blowing up while you were in the OR.” He handed the device back. Beckett unlocked the screen, saw the name flashing there, and his jaw tightened until the muscles jumped. It was my homeroom teacher. He held the button down to delete the notification, but the phone rang again immediately. “You should probably take that,” Dr. Whitmore suggested gently. “They’ve called a dozen times. Maybe something happened to Wren at school?” At the mention of my name, Beckett’s eyes flashed with a visceral, jagged hatred. “Something is always happening to Wren,” he spat. “She faints, she vomits blood—it’s a goddamn theatrical performance. Every time I show up, she’s fine. She treats me like a dog on a leash. If she were even half as decent as Hailey, I wouldn’t have had to cut off her tuition.” He gripped the phone so hard his knuckles turned white. “Don’t bring her up. Every time I hear her name, I see my parents’ mangled bodies in that wreckage.” I stood beside him, a transparent ghost, my heart aching with a familiar, hollow despair. Beckett, I wasn’t lying. I would never play games with you. I only took the suppressants before you arrived because I didn’t want you to see me fading. I didn’t want to burden you. From the day our parents died, the brother who used to tuck me in at night began looking at me like I was a murderer. After the funeral, he volunteered for a medical mission in the rural South. That’s where he found Hailey—a girl with a brain tumor and a family too poor to afford a bandage, let alone surgery. He brought her back to our house. He sent me to boarding school. From that day on, he had only one sister. He wouldn’t spare me a glance, yet he moved heaven and earth for Hailey. To fulfill his promise of curing her before her twentieth birthday, he spent years searching for a donor, even putting up his entire life savings as a bounty for a “willing” match. I knew this was my only path to his forgiveness. When I realized I was terminal, I signed the organ donation papers. I thought that if my death saved the girl he loved, he might finally stop hating me. Tears I couldn’t feel rolled down my ghostly face. Just before the call timed out, Beckett finally snapped and pressed ‘accept.’ “Hello? Is this Wren’s guardian?” the teacher’s voice came through, frantic. “She’s—” “I don’t want to hear it!” Beckett barked, cutting her off. “If she’s dead, call me to pick up the body. Otherwise, lose my number.” Beckett, usually the epitome of the calm, collected surgeon, only lost his mind when it came to me. Or Hailey. He treated Hailey like a second chance at penance—as if saving her would earn him a pardon from our parents’ ghosts. Dr. Whitmore, who had been a peer of our parents, watched Beckett’s rage with a look of deep concern. “Beckett, it’s been eight years. The plane crash wasn’t Wren’s fault. I watched that girl grow up alongside you. She is the only family you have left in this world.” “Dr. Whitmore, please,” Beckett said, his voice trembling with suppressed fury. “Don’t mention her again. My only priority is Hailey.” The senior doctor sighed and walked away. A nurse approached timidly. “Dr. Moore, your remaining clinic appointments for today—” “Cancel them all. I’m staying right here until she wakes up. I won’t leave her side for a second.” I felt a bitter smile touch my lips. I looked through the glass at Hailey. I was overwhelmed by a cold, sharp envy. I had donated my entire physical form, and it hadn’t bought me a single smile. She simply had to exist to make him abandon his principles, his patients, and his life. He used to be the kind of doctor who stayed late to see every single person in the waiting room. But for Hailey, the rules didn’t apply. Suddenly, Dr. Whitmore called his cell again. Beckett hit speakerphone without looking away from Hailey’s bed. “Beckett, I just saw Wren’s name on the hospital registry,” Whitmore said, his voice grave. “Did something happen?” 2 Beckett’s brow furrowed. I could see the fuse of his patience burning short. He glanced at the date on his phone, and his chest began to heave with jagged breaths. “Does she have no shame? Does she not know what day it is?” he hissed. “Tell her to get out. I don’t want to see her.” Today was my eighteenth birthday. It was Hailey’s nineteenth. And it was the eight-year anniversary of our parents’ death. “Beckett, this isn’t the visitor’s log,” Whitmore said, his tone dropping an octave. “It’s the inpatient list. Ask her if she’s okay.” “Or check your office,” Whitmore continued. “Whenever she comes to see you, she waits there. She’s a quiet kid; she wouldn’t tell you if she was hurting.” The dam broke. Beckett roared into the phone, “She’s been ‘hurting’ since the day they died! Every day it’s a new symptom, a new crisis, and every time I check, there’s nothing. I’m a doctor—do you think I can’t tell when someone is faking? Her face is yellow as cornmeal, and she doesn’t even have the decency to use the right foundation to hide the ‘sickness’ she’s pretending to have. I don’t know that liar. Stop talking to me about her!” On the other end, Dr. Whitmore sounded breathless with anger. “If you won’t ask, I will. You’re going to regret this, Beckett. If your parents were alive, they would never allow you to treat their daughter this way.” “Wren is no daughter of theirs!” Beckett screamed, his face a mask of fire. “She doesn’t deserve the name. As soon as Hailey wakes up, I’m taking her to the courthouse to legally put her on our family registry.” Dr. Whitmore sputtered, his voice thick with suppressed rage. “If your father were alive, you would be the one kicked out of the family. For eight years, you cut her off. Have you ever wondered how a young girl survives on her own? Have you ever looked in her dorm? She has more work uniforms for her three part-time jobs than she has school clothes! You’re a brilliant surgeon, Beckett, but as a human being, you aren’t worth the dirt under your father’s fingernails.” The line went quiet. Beckett’s eyes were bloodshot. He stood in the sterile hallway and screamed at the ceiling: “Don’t you dare bring them up! If it wasn’t for Wren, they would never have changed that flight! They wouldn’t be dead! I will never forgive her until the day she dies!” His words hit me like a physical blow, pinning me against the wall. A wave of exhaustion washed over my soul. I slid down the wall, burying my head in my hands. I had wanted to be like them. I wanted to be a healer. I worked three jobs to pay for the dream he stole from me. I studied by the light of streetlamps and worked double shifts, and the stress turned into a silent killer. Three years ago, I was diagnosed with liver cancer. I remember the day I tried to show him the report. I was trembling, my hand shaking as I held out the envelope. He didn’t even open it. He tore it into confetti and threw it in my face. “Wren, do you think if you pretend to be sick like Hailey, I’ll love you? In your dreams. If you bring me another fake lab report, I’m calling the police for fraud.” It was a report from his hospital. All he had to do was type my name into the system. I never mentioned it again. When I fainted at school, the teacher would call, and I couldn’t stop her in time. But don’t worry, Beckett. The calls are going to stop now. This time, I’m really gone. 3 My body lay on the cold steel of the operating table in the basement. Piece by piece, the parts of me not ravaged by cancer were being harvested. And upstairs, Beckett was still a sentinel at Hailey’s door. A nurse, hurried and harried, rushed past him toward the service elevator, but he caught her arm. “Wait, keep an eye on her for me,” he said, nodding toward Hailey. “Don’t leave for a second. If there’s a spike in her heart rate, page me. I’m just going to the restroom.” The nurse looked conflicted. “But the donor’s body… we need to prep for transport to the crematorium…” Beckett waved her off, frowning. “The donor saved my sister’s life. I’ll handle the final arrangements personally later. Right now, watch Hailey.” He walked away, glancing back three times, his heart visible on his sleeve. Half an hour later, he returned. It was shift change. The hallway was empty save for the skeleton crew. My body remained on that table, forgotten in the transition of paperwork. A young nurse ran up to him, holding a bag of takeout. “Dr. Moore, this was dropped off at the front desk for you.” Beckett pulled his gaze away from Hailey. He rubbed his tired eyes and saw Hailey’s name on the receipt. A warm, genuine smile broke across his face. “She’s an angel,” he whispered. “Even before surgery, she was thinking about making sure I ate.” There was a long note in the “special instructions” section. Beckett read it word for word, his eyes shimmering. [Big brother, if you’re reading this, the surgery must be over. Are you tired? Did you forget to eat again? I ordered this specifically for you. When I wake up, I’m going to make sure you take better care of yourself. You’re the most important person in the world to me!] Beckett wiped a tear with a napkin and ate the meal standing up. Just as he tossed the trash, Dr. Whitmore called again. “I found Wren’s room number. I’m sending it to you. Go see her. I’m stuck in a consultation.” The warmth vanished from Beckett’s face instantly. “What is she pulling now? Doesn’t she know I’m busy? Did she tell you to call me? If she’s not dead, tell her to crawl over here herself! I am not leaving Hailey until she’s out of the woods!” He gripped the phone, his voice shaking with resentment. “Dr. Whitmore, I call you ‘Uncle’ out of respect for my father. But look at the difference. My biological sister does nothing but cause trouble while I’m trying to save lives. My adopted sister, while facing death, orders me dinner because she’s worried I’m hungry. Do you honestly still think Wren deserves a place in this family?” He slammed the phone shut. It was the first time he had ever truly defied his mentor. And once again, it was because of me. Don’t worry, Beckett. When you finally find out, you’ll never have to be angry again. 4 Beckett glanced at the room number on his screen, his face hardening into a mask of ice. He deleted the message. On his way back from the trash bin, he passed the door to the room I had occupied. He paused for a fraction of a second. His lip curled in a sneer. “Drama queen,” he muttered under his breath. My heart—the ghost of it—leaped into my throat. Just turn the handle, Beckett. Just look inside. You’ll see I wasn’t lying. But he didn’t stop. The weight of his disappointment was so heavy it felt like lead in my soul. I followed him to the corner, where he stopped, breathing hard. Suddenly, he spun around. He marched back to my room and threw the door open with a crash. “Wren! Get out here!” he barked into the silence. There was no answer. He took two steps inside and saw the bed. It was half-stripped, the pillows neatly stacked, but the mattress was empty. Look closer, Beckett! Look at the nightstand! I left everything for you! I didn’t kill them… I swear I didn’t… But he had no patience for me. Seeing the empty bed was proof enough for him. He slammed the door so hard the frame rattled. Back in the hallway, he pulled me out of his block list. He took a deep breath and sent a voice memo, his voice vibrating with rage: “Wren, if you waste hospital resources one more time, I will have security drag you out. If you aren’t in your bed, you aren’t sick. You’re a fraud. I’m giving you twenty-four hours to check yourself out. If you don’t, never call me your brother again.” As the message sent, my phone—sitting on the pillow in that empty room—chimed softly. No one was there to hear it. Beckett returned to Hailey’s window. He seemed to remember something and texted Dr. Whitmore: [I checked. She’s not even in her room. You fell for her act again.] Inside the ICU, Hailey’s finger twitched. Beckett pressed his face to the glass, his eyes wide. When he saw her eyelids flutter, he forgot all about me. He pulled out his phone and started shopping—jewelry, a designer bag, things a girl her age would love. Then he opened a food app and ordered a strawberry cake, her favorite. He paced the hall, muttering to himself. “What else does she like? What else?” He snapped his fingers and ran toward his office. He grabbed his briefcase and pulled out the legal documents for the family registry—the ones he’d had prepared for months. He was running so fast he collided with the nurse who had been assigned to me. She looked up, her eyes lighting up when she saw him. “Dr. Moore! Your sister, Miss Moore, she—” “Not now!” Beckett waved her off, not letting her finish. He burst into Hailey’s room just as she opened her eyes. He let out a long, shuddering breath of relief. Then, his phone rang. It was the morgue coordinator. “Dr. Moore, your sister… the organ donor… she’s still on the table in OR 3. The staff just realized. We need you to come down and sign for the body. There are no other family members on file.”

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Everyone tells me I’m the luckiest man alive for marrying a woman like Margot. They see the devoted wife, the powerhouse CEO, the woman who stands by her husband’s bedside with red-rimmed eyes. They don’t know that those same hands—the ones currently smoothing my hair—are the ones that systematically destroyed mine. It happened the day the “prodigal son” returned. Margot’s eyes had been a manic, bloodshot red as she swung the heavy paperweight. She didn’t stop until my hands were a pulp of shredded skin and splintered bone. The sound of my own skeleton snapping is a rhythm that still plays in my nightmares. Her tears had fallen directly into the open, weeping wounds on my wrists. She kept whispering, “Don’t hate me, Gideon. Please, don’t hate me,” like it was a prayer that could undo the carnage. Afterward, she shifted into a terrifyingly efficient caregiver. She paced the hospital halls, barking orders at the nation’s top orthopedic surgeons, her voice trembling with a faux-desperate humility. “He’s the star of the cardiothoracic department,” she pleaded with the Chief of Surgery, her knuckles white. “Please, save his hands. I don’t care about the cost. Just make him functional again.” She stayed by my bed every hour of every day, a saint in designer silk, performing a tireless act of penance. “If you can’t hold a scalpel, Gideon,” she whispered one night when she thought I was asleep, “then Timothy can finally take his rightful place as the best surgeon in the country. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I’ll take care of you forever.” I didn’t even look at her. It was almost funny, in a dark, twisted way. She really thought that by breaking my hands, she could hand my talent to Timothy. She forgot one thing: Timothy was a hack. Even with me out of the way, he’d never be more than a shadow. 1 I kept my mouth shut. There was no point in arguing with a fanatic. For the next week, Margot cleared her schedule. She walked away from billion-dollar mergers to wash my face and spoon-feed me broth. I caught the nurses whispering in the hall, their voices thick with envy. “Gideon Wayne hit the jackpot with that woman. You don’t see devotion like that anymore.” I felt a cold, sharp laugh echoing in my chest. Was it guilt driving her? Or was it the thrill of the “compensation” she planned to provide for the rest of my crippled life? On the seventh day, her closest friend, Tinsley, came to visit. She dropped off a basket of overpriced fruit, offered a few perfunctory words of sympathy, and then pulled Margot toward the doorway. The room was deathly silent, making their “hushed” conversation vibrate against the walls. “Margot, you’ve pushed three major acquisitions for this. The board is breathing down your neck to get back to the office, and you haven’t slept in days.” “I can’t leave him yet,” Margot replied. “You love him, I get it,” Tinsley countered, her voice dropping. “But if you wanted to keep him home, a simple accident would have sufficed. Did you really have to go that far? To actually break the bone and tendon?” Margot’s voice turned icy, the warmth of the “devoted wife” vanishing instantly. “His hands had to be destroyed completely. It’s the only way to ensure Timothy’s seat at the top is secure. Gideon stole Timothy’s life, his legacy as the Wayne heir, and the prestige that comes with it. Timothy cares about that surgical chair more than anything. I’m just protecting what belongs to him.” Timothy. The pretender. The man who had occupied my place in the Wayne family for twenty years while I grew up in the back of a dusty laundromat with people who treated me like an unwanted chore. When the DNA tests finally revealed the truth and I was brought back to the Wayne estate, I was a scrawny, awkward kid with defensive eyes. Standing next to the polished, charismatic Timothy, I looked like a mistake. Margot had been the one to approach me. “The Wayne-Cross marriage pact was always intended for the true heir,” she’d said, taking my hand. “Now that the real Mr. Wayne is back, the engagement should return to its rightful owner.” I had been so moved by her, so desperate for a shred of genuine affection, that I swore I’d spend my life being worthy of her. Looking back, it was all a game. Timothy had probably pissed her off by choosing a year-long backpacking trip through Europe over their wedding date. I was just a pawn in their lovers’ spat. But then I worked. I studied until my eyes bled. I discovered I had a gift—a steadiness in my hands that Timothy never possessed. Within years, I was the one the medical journals were calling a prodigy. I became the “star” that outshone the original “sun.” If the tool becomes more brilliant than the master, it has to be broken. She couldn’t kill me; my parents were too consumed by “survivor’s guilt” for the years I spent in poverty. If I died, Timothy would be the first suspect, and he’d lose the Wayne inheritance forever. So, she took my hands instead. She wanted to turn me into a dull, quiet accessory. But she made a mistake. She thought a man who had clawed his way out of the gutters of a nameless town would just lie down and be slaughtered. “With the Wayne fortune and the Cross family backing him, he can spend the rest of his life as a wealthy socialite husband,” I heard her tell Tinsley. “It’s a good life.” That sentence stung worse than the fractures. My foster parents had treated me like livestock. To change my fate, I had worked two jobs at greasy diners while studying under streetlights. I had built a kingdom out of nothing, only for her to burn it down because Timothy felt insecure. I stopped listening. My mind, however, was clearer than it had ever been. This woman had to go. A few minutes later, Margot crept back in. She tucked the blanket around me with a touch as light as a feather. “Gideon,” she whispered. “I’ll take care of you forever.” You already ended me forever, I thought. Now it’s my turn. 2 Margot became even more suffocating as the days passed. She barely left my side, her phone tossed carelessly onto the nightstand, ignored. In a different life, I would have been moved. Now, I just felt the chill of the predator watching the prey. She wasn’t worried about my health; she was monitoring the damage. She was terrified I might recover enough to threaten Timothy again, or that I’d cut a deal with the doctors behind her back. I played the part. I was silent, passive, and let her do everything. I let her wash me, dress me, and watch every painful bandage change. The pain was a living thing—hot, throbbing, and visceral. But beneath the agony, my plan was taking root. A month later, the lead surgeon finally unwrapped the final layers. What lay beneath wasn’t a pair of hands. It was a twisted map of angry, purple scars and distorted joints. Margot’s eyes welled up. She dropped to her knees by the bed, clutching my lifeless fingers. “Gideon, I’m so sorry…” I looked at her, my stomach churning. You did this. You did this so a mediocre boy could play God in an OR. Timothy had been a “rising star” since he was nineteen, mostly because he had the Wayne name and the Cross money buying his way into research papers. He had five percent of the family company handed to him for simply existing. I, on the other hand, was the “Research Machine.” I was the doctor who never slept because I remembered the way my grandmother died of heart failure in a cramped apartment because we couldn’t afford the specialist. I didn’t want to be a trophy; I wanted to be a savior. When the Waynes brought me back, they admired my grit but didn’t know how to handle my intensity. Timothy had hugged me then, saying, “Brother, our research interests align. If you ever need help, just ask.” I believed him. I shared my data. I shared my theories. And he published them under his name while I was busy in the lab. When I found out, Margot had stepped in. She told me she’d use every resource her family had to make me the greatest surgeon in history. She promised me the top of the mountain. On our wedding night, her passion was frightening. I thought it was love. Now I realize I was just a tool she was using to make Timothy jealous, to punish him for leaving her. She played the perfect wife for two years. She helped me reach the peak. But now that Timothy was coming home from his “soul-searching” travels, she decided the mountain belonged to him again. I was being retired. But I hated being “kept” more than anything in this world. My foster parents had “kept” me like a dog. Margot wanted to keep me like a bird with clipped wings. 3 Timothy returned two weeks later. I saw it on the morning news. The hospital held a massive gala for him. The headlines were nauseating: The Return of the Prodigy: Dr. Timothy Wayne Back to Save Lives. The hospital gossip shifted instantly. The nurses who used to pity “poor Gideon” were now whispering that the “true master” had returned. “Gideon was good, but Timothy has that natural flair,” I heard one say. “I heard Margot was always supposed to be Timothy’s. Gideon just moved in while the seat was warm. Now the real drama begins…” Margot walked in just as the whispers died down. She snapped at the nursing station, her voice like a whip. “Is this a hospital or a tabloid office? If I hear my husband’s name in your mouths again, you’ll be looking for work in another state.” The hallway went silent. Margot entered my room, softening instantly. She sat on the edge of the bed. “Don’t listen to them, Gideon. I love you. Only you.” I nodded slowly. I didn’t say a word. Her heart had never been mine. After we married, she used to love kissing my hands. I thought it was a fetish for my talent. Now I knew she was just measuring the threat. She pulled out a warm salt pack and placed it over my scarred knuckles. “The doctor says heat helps the circulation.” The door pushed open. It was Timothy. He was dressed in a charcoal suit, his hair perfectly tousled in that “effortless” way that cost two hundred dollars at a salon. He looked vibrant, tan, and utterly unburdened. His face went through a rehearsed series of emotions: shock, then devastating grief. He practically fell to his knees at the foot of my bed. “Gideon… brother. How did this happen?” His tears were perfect. They didn’t even ruin his bronzer. He looked like a tragic hero in a prestige drama. I looked at him and remembered Margot’s words: Only if you can’t hold a scalpel can Timothy be the best. Was he here to mourn me, or to verify the kill? “Brother, why won’t you speak?” Timothy sobbed. “Do you hate me for not being here to save you?” I shook my head. “I’ll do anything,” he continued, clutching the bedsheets. “I’ll spend every cent I have to find a way to fix this.” “Don’t bother,” I said, my voice raspy from disuse. He reached for my hand, but I flinched away. “You should go, Timothy.” His face flickered—a moment of genuine annoyance. “You’re kicking me out?” “Our parents miss you,” I said. That was his weak spot. He craved their adoration. Then his career. Then Margot. Margot walked him to the door. When she came back, she watched me carefully. “Gideon, Timothy had nothing to do with this. Don’t take your anger out on him. If you have to hate someone, hate me.” I gave a non-committal hum. She relaxed, but there was a flicker of something else in her eyes. Guilt? No. Just the satisfaction of a plan coming together. She didn’t want love; she wanted a husband who matched her stature, and a lover who made her feel like a queen. She wanted the “shining” version of Timothy, and she wanted me to be the silent, grateful ghost in the background. 4 After Timothy’s visit, Margot’s “devotion” hit a fever pitch. She flew in specialists from Germany and Tokyo. “I will fix this, Gideon. When you’re better, we’ll go to conferences together. I’ll be your hands. We’ll be a power couple.” She said it so often I almost started to believe the lie. I looked at her, finally speaking more than a sentence. “Margot, can you do me a favor? Can you look after Timothy? He’s my brother, and I don’t want him to struggle while I’m… like this.” I looked down at my mangled hands, letting my voice crack. “I can’t be the man he needs anymore. Or the man you need.” The joy in her eyes was almost obscene. She tried to hide it, but her smile twitched. “Whatever makes you happy, Gideon. I’ll do anything.” I looked her in the eyes. “If Timothy hadn’t gone on that trip, he would have been the one to marry you. Now I’m just a burden. I’m an embarrassment to you.” Margot’s face went pale. “Enough!” she snapped, then lowered her voice. “Gideon, don’t think like that. Timothy was a placeholder. I didn’t love him then.” Liar. If she didn’t love him, why did she break me for him? She knelt before me, looking like a lost child. “Please, believe me.” I just nodded. She let out a long, shaky breath, convinced that even though she’d ruined my life, I was still her loyal, pathetic lapdog. To fulfill her “promise” to me, she started spending more time with Timothy. She helped him prep for his return gala, accompanied him to high-society fundraisers, and soon, they were all over the tabloids. The CEO and the Surgeon: A Match Made in Heaven? The hospital gossip grew cruel. “He crawled his way into that family, and now that the real heir is back, he’s discarded like trash.” “He thought he could be a star. Look at him now. Can’t even tie his own shoes.” I stayed silent. I didn’t argue. The harder they hit now, the more they’d bleed later. On the day of my discharge, Timothy came to pick me up. Margot was at the Wayne estate, busy “decorating” a private wing for my recovery. “Gideon, my keynote symposium is next week,” Timothy said, helping me into the car. “You’ll come, right? It would mean the world to me.” “No,” I said flatly. Timothy’s eyes went red instantly. “Are you still blaming me because your hands didn’t heal?” I looked at him until he started to fidget. “Margot broke my hands, Timothy. She did it so I couldn’t compete with you. She did it to secure your ‘top surgeon’ title.” He froze. It wasn’t shock on his face. It was a terrifying, subtle ripple of triumph and ego. Before he could speak, I laughed. “I’m kidding. Why do you look so serious?” Timothy exhaled, a ragged, relieved sound. On the day of the symposium, the auditorium was packed with the elite of the medical world and every major news outlet in the city. I wasn’t supposed to be there. But as Timothy stood at the podium, bathed in a spotlight, I walked onto the stage. Timothy’s jaw dropped. I didn’t give him a second to recover. I hit the remote for the projector. The flashbulbs began to explode like gunfire. The room erupted.

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My husband, Liam, recently took in a young woman who wasn’t very well-behaved. He spoiled her so much she forgot her place and actually came causing trouble right in front of me. The girl’s eyes were bright, and she stubbornly refused to call me “Mrs. Sterling”: “Miss Reed, in love, the one who isn’t loved is the real third wheel.” I smiled, reached out a slender finger, and forcefully yanked the pearl earring from her ear. Drops of blood instantly bloomed on her earlobe. Behind us, Liam appeared, his jaw tight. Chloe just stood there with red eyes: “Mr. Sterling, please don’t be angry. Miss Reed probably didn’t mean it.” Liam just took my hand, blowing on it gently: “Abby, does your hand hurt?” Chloe stared at him in disbelief as a large tear rolled down her cheek. And I just offered a faint smile. 1 Chloe was taken away by Liam’s secretary. She seemed to have a thousand things to say, probably not understanding how the man who had been somewhat gentle with her yesterday could turn like this today. Liam’s affection for me wasn’t entirely fake. He noticed a faint, barely visible mark on my finger and kissed it repeatedly. “Abby, a woman like that isn’t worth dirtying your own hands,” he said, a hint of disapproval in his dark eyes. I looked at Liam, my expression normal. I wasn’t surprised by his actions. We were childhood sweethearts, growing up together. By nature, he wasn’t a particularly docile person, yet he was always tolerant and considerate of me. In prominent, old-money families like ours, rotting marriages are everywhere. But he was the one I had actively chosen. Even when we got married, my best friend, Serena, was endlessly envious. After all, when people reach a certain status, they view basic moral constraints with cold indifference. Liam was genuine toward me. Serena said that in elite families, fidelity is often viewed as a weakness. When wealth expands to a certain level, expecting a man to remain forever faithful is truly rare. For many arranged marriages between powerful families, maintaining a facade of peace is already an achievement. But Serena had seen how Liam served me food, seen how he unknowingly smiled just at the mention of me. He truly cared for me. But his care wasn’t one hundred percent. In his position, not having beautiful women swarming around him would be abnormal. The few “understanding companions” Liam occasionally kept were nothing in Serena’s eyes. It was just too common. It seems that when corruption becomes the norm, innocence becomes the anomaly. 2 Dinner was cooked by Liam. For a young, successful man like him to be willing to cook was truly rare. Even my usually picky mother was full of praise. They all seemed to envy me for having the vast majority of Liam’s love and his complete tolerance. I only had to frown, and Liam could make whatever I disliked disappear forever. He carefully cut my steak for me, and I lowered my eyes, taking small, slow bites. His phone kept lighting up. I instinctively reached for it, and he, thinking I wanted the wine from his glass, thoughtfully handed it to me. When he saw I was reaching for his phone, he just smiled, picked up a napkin to wipe his hands, and then handed the phone to me. “Wife, it’s rare for you to check up on me.” The smile in his eyes was genuine. Liam never really hid his “understanding companions” from me. It was probably because the men around him behaved far worse than he did. He gave his wife total respect, consideration, and always put me first. Moreover, even my own parents each had their own separate lives outside. I knew for a fact they had several illegitimate children. My mother didn’t have a son, so she chose a relatively decent illegitimate son to inherit the family business. He respected my mother and was quite protective of me, his sister. In old-money families, fidelity is a joke. No matter how gentle the surface appears, the bones are rotten. I unlocked the phone. I couldn’t find Chloe anymore. I understood; after offending me, Liam wouldn’t let her off easily. Scrolling further down, I saw Mia. She had been by Liam’s side for a while now. I had heard of her—a submissive, obedient type. When she saw me, she acted like a frightened quail. She kept her head as low as possible. Liam was very satisfied with her tactfulness, so she was getting good resources now. A few days ago, I even saw her at a jewelry exhibition. I attended as Mrs. Sterling. Liam sat to my right, and Mia, wearing a diamond necklace, sat opposite us, essentially displaying that necklace to me. I glanced at it a couple of times, and Liam bought it. Mia thanked me softly. She was very tactful, didn’t stay long, and certainly didn’t flaunt her status in my face. That night, Liam even sensed my displeasure and whispered in my ear, “Don’t like her? I’ll swap her for someone else right away.” The affection in his eyes was real. Whatever I disliked, he could discard. I smiled, my eyes curving. “Liam, aren’t you being a bit too sensitive?” Ever since we were little, I called him by his full name. When we were young, I would sit behind him on his bike, the wind blowing his shirt like a sail, and I would press my cheek against his back. It smelled like sunshine. It was the fluttering of a young heart. It was the budding of love. Liam patted my hand. The lighting was dim, but his tone was sweet: “Abby, I often think about the path we’ve walked together.” I didn’t say a word, just stared silently into the distance. 3 That night, Liam didn’t sleep beside me. He said he had business at the company. I properly straightened his clothes and watched him leave. Not long after, Serena called: “Hey, I think I saw your Liam. He’s with my bastard husband. I heard they ordered quite a few escorts, but don’t worry, your Liam doesn’t play that wild; it’s usually just one-on-one.” In the dark, I turned on the lamp: “And how many male models did you order?” Serena burst out laughing: “I used to invite you out, but you’re an outlier. You hate this stuff and don’t understand the fun of it. Abby, you need to broaden your horizons. It’s better when husbands and wives play together. If one stays strictly faithful, it just leads to frustration.” I remained silent. Her voice continued: “Abby, I know what you want. But you have to realize, when you reach a certain level, women swarm these men, and they’re surrounded by flattery and sycophants. It’s too hard to stay clean.” “I haven’t stayed clean,” I said quietly. Serena let out a sound of surprise, sounding very interested: “You’re keeping someone too? Who is it? Tell me.” I was just about to speak when I heard the sound of the front door unlocking. I smiled and hung up the phone abruptly. 4 I stood at the landing of the stairs, looking toward the door. Elias, dressed in simple, clean clothes, familiarly turned on the light, took off his shoes, and walked inside. The young man had gentle features. Seeing me, he offered a shy smile and made a gesture with his hands. I met Elias on a rainy day, right after I found out Liam was seeing someone else. I was sitting on the bench at a bus stop, the rain mixing with my tears, dripping down continuously. When you love someone, you use all your strength, leading to possessiveness. Suddenly hearing about his infidelity, no matter how good your temper usually is, jealousy spreads through your entire body. But I had seen too much of this. My friends, relatives, and parents had all set very bad examples for me. When they talked about these things, they didn’t even take it to heart. For a long time, I felt like I was the freak. Even Serena, who understood me best, looked at my depressed state with sheer bewilderment: “Abby, the Sterling family is valued at over thirty billion, and Liam is the standout among them. With a status like that, it’s unrealistic for him not to have a few women hovering around.” Everyone told me to relax, that Liam was just lacking in fidelity, and that it was a harmless flaw. But I suppressed my pain, not daring to show it, because I had seen how pathetic my mother looked. Vases shattered all over the floor; the torment made my usually gentle mother somewhat unhinged. Later, she frequently sought comfort outside too. At first, it was out of revenge, but later, it became an addiction. With a look of lust in her eyes, she told me that when you can’t fight it, you just have to go with the flow. Elias, holding an umbrella, appeared in front of me. The young man was very tall, his knuckles smooth like jade. When he smiled, dimples appeared on his cheeks. I looked up and told him to get lost. But he seemed not to hear me. He just tried to hand the umbrella to me. I poured all my unvented anger into the most vicious words directed at this stranger, but Elias only looked at me with a calm face. His eyes were as vast and accepting as the ocean. After a long while, he looked down at his phone and typed a sentence: [I’m sorry, I sent my hearing aids in for repair today. I can’t hear what you’re saying.] He smiled, his eyes curving like crescent moons. The words got stuck in my throat, unable to go up or down. I felt ashamed. I had actually vented my anger on such a gentle boy. We met again in a university lecture hall. I was invited as a successful alumna to speak about the ups and downs of life. During the ribbon-cutting ceremony, I saw him. As an outstanding student, he took a photo with me. Surprisingly, when I received that photo from my assistant, the boy’s features were gentle, radiant like stars and the moon. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I had my assistant send him a pair of high-end hearing aids. 5 While I was lost in thought, Elias, wearing a backpack, tapped on my car window. My assistant looked displeased, but I told her to shut up. The young man smiled and handed the expensive hearing aids back to me: “Hello, this belongs to you.” He looked at me calmly, and in that moment, I suddenly realized he had already forgotten that I was the pathetic woman in the heavy rain that day. After that, I frequently appeared near Elias. At first, I didn’t plan to do anything. It was probably just because people this pure rarely appeared around me. Maybe when money reaches a certain amount, life becomes truly boring, and you want to find some amusement. During that time, Liam found his second “understanding companion”—a girl who dared to love and hate, bright and sunny. He was probably just enjoying the novelty of it and was so caught up in his pleasure that I rarely saw him. He even slipped up in front of me several times. I suppressed my anger, eating and watching TV in silence. Liam would pat my hair: “But Abby, the path we’ve walked together is ultimately different.” Of course, I understood the meaning of those words, and I knew he meant it sincerely. After all, my relationship with him was indeed different. I never doubted his sincerity toward me. We were from equally matched families, both proud. In a secluded grassy field, I had spontaneously kicked off my heels and danced under the moonlight. He good-naturedly held my shoes, his eyes filled with nothing but my image. At our grand wedding, he said he would love me forever, but he didn’t say he would only love me forever. 6 Elias was reserved and strictly followed the rules. Before I even realized it, I suddenly noticed he had developed feelings for me. Because every time I spoke to him, the tips of his ears would turn bright red. Sometimes I couldn’t help but laugh and asked if he wanted to listen to me play the piano. At that time, the cherry blossoms were in full bloom. On the tree-lined campus path, students walked in twos and threes. I walked a long way with him. The hill behind the school was next to the train tracks, and cargo trains always passed by. That day, under the setting sun, the light flowed across his cheeks. Behind us was the deafening roar of the train. Elias touched my hand, seemingly afraid I would be startled by the noise. He reached out and covered my ears. His fingertips were warm. Right at that moment, the boy opened his lips and said a sentence. I asked him what he said, but he didn’t make a sound. Later, sitting in the car as it drove toward the residential enclave, I rested my hand against my forehead and suddenly smiled. Actually, after knowing Elias for a while, I had learned sign language and lip-reading. If I wasn’t mistaken, what Elias said then was, “I like you.” The boy’s love was earnest, but I felt despicable. He didn’t even know I was already married. Someone like him, bright and clean as the moon, could never understand the unspoken games played within elite families. 7 For a long time, Elias knew I suffered from insomnia at night, so he would take a cab to my house to read me stories. I didn’t cross any physical boundaries with him. Sometimes I even felt a bit self-destructive. I didn’t erase Liam’s presence from the house, but interestingly enough, Liam’s footprint in this house wasn’t that significant anyway. He was probably having too much fun outside, and later, while I maintained a calm facade, I had already distanced myself emotionally. Just like today, Elias read me a fairy tale as usual. I was raised by nannies when I was little. My parents’ love was there, but it didn’t feel deep. The classmates at my international school started competing with each other at age eight. My overly premature entry into adult life meant I wasn’t really exposed to fairy tales. I blinked and asked Elias: “So, the huntsman wanted to kill Snow White, but in the end, he let her go. Would Snow White forgive the huntsman?” He was used to answering my questions every day, so he wasn’t surprised. Without a moment’s hesitation, he answered directly: “She would.” “Why?” I asked him back. “If I were Snow White, I would never forgive. The person who wanted to kill me should burn in hell forever, never seeing the light of day.” “But why shouldn’t someone who realizes their mistake and turns back be forgiven?” he said from half a meter away. I don’t know what I was thinking in that moment. Since birth, I had never really cared about anything involving money. People around me flattered me, sought my favor; I had my own circle. Some people behaved recklessly, wildly, and even played some very intense games. Although I didn’t participate, I had seen so much of it that for a long time, I was used to it. I suddenly stood up, tilted my head, and kissed Elias on the cheek. His snow-white skin instantly turned beet red. His eyes shone with unshed tears as he blinked his large eyes: “Abby… Abby…” My chest filled with a warm sensation: “Elias, do you like me?” Even the boy’s neck turned bright red.

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Three years. I’ve spent three long, stifling years inside this fallout shelter—The Citadel. I haven’t seen a single “Xeno-beast,” and I wouldn’t know what radiation looked like if it hit me in the face. My life is a repetitive cycle of eating, sleeping, and existing in a state of enforced luxury that feels more like a high-end nursing home than a survival bunker. It’s not that I haven’t tried to do my part. I’ve begged to join the surface scavengers, to actually earn my keep. But every time I opened my mouth, the Director shut me down. His refusal was always the same: absolute, immovable, and shrouded in that creepy, paternalistic concern. He told me that my only job was to stay happy. He claimed that as long as I was “joyful,” the monsters within a hundred-mile radius wouldn’t dare approach. That was my “great contribution.” He even warned me that if I so much as scraped a knee, the entire Citadel would pay the price. So, I became a golden prisoner. I stayed in my climate-controlled suite, killing time with the only thing they allowed me: video games. Until the day the Strike Team came back. A man—Briggs, the Director’s son—burst into my room, his face a mask of gore and fury. He didn’t say a word before he grabbed my console and slammed it into the floor. The screen shattered into a thousand jagged pieces. His eyes were bloodshot, screaming at me through a throat raw from howling. He told me they were out there bleeding, that AJ’s insides had been torn out in front of him. That “Six” was gone—half his head bitten off by a Ravager. Fifteen men died on that run. He pointed a shaking, grease-stained finger at me and demanded to know why I got to sit in the AC, eating steak and playing games, while his brothers were being fed to the meat grinder. 1 “GAME OVER” flashed across the screen in a mocking, jagged red. I groaned, tossing the controller onto the velvet sofa. That was the seventh time tonight. This new expansion boss was tuned to be impossible; it wasn’t even fun anymore, just punishing. “Stress levels are up 3.7%. Heart rate at 105. I strongly suggest you terminate high-intensity entertainment immediately.” The voice was cool and clinical. Dr. Naomi Foster stood in the doorway, tapping a stylus against a tablet that displayed my biometrics in real-time. Even in the middle of a literal apocalypse, she kept her white lab coat pressed and her expression perfectly neutral. “I’m fine, Naomi. I was one hit away from clearing it,” I muttered, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. She ignored me, walking over to scan my wrist with a handheld sensor. “Director Killian’s orders are explicit. Your mood must remain within the ‘Optimal Joy’ bracket. Any factor contributing to negative emotional variance must be eliminated.” She reached for the power cable of the console. “Wait! Don’t!” I shielded the machine like it was a living thing. “I promise, the next run is the one. When I win, my mood will skyrocket. Dopamine hit, right?” Naomi paused, her eyes narrowing behind her glasses as she weighed my desperation against her protocols. Just then, a rich, savory aroma wafted through the door. “Hey there, kiddo. Hungry? Look what Saul managed to whip up for you.” Old Man Saul, the head of the mess hall, shuffled in with a silver thermal container. He was all smiles, his face a roadmap of deep-set wrinkles. When he popped the lid, the room was suddenly filled with the scent of slow-roasted brisket and fresh herbs—real food. In a world where most people killed for a sleeve of stale crackers, this meal was a king’s ransom. “Saul, you’re spoiling me again,” I said, though my eyes were already glued to the plate. “Hey, you deserve it! If it weren’t for you, my hydroponic garden would’ve succumbed to the blight months ago,” Saul chuckled, patting my shoulder. “Eat up! Happy belly, happy heart. And if you’re happy, we all get to sleep a little sounder tonight.” Naomi looked at Saul, then at me, and finally pulled her hand away from the power cord. She logged something on her tablet. “Protein and fat intake will assist in dopamine regulation. Permitted. But I’m checking your glucose in thirty minutes.” I dug in, the warmth of the food chasing away the residual frustration of the game. Saul and Naomi watched me from either side—one like a doting grandfather, the other like a scientist observing a prized specimen. This was my life. I was the Citadel’s most precious resource, pampered and protected with a single, bizarre mission: Stay happy. Because I was the “Sanctifier.” They told me that as long as I remained content, an invisible, intangible power within me projected a barrier that kept the radiation and the nightmares at bay. I finished the last bite, letting out a satisfied breath. I was reaching for the controller again, ready for a rematch, when a piercing, rhythmic shriek tore through the silence of the bunker. It wasn’t the red alert for a breach. it was the heavy, grinding groan of the main blast doors opening. Saul’s smile vanished. Naomi’s grip tightened on her tablet. Briggs and his team were back. 2 The sound of metal on metal echoed up the shafts, heavy and ominous. The atmosphere in my suite curdled instantly. Saul’s face went pale, and Naomi instinctively checked the lock on her tablet. The scent hit us first—not the sterile air of the bunker, but the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of spent gunpowder. Then came the boots. Heavy, frantic, and followed by the low, guttural moans of men in agony. I had just picked up the controller when my door—a door that usually hummed open with a soft beep—was kicked off its hinges. CRACK. The frame splintered, and the door slammed against the wall. Briggs stood there, a vision from a nightmare. He was coated in a thick layer of dark blood and soot. His tactical vest was shredded, and his left arm hung at a useless, nauseating angle. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with a terrifying, manic grief. They darted from the empty dinner plate to the controller in my hand. His gaze felt like a physical weight, something heavy and sharp enough to draw blood. “Captain…” Saul started, his voice trembling. Briggs didn’t hear him. He marched into the room, leaving a trail of wet, crimson footprints on my white carpet. He walked straight to the TV, and before I could even blink, he ripped the cables from the wall. He hoisted the console high above his head and brought it down against the floor with a sickening crunch. Internal components shattered. Plastic shards flew like shrapnel. “What the hell are you doing?!” I yelled, jumping up from the sofa. That was the only piece of my old life I had left. “What am I doing?” Briggs turned, his voice a low, vibrating growl that erupted into a roar. He shoved a finger into my chest. “I’m out there in the dirt! I watched AJ get disemboweled by a crawler! I watched Six get his head crushed like a grape! We lost fifteen men today!” He was vibrating with rage, spit flying from his lips. “And you? You sit here in the cool air, eating real meat, playing your fucking games? Tell me… how is that fair?” “Briggs, back off!” Naomi stepped between us, her voice sharp. She held up her tablet like a shield. “You know the protocol! His emotional stability dictates the integrity of the Citadel’s field! You’re endangering every soul in this bunker!” “To hell with your protocols!” Briggs shoved her aside. She stumbled against the wall, her tablet clattering to the floor. “I’m tired of hearing about ‘importance.’ My brothers are dead! And for what? To protect this… this leech?” Saul tried to intervene, his voice breaking. “Captain, please, Jude didn’t choose this, he—” “Shut up, old man!” Briggs didn’t even look at him. He grabbed the collar of my shirt and hauled me off my feet. He was pure, raw muscle fueled by adrenaline and spite. I couldn’t breathe; my toes barely brushed the floor. His face, smeared with the lifeblood of his friends, was inches from mine. The smell of death on him was overwhelming. “You think losing your toy is bad? You think I’m ruining your ‘vibe’?” He let out a twisted, jagged laugh and began dragging me toward the door. “Come on. I’m going to show you what the world actually looks like. I’m going to show you exactly what people are paying for your ‘good mood.’” 3 My heels scraped uselessly against the cold metal floor. Briggs’s grip was like an iron vice. I was a passenger in my own kidnapping. The corridor outside was lined with people—survivors, technicians, the remaining soldiers. They had gathered to welcome their heroes home, but now they stood in a heavy, suffocating silence, watching me with eyes that had turned cold and predatory. “Look at him! Everyone, look at our ‘Chosen One’!” Briggs’s voice boomed, echoing through the narrow hall. “The great Sanctifier! Our precious little secret!” He threw me toward the entrance of the medical bay. Inside, it was a butcher shop. The smell of bleach couldn’t mask the copper of the blood. A soldier was screaming as a medic tried to tourniquet a stump where his leg used to be. Another man lay on a cot, his chest crushed, a ventilator wheezing a useless, rhythmic sigh. Near the back, a row of bodies lay under stained white sheets. My stomach did a violent somersault. I’d seen gore in games, but this was visceral. It was the smell of voided bowels and the sight of yellow fat clinging to torn muscle. “See that?” Briggs hissed in my ear. “The one on the left? That’s Miller. He got half his torso taken out trying to scavenge the specific brand of canned peaches you like. And that small one under the sheet? That’s Six. He was nineteen. Before we left, he told me he wanted to see you—just once. He wanted to see what ‘hope’ looked like. Well, here you are.” The crowd shifted. The pity and confusion I usually saw in their eyes had curdled into a dark, infectious resentment. “Why him?” a man with a missing arm rasped. “Why do we die out there while he rots in luxury?” “Parasite!” someone spat. “Throw him out!” The anger was spreading like a wildfire in a dry forest. “Stop this! All of you!” Naomi finally pushed through the throng. Her face was deathly pale. She looked at her shattered tablet, then at the monitor on the wall. A red line was spiking into a jagged mountain range. “The sensors are screaming! The radiation levels outside the perimeter are climbing! You’re killing us all!” She looked toward the end of the hall, toward the observation deck. I followed her gaze. Director Killian stood there in his crisp uniform, his face unreadable. He didn’t move. He didn’t call for the guards. He watched his son incite a lynch mob against his most “valuable asset” and did absolutely nothing. His silence was a death sentence. Saul rushed forward, trying to shield me with his frail body. “You can’t do this! If the field drops, we’re all dead! Director, say something!” “Get out of the way, you old fossil!” Briggs kicked Saul in the stomach. The old man gasped, crumpling into a ball on the floor. “Saul!” I screamed, trying to reach him, but Briggs caught me by the throat, pinning me against the wall. “You still care about others?” Briggs leaned in, his voice a lethal whisper meant only for me. “Cowardly science and old-man sentimentality don’t mean a damn thing here. Today, I’m going to expose the lie.” I looked at Saul on the floor. I looked at Naomi, held back by the crowd. Finally, I looked up at Killian, who remained as cold as a statue. A bone-deep chill spread from my heart to my fingertips. In that moment, I felt the Citadel shudder. A low, vibrating hum—so subtle I thought I imagined it—echoed in my ears. Briggs wasn’t finished. He dragged me to the center of the common area and raised a hand to silence the crowd. He pulled a serrated hunting knife from his belt. The blade caught the overhead LEDs, gleaming with a cruel, cold light. “You want to know what makes him so special?” Briggs laughed, pressing the tip of the blade against my cheek. “I’m going to open him up. Let’s see if our ‘Sanctifier’ is made of divinity… or if he’s just leaking the same pathetic blood as the rest of us.” 4 The cold steel bit into my skin. The room went dead silent. “Briggs, stop!” Naomi’s voice was a frantic shriek. “The alarms are going off! The external radiation is off the charts! You’re triggering a collapse!” Briggs didn’t even blink. He grinned at the crowd, a predator basking in the spotlight. “Do you hear that? The same old ghost stories,” he shouted. “We survive out there with steel and lead, not with ‘vibes’ and graphs!” He twisted his wrist. The blade sliced into my cheek. The pain was a white-hot spike. I let out a choked cry as warm blood traced a path down my jaw, dripping onto the sterile floor. But he was just getting started. He kicked my legs out from under me and pinned me face-down. His knee was a mountain in the small of my back. Then, he began to cut. It wasn’t a stab. It wasn’t a slash. It was a slow, methodical, agonizingly precise flaying. He traced the lines of my shoulders, peeling back the skin with the practiced hand of someone who had dressed a thousand kills. I heard Naomi’s hysterical sobbing. I heard the dull thuds of Saul being kicked as he tried to crawl toward me. And I heard the crowd—the terrifying, rhythmic chanting of people who had found a scapegoat for their misery. In a gap between the waves of agony, I managed to turn my head. I looked past the boots and the blood toward the high walkway. Killian was still there. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t horrified. He was merely… observing. The realization was colder than the knife. He wasn’t just allowing this; he had planned it. I was no longer useful as a mascot, so I would serve as a sacrifice to vent the colony’s rage. Inside me, something shifted. That “inner sun” they always talked about—that warm, pulsing core of energy that had always felt like a soft summer afternoon—began to flicker. In the face of this absolute betrayal, it didn’t just dim. It curdled. The light turned black. The warmth turned to sub-zero ice. Like a star collapsing into a black hole, my “Sanctity” died. The world changed. I could “feel” the invisible dome over the Citadel melting away like wax. I could “feel” the things outside—the ancient, hungry, irradiated malice—noticing the hole. They were like sharks catching a scent of blood in the water. By the time Briggs finished his grisly work, I couldn’t even feel the physical pain anymore. I was a hollow shell of raw nerves and cold void. “See?” Briggs hoisted my bloodied, ruined form up for the crowd to see. “Look at your god! He bleeds. He screams. He’s nothing!” The crowd roared, a sound of primal, fearful triumph. “Throw him out!” Briggs commanded. Two soldiers grabbed my arms and dragged me toward the airlock. I left a thick, smeared trail of red across the floor of the only home I’d ever known. The heavy gears of the blast door groaned. They tossed me out like a piece of spoiled meat into the grey, ash-choked wasteland. The doors hissed shut behind me. I lay in the dirt, a heap of flayed muscle and broken spirit. Above me, on the ramparts, Briggs appeared. He looked down at me, laughing, his voice carrying over the dead plains. “See? The ‘Sanctifier’ is gone, and the sky hasn’t fallen! It was all a—” His laugh was cut short by a sound that didn’t come from a human throat. It was a siren, but not the bunker’s. It was the sound of the world itself screaming.

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