Category: English

It was at the dinner table that I initiated a conversation with Daniel for the very last time. It was an entirely unremarkable evening. I simply wanted to ask if we could take our daughter to the park that weekend. The words had barely left my mouth when, without so much as lifting his eyes, he tapped his fork lightly against the edge of his plate. A sharp, dismissive clink. I opened my mouth, fully prepared to repeat the question, when six-year-old Mia suddenly set her own fork down. She looked up at me, her small face painfully solemn, like a miniature adult brokering a peace treaty. “Mommy, don’t call Daddy anymore.” And then, the quiet follow-up: “He doesn’t want to talk to you.” My hand froze suspended in mid-air. It felt as though a cold, rusted blade had just been driven straight through my ribs. Daniel’s fork paused for a fraction of a second, but then he went right back to pushing his food around his plate, his head bowed, pretending he hadn’t heard a thing. I stared into my daughter’s large, clear eyes, and the realization hit me with terrifying clarity. This exhausting, desperate chase I’d been running for ten years… it was nothing but a one-woman play. She was only six years old. Six. And she had already learned how to read the emotional dead space in the room on her father’s behalf. I stood up, picked up Mia’s plate, and kept my voice soft. “Come on, baby. Let’s go eat in the living room.” 01 After Mia finished her dinner, I gave her a bath, read her two bedtime stories, and sat in the dim light until her breathing grew heavy and even. When I finally walked into the master bedroom, Daniel was propped up against the headboard, scrolling through his phone. The harsh blue light from the screen washed over his face. He didn’t even blink at the sound of the door. The old me—the me from yesterday—would have sat on the edge of the mattress, tentatively touching the duvet. I would have said, Daniel, can we talk? He would have replied, About what. Then I would have poured out a frantic, desperate monologue, to which he would offer a flat Mm, roll over, and go to sleep. And then, I would have spent the next two hours staring at his broad back, letting my tears soak quietly into the pillowcase. But tonight, I didn’t sit on the bed. I grabbed a spare blanket from the closet and walked down the hall to the home office. I’d bought the daybed for the office last year, rationalizing that if we ever had a massive blowout, one of us could sleep in here to cool off. But I quickly learned that Daniel and I couldn’t have blowouts. Fighting requires two people. He never stepped into the ring. I lay on the narrow mattress, staring up at the shadowed ceiling. My phone lit up on the nightstand. A text from my mom: Did my girls have a good day? I typed out: It’s fine. Backspace. Delete. I typed: Doing great, Mom. Send. For the last ten years, my response to my mother had always been, Doing great. My texts to Daniel, however, were always paragraphs. Massive blocks of blue text. He wouldn’t reply. So I would send another paragraph. Still nothing. Then I’d call him. When it went straight to voicemail, I’d wait by the front door until he got home from work, ambushing him the second the lock clicked. My friends told me I was being too needy. He told me I was suffocating him. And honestly? I’d started to think I was clinically insane. Chasing a ghost for a decade—God, the sheer humiliation of it. But tonight, Mia’s little voice had struck something deep inside me, like a mallet hitting a brass bell. Gong. Something shattered. It wasn’t my heart. My heart had broken years ago. It was the thick, stubborn shell of my own delusion. It cracked wide open. I slept incredibly well that night. No dreams. No silent sobbing. No waking up at 3:00 AM to check if he’d finally texted back. The next morning, when my alarm went off, I actually lay there stunned for a full second. I hadn’t realized it was possible to fall asleep without waiting for a reply. It was Wednesday. Normally, every single weekday morning, I would wake up early to make Daniel a hot breakfast and arrange it perfectly on the kitchen island. He never said thank you. Occasionally he ate it, but usually, he just grabbed a tumbler of black coffee and walked out the door. Today, I only made oatmeal for Mia. Then I crouched down to braid her hair. When Daniel walked into the kitchen, his eyes flicked toward the island. There was only Mia’s little bunny bowl and her pink plastic spoon. He didn’t say a word. He just opened the fridge, grabbed a protein shake, picked up his briefcase, and left. The sound of the front door clicking shut was identical to the sound it had made every day for the last two thousand days. But for the first time, I didn’t chase him down the hallway shouting, Drive safe! Mia tilted her head back to look at me. “Mommy, you didn’t say bye to Daddy today.” I smiled, gently pinching her cheek. “Did you say bye to Daddy, sweetie?” She shook her head. “Daddy walks too fast.” Yeah. He did. He always walked so fast. And I had spent ten years running, and I had never once managed to catch up. 02 Daniel and I met in college. He wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but he was clean-cut, quiet, and possessed a focused intensity when he ran track that I found incredibly magnetic. Every girl in the liberal arts department knew that Gemma was desperately chasing Daniel. My methods were embarrassingly clumsy. I brought him coffee every morning. When he said he didn’t need it, I lied and said it was a buy-one-get-one-free deal. When his study group ran late, I waited outside the library in the freezing wind, holding his favorite Americano. He’d tell me, Stop waiting for me, it’s too cold out. I’d smile, shivering. It’s fine, I wasn’t doing anything anyway. During the winter of our senior year, he finally agreed to go out with me. I sat on the floor of my crappy off-campus apartment and cried for an hour. Happy tears. It was only later, much later, that I slowly realized he hadn’t said yes because I’d won his heart. He’d said yes because it was easy, and there wasn’t anyone better around. His mother said it once. I heard it with my own ears. “Daniel has always been like this. He doesn’t take initiative. You chased him so relentlessly, so he just went along with it.” She said it so casually, like she was commenting on the weather. I was standing just outside the kitchen, holding a platter of sliced fruit, my knuckles turning white as my grip tightened on the ceramic edge. The first year of our marriage was okay. He was quiet, but he’d at least walk with me through the neighborhood on weekends. If I wanted to see a movie, he’d complain about the parking, but he’d still go. The tipping point was when Mia was born. While I was drowning in postpartum depression, navigating newborn care utterly alone, he was suddenly buried in overtime, business trips, and client dinners. There was always a pristine excuse for him not to be home. Once, pushed to the brink of a breakdown during a 3:00 AM feeding, I called him. He sighed into the receiver and said, “Doesn’t Mia have you?” I begged him to come home early just once. He snapped, “Could you not do this right now? I’m exhausted too.” This. Needing him was doing this. Wanting to talk to him was doing this. Hoping for a text back was doing this. Over time, I developed a mental translation feature. When he said, “Stop being dramatic,” my brain translated it to: Your emotions are an inconvenience. When he said, “What is there to talk about?” it translated to: Your feelings don’t matter. When he said, “Look at how other guys’ wives behave,” it meant: You are not enough. When Mia was three, I finally broke down crying in the middle of the living room. Daniel walked out of the bedroom, stopped, and looked at me. “What’s wrong now?” I looked up at him through blurred vision. “Can you just… can you just hold me?” He let out a long, heavy exhale, turned around, and walked back into the bedroom. Click. The door shut. That was the first time I realized that the space between us wasn’t just a wooden door. It was a barren, uncrossable wasteland. But I didn’t stop. I kept chasing. Kept texting. Kept waiting. I honestly believed that if I just tried a little harder, sacrificed a little more, he would eventually turn around and look at me. Ten years. I chased him for an entire decade. I chased him until I no longer recognized the woman looking back at me in the mirror. In college, I was top of my class in the graphic design program. My senior portfolio won awards. My professor handed me a guaranteed job offer at a top-tier creative agency in Chicago. I didn’t take it. Because Daniel got a corporate job in this city. I told myself that staying together was the most important thing. Then Mia came along, and I quit my entry-level design job to be a stay-at-home mom. Daniel had shrugged and said, “It makes sense for you to stay home. Saves us money on daycare.” That Chicago agency went on to become an industry powerhouse. Every now and then, I’d see their award-winning campaigns pop up on my LinkedIn feed. I would stare at the screen for a long, long time. Then I’d lock my phone and go back to washing baby bottles. 03 The change happened in microscopic increments. During the first week of not chasing Daniel, my skin felt itchy. Muscle memory is a terrifying thing. My hand would automatically reach for my phone to open iMessage, desperate to see if he’d texted back. And then I’d remember—I hadn’t sent him anything. If you don’t send anything, there is nothing to wait for. It was a deeply disorienting sensation. Like a sprinter who had been running full-tilt for ten years suddenly slamming on the brakes; the momentum makes you feel like you’re still lunging forward, even though your feet have stopped moving. On day three, I made a decision. On my way home from grocery shopping, I didn’t take the usual route. I turned down a street I hadn’t driven down in years. At the end of the block sat a boutique fitness studio, its warm, orange lighting spilling out onto the pavement. I stood outside the glass doors for thirty seconds. Then I pushed them open. The girl at the front desk, all Lululemon and bright smiles, asked if I wanted a trial class. “I’ll take the annual membership.” Twelve hundred dollars. My hand didn’t even tremble as I tapped my credit card. It was the first time in ten years I had spent a significant amount of money entirely on myself. And more importantly, I didn’t text Daniel to say, Hey, I joined a gym. In the past, any purchase over fifty bucks required a full report. And his reaction was always the exact same: Mm. Whatever makes you happy. Whatever makes you happy. Translation: I literally do not care. So, I stopped reporting. On day five, I dug a dusty gray canvas tote out from the back of my closet. Inside were my old college sketchbooks, design drafts, and that ancient offer letter from the Chicago agency. The offer was long dead, but the sketches were still there. When I flipped open the first page, the smell of graphite and aged paper hit my nose, sharp and familiar. Mia poked her head over my arm. “Did you draw that, Mommy? It’s so pretty!” “I did. Mommy used to draw all the time.” “Used to? You don’t know how anymore?” I looked down at her earnest, upturned face. “I still know how. It’s just been a long time.” That night, after Mia was asleep, I wiped down the dining table, laid out fresh paper, and started sketching a logo. I was rusty. The lines lacked their old confident snap. But as I laid down the final stroke, I felt something inside my chest loosen. Like a rusted pipe that had been blocked for years finally letting a single drop of water through. During those first two weeks, Daniel didn’t notice a damn thing. I stopped texting. He didn’t ask, Why haven’t you texted me? I stopped calling. He didn’t ask, Why haven’t you called? I stopped waiting by the door. He walked in, took off his shoes, ate dinner, scrolled on his phone, and went to bed. Business as usual. It was staggering to realize just how small my footprint in his life actually was. I had essentially evaporated, and he hadn’t even blinked. A year ago, that realization would have destroyed me. Now? I just thought—Good. If my surrender had absolutely zero impact on his daily life, then what was the point of the last ten years? There was no point. It was entirely meaningless. Accepting that truth hurt worse than any time he’d ever hung up the phone on me. But once the agonizing pain washed over me, what was left in its wake was a strange, terrifying lightness. My friend Paige asked me out for dinner. She was the only person from my college days I still kept in touch with. We sat down at a bustling Italian place, and before we even looked at the menus, she leaned across the table. “You look different. Lighter.” “Do I?” “Yeah. Usually, the very first sentence out of your mouth is, ‘He’s ignoring me again.’ You haven’t mentioned him once.” I offered a small smile. “I stopped chasing him.” Paige froze, her hand hovering over the bread basket. “Say that again?” “I’m done. I’m not chasing Daniel anymore.” She slowly set the bread down and stared at me in absolute silence for five full seconds. Then, right there in the middle of the crowded restaurant, Paige started clapping. She clapped loudly, three times, making the table next to us turn and stare. “Gemma, that is the most lucid thing I have heard you say in a decade.” I felt my cheeks flush, and a sudden, sharp sting hit the back of my eyes. But I forced the tears down. My crying quota for this man had been utterly depleted. 04 In the third week, my mother-in-law arrived. Daniel’s mother visited two or three times a year, usually staying for a week. She wasn’t a monster, but she possessed a masterful ability to deliver devastatingly critical remarks wrapped in the most casual, breezy tones. On her first night, she stood in the center of the living room, her eyes doing a slow sweep. “Gemma, honey, have you been letting the housework slip? You used to keep this place looking like a magazine spread.” It was true. Before every single one of her visits, I would spend three days doing a manic deep-clean. I’d polish the kitchen counters until they gleamed, color-coordinate the hand towels, and painstakingly sort all of Mia’s toys into labeled bins. This time, I hadn’t touched a thing. It wasn’t a calculated rebellion. I had simply gone to the gym after picking up Mia, and then I’d spent the evening sketching. There simply wasn’t time. “I’ve been busy lately,” I said evenly. My mother-in-law didn’t respond to me. Instead, I saw her shoot a loaded look at Daniel. I knew that look intimately. Translation: Look at your wife. She’s completely letting herself go. Surprisingly, Daniel spoke up. “Mom, leave it alone. The house is fine.” She offered a tight smile. “I didn’t say anything.” The next afternoon, while Daniel was out picking up takeout, she cornered me in the kitchen. “Gemma, is there some sort of friction between you and Daniel lately?” “No.” “Then why aren’t you speaking to him? You used to follow him around the house just to chat.” I kept my rhythm steady, chopping bell peppers. “Mom, you were the one who told me I was too clingy. You said men need their space.” Her forced smile fractured for a second. “I meant that for your own good. In a marriage, it’s not a good look for a woman to be so desperate. You need to have some dignity.” I scooped the diced peppers into a bowl. “Well, look at me now. I’m practically radiating dignity.” She stared at me, her eyes narrowing. “Why are you being so passive-aggressive?” “I’m really not, Mom.” I rinsed the knife under the tap. “I’m just learning to give him space.” Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t push it further. As I turned my back to dry the knife, I heard her mutter under her breath. “You’re becoming incredibly difficult.” Years ago, hearing that word would have sent me into a panic spiral. I would have spent the rest of the week agonizing over what I’d done wrong, bending over backward to appease her. Today, it just made me want to laugh. Difficult. What she really meant was: I can’t control you anymore. She only stayed for five days. Before she left, she pulled Daniel out onto the patio and spoke to him in hushed, urgent tones for fifteen minutes. I was on the living room rug, coloring with Mia. I couldn’t hear the words, but when Daniel walked back inside, his face was unreadable. Heavy. He stood next to where I was sitting on the floor. He hovered there, like he wanted to say something. I didn’t look up. He stood there for fifteen seconds, then walked away. But that night, he actually approached me. “Are you… mad at me lately?” I was sitting at the desk in the study, sketching. I didn’t stop my pen. “No.” “Then why aren’t you talking to me?” My pen paused. What a fascinating question. I had chased him for ten years, drowning him in words, and he had treated me like a mosquito buzzing in his ear. Now that I’d been quiet for three weeks, he was the one seeking me out. “It’s not that I’m giving you the silent treatment,” I said, putting the pen back to the paper. “I just realized I don’t really have anything left to say.” He went entirely rigid. It was a line he knew very well. Over the last decade, he had fed those exact words to me no less than a hundred times. I think the realization hit him, because the color drained from his face. But he didn’t apologize. He didn’t push. He just turned around and walked out. It was the exact same exit he had made a thousand times before. Except this time, I wasn’t the one left standing in the wreckage. 05 A full month passed. Daniel started exhibiting bizarre little behaviors. Things I had never seen before. Like putting his dirty dish in the sink after dinner. For ten years, he’d left it on the table for me to clear, walking away the second he finished his last bite. Like murmuring, “I’m heading out,” before he left for work. He had never announced his departures before. Like staying home on Saturday instead of going to play golf with his buddies. He just sat on the living room sofa, occasionally casting glances toward the closed door of the study. I was in the study, working. I had recently picked up a few freelance design gigs online. A local artisan bakery had hired me to rebrand their logo. The pay was terrible. Eight hundred dollars. But it was the very first dollar I had earned in six years. When the Venmo notification popped up on my phone, I sat at the desk and stared at the green numbers for a long, long time. Eight hundred dollars. It barely covered a month of Mia’s after-school care. But it was mine. It was entirely, indisputably mine. I didn’t have to report it to anyone, and I didn’t have to explain how I’d earned it. I locked my screen and started on the next draft. That Saturday afternoon, Daniel finally pushed open the door to the study. He pulled up a chair and sat next to me, watching the screen. It was the first time in six years he had voluntarily entered this room while I was in it. “What are you working on?” “A logo design.” “For who?” “A client.” “What kind of client?” I kept my hand steady on the mouse. “A bakery.” Silence stretched between us. Thick and awkward. “When did you start taking on freelance work?” “Last month.” More silence. I could practically feel the words backing up in his throat. He wanted to say something, but he had no idea how to cross the bridge. In the old days, I would have thrown him a lifeline. I would have recognized his discomfort and rushed to fix it. Is something wrong? It’s okay, you can tell me. I wasn’t throwing lifelines anymore. Let him drown in the silence. Eventually, he stood up. “Right. Okay.” He walked out. When the door clicked shut, I heard the television turn on in the living room. The volume was barely a whisper. Usually, when he watched sports, the TV was loud enough to shake the floorboards. Today, he had it turned down to an absolute murmur. Like he was terrified of disturbing someone. Mia had been changing too. She used to tip-toe around the house, speaking in hushed tones. She knew Mommy was always on the verge of tears, and Daddy was always irritated. She was six, but she navigated the house with the hyper-vigilance of a weary, forty-something crisis negotiator. Reading moods, smoothing things over. That was my greatest sin. That was the thing I felt most guilty for. But now that I wasn’t obsessing over Daniel, my emotional baseline had flatlined into a calm, steady hum. And Mia’s laughter was returning. Last week, she took a crayon and drew a jagged purple bunny right on the corner of one of my printed sketches. “Mommy, I’m helping you draw!” “It’s beautiful, baby. The best part of the page.” She erupted into a fit of giggles, bright and clear as a wind chime. I watched her profile as she colored. She had never felt safe enough to laugh that loudly in this house. When the weight of that realization crashed down on me, my throat burned. But I didn’t cry. Not because I was trying to be strong, but because I refused to let her see her mother crying over this house anymore. She had seen enough tears to last a lifetime. It stopped today.

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A sudden, jarring fracture in reality propelled me five years into the future. In my memory, Dwight and I were just starting to plan our wedding. I remember the weight of the silk, the way the lace scratched my collarbone as I stepped out of the fitting room, my heart hammering against my ribs. I expected to see that look—the one where his breath hitches, where he looks at me like I’m the only light in a dark room. Instead, he just smiled. It was a practiced, hollow thing. He told me I looked beautiful in the gown, but his next words gutted me: he wouldn’t be the one standing at the end of the aisle. I stood there, paralyzed, my mind spinning. I didn’t understand. Then he told me he had already signed the papers. He was legally married to someone else. I had spent three years chasing him—the untouchable “Ice King” of our university. He was the brilliant, distant architect of his own world, and I had slowly, painfully carved a place for myself in it. Behind that cold exterior, he had been a man who would pull me into a frantic kiss in the rain, who would swallow his pride and beg hospital administrators for help when my mother got sick. Or at least, he used to be. … The news hit me like a physical blow. I felt the blood drain from my face, leaving me cold in the middle of the boutique. Dwight leaned down, his fingers steady as he adjusted the train of my dress. He spoke about his infidelity with the same clinical detachment he used for business contracts. “I met a girl. She’s young, impulsive—one of those girls who loves too hard and threatens to break her own heart if she doesn’t get her way.” He let out a soft, dry chuckle. “She made it clear she wouldn’t survive if I didn’t marry her.” He looked up at me, his eyes searching mine. “I couldn’t just let her destroy herself. You’re not that cruel, are you? You’d understand.” My voice shook, barely a whisper. “Dwight, if this is a joke, it’s not funny. It’s not April Fools’. Stop it.” His smile faded, replaced by a terrifyingly soft expression. He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “Joanna, I’m serious.” I stared at him. The face was the same—the sharp jaw, the eyes that haunted my dreams—but the soul behind them felt like a stranger’s. I felt a chill settle into my bones. He stroked my cheek, his voice a soothing hum. “She has the certificate, the legal status. But my heart? That belongs to you. You’re still the woman I love. You’re the only ‘Mrs. Sterling’ that matters in this house.” “Except for the wedding,” I whispered, the words tasting like ash. “And the legal right to your name.” He shrugged. “I can give you everything else. Luxury, devotion, a life most people dream of. Does a piece of paper really change what we have?” Everything I had spent years building—the future I had survived for—felt like a grotesque parody. Last night—or what felt like last night to me—he had been holding me, whispering that he would make something of himself, that he would give me the world. I opened my eyes to a world where he was indeed the powerful CEO he promised to be. He just wasn’t mine anymore. I took a ragged breath, the corset of the dress feeling like it was crushing my lungs. “If you’re married to her, then we’re done. I’m leaving.” Dwight’s face darkened instantly. The mask of the doting lover slipped. “Joanna, don’t be childish. You’re not a girl anymore; don’t act like one. Why pick a fight over a child who means nothing?” He stepped closer, his shadow looming over me. “I’ve spent five years making sure you never had to lift a finger. You’re a hothouse flower now. Where would you go? Who would take care of you?” A needle of sharp, hot pain pierced my chest. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. How did the boy who would have moved mountains for me turn into this—a man who saw me as a pet? I forced a laugh, tilting my chin up with the last shred of my dignity. “I don’t need a keeper, Dwight. I’ll survive just fine on my own.” He stared at me for a moment, as if seeing a ghost. Then he reached out and pinched my cheek, a patronizing gesture. “Stop the drama. When I get bored of her—and I will—I’ll divorce her and marry you properly. Okay?” I stepped back, breaking his touch. “I said, it’s over.” His eyes turned cold. “Fine. It’s over. But tell me—how are you going to cover your mother’s medical bills? It’s sixty thousand a month for her care. Do you have that kind of cash lying around?” I froze. He saw the flicker of panic in my eyes and smiled, satisfied. He patted my hair. “Go back to the house, Joanna. You’re my partner, not some mistress you need to compete with. Take a cab to the hospital after you change. Go see her. She’s been asking for you.” He checked his watch, dismissive. “I have to go. Talia is stubborn; she won’t eat dinner unless I’m there to coax her.” I watched him walk away, his silhouette sharp and confident against the afternoon sun. I stood there, a bride in a dress that no longer meant anything, until the shop assistant’s awkward cough snapped me back to reality. I stripped off the lace and silk and ran for the hospital. Five years ago, my mother needed a specialist—a surgeon whose waitlist was miles long. Back then, Dwight was just a student with a brilliant mind and zero clout. He had slept in the hospital lobby for a week, pestering every resident and intern until he finally got her chart into the right hands. He saved her life. Now, that life was a bargaining chip. When I entered her room, the woman in the bed looked like a shadow of herself. She was gaunt, her skin like parchment. When she saw me, her clouded eyes brightened. She reached out with a trembling hand. “Mom,” I whispered, pressing her palm to my face. “I’m here.” She smiled weakly. “My good girl. Where’s Dwight? You mentioned the wedding… did the dress fit?” The tears started then, hot and uncontrollable. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t tell her that her hero was a monster. “It’s beautiful, Mom. He loved it. He says I look like an angel.” She nodded, her eyes drifting shut. “Your father is waiting for me, Joanna. I’m not afraid to go. I just didn’t want to leave you alone. But seeing you two… I can rest now.” I couldn’t breathe. I made a frantic excuse and stumbled out of the room, my heart a lead weight in my chest. I went back to the house—our house—only to be met with the sound of laughter and intimacy echoing through the hall. “Do you like it when I feed you, baby?” “I love it. I want you to do everything for me.” The voice was high, flirtatious. My stomach did a slow, sickening roll. I leaned against the wall, dry-heaving, the bile rising in my throat. I wanted to scream, to tear the door off its hinges, but then I thought of my mother—fragile as a dried leaf in that hospital bed. I stayed frozen. When the silence finally fell, I keyed in the code. The air in the living room was heavy, smelling of expensive perfume and sex. I felt like I was walking into a crime scene. A girl—Talia—yelped, clutching a silk throw over her bare shoulders as she huddled into Dwight’s side on the sofa. Dwight didn’t even look guilty. He just sighed, pulling a blanket over both of them. “You should have called before coming back from the hospital. I would have picked you up.” I didn’t speak. If I opened my mouth, I was going to lose it. Talia peeked out from the blanket, her eyes wide and faux-innocent. “Dwight? You said this was our home. Why is she still here? Is she going to… watch us?” She emphasized the word “watch” with a jagged edge of malice. Dwight didn’t answer her immediately. She kicked him playfully under the blanket. “I don’t like it! Make her leave!” I looked around the room. Every piece of furniture, every painting, was exactly as I had described it to him years ago on the night of our graduation. This was supposed to be our sanctuary. “Fine,” Dwight said, his voice flat. He looked at me as if I were a piece of furniture that no longer fit the decor. “Joanna, move out. The lake house is bigger anyway. You’ll like the garden.” I didn’t fight. I didn’t beg. “Fine. I’ll go.” Maybe it was the lack of resistance, but Dwight looked surprised. He stood up, pulling on his pants, and walked over to me. “You always complained about not having enough room for your plants. The lake house has a greenhouse. I’ll come by tonight.” I looked at the scratches on his chest, the marks of another woman’s nails. I stepped back. “Whatever she wants. I don’t care.” He smiled, reaching out to ruffle my hair. “Good girl.” At seven that night, my phone buzzed. “Talia has a fever,” Dwight said, his voice clipped. “I’m staying at the clinic with her. Come to the hospital; I’ll walk you to your mom’s room.” I hesitated, but I thought of the look on my mother’s face earlier. I went. But when I got to the ward, Dwight wasn’t there. Only Talia was, standing by my mother’s bed. Her hand was hovering over the oxygen intake. My heart nearly stopped. I lunged forward, grabbing her wrist and twisting it away. Before I could think, my hand flew out and cracked across her face. Talia’s “innocent girl” mask shattered. Her face twisted into something ugly, something predatory. “You pathetic old bitch,” she hissed, clutching her red cheek. “You think you can just hang onto my husband? You’re a parasite. Sixty thousand a month to keep a corpse warm? That’s my money. That’s marital property.” She leaned in, her voice a poisonous whisper. “Stay in this room every second if you want. But the moment you leave, I’m ending this.” I was shaking with a rage so pure it felt like fire. I raised my hand again, but she suddenly collapsed toward the door, sobbing. “Dwight! She hit me! She just attacked me!” Dwight was there in an instant, catching her. His eyes, when they landed on me, were ice. “Apologize to her. Now.” I laughed, a jagged, broken sound. “She tried to kill my mother. I should have done more than slap her. If she touches that equipment again, I’ll kill her myself.” Talia’s tears flowed harder. “I didn’t! I was just curious who was in here… I didn’t touch anything!” Dwight’s jaw tightened. “Joanna. Apologize.” “I have nothing to apologize for. Check the cameras! If I’m lying, may God strike me down right here!” Talia tugged at his shirt. “Dwight, I swear on my life I didn’t do anything. My face hurts so much…” “I believe you,” he said softly to her. “Let’s get you to a doctor. I promise you, she’ll be the one begging for forgiveness soon.” He threw a final, chilling look over his shoulder. “I’ll be in the next room, Joanna. I’m waiting.” They left. “Joanna?” a weak voice called from the bed. I turned. My mother was awake, her eyes wide with a terrifying clarity. “Did that girl… did she call him her husband?” I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. I tried to smile. “No, Mom. She’s just a… a nurse he hired. She’s being let go. Don’t worry about it.” “I’m sick, Joanna. I’m not blind.” She looked at me with heartbreaking pity. “It’s over, isn’t it? He’s with someone else.” I couldn’t speak. The silence filled the room like water in a sinking ship. Suddenly, three nurses burst in. “Room three. Payments have been halted, and the discharge papers were signed by the primary guarantor. We need the equipment for an incoming patient. Please clear the room immediately.” The world tilted. I knew that look he gave me. This was the “consequence.” He was using my mother’s literal breath to break me. My mother seemed to understand. She reached out, squeezing my hand one last time. “It’s okay, Joanna. I’m ready. Don’t let him do this to you.” “No! I won’t let you die!” I ran to the billing department, my lungs burning. I pulled out every card I had. Declined. Declined. Frozen. In a panic, I ran to Talia’s room. I fell to my knees. I let my forehead hit the cold linoleum. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have hit you! Please, just tell him to turn the machines back on!” I screamed, the words blurring together. “Dwight, I apologized! Don’t kill her! Please!” Dwight sat there, calmly feeding Talia a spoonful of soup. He looked at her. “Do you forgive her? Or should she stay there a while longer?” I sobbed, my head throbbing, blood trickling from where I’d hit the floor. Talia just watched me, a small, cruel smile playing on her lips. Just as I felt the darkness closing in, a commotion broke out in the hall. “What a waste… should we take her to the morgue or call the funeral home directly?” “Her daughter was just at the desk… she was too late.” The thread snapped. I scrambled to my feet, my legs like jelly. A young nurse caught me as I stumbled out of the room. “Where were you?” she asked, her voice soft with pity. “You missed her. She left this for you.” She handed me a crumpled scrap of paper. My mother’s shaky handwriting: Joanna, I didn’t want to be your burden anymore. Live your life. The orderlies pushed the gurney out. The white sheet was pulled over a face I had loved my entire life. The world went black. When I opened my eyes again, I was standing in the middle of the University Quad. It was spring. The air smelled of cut grass and cheap coffee. Dwight—twenty-one-year-old Dwight—was standing in front of me, looking younger, softer, his eyes full of a light that hadn’t yet been extinguished by greed. “Joanna,” he said, his voice bright. “I… I accept. I want to be with you too.” I looked at the bouquet of roses in my hand. I looked at the man who would eventually murder my mother for the sake of his ego. I threw the flowers directly into his face. “Get lost, Dwight. Don’t ever speak to me again. You make me sick.”

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On the day of my wedding, my mother showed up uninvited. She walked right up to my fiancé, leaned in, and whispered something into his ear. It was the exact same thing she had done years ago—the whisper that had ended my father’s life. It was my dad’s birthday. He had his eyes squeezed shut, making a wish over the flickering candles of his cake, when my mother leaned in and murmured something only he could hear. My father, a man who was utterly terrified of dying, opened his eyes, stood up, and immediately threw himself off our second-story balcony. After his funeral, the whole town became obsessed with what she had said. True-crime junkies and miserable housewives alike speculated wildly; one bored socialite even offered a million dollars to buy the phrase that could make a man kill himself. But my mother kept her mouth shut. She never leaked a single syllable. 1 After Dad died, my mother became a grotesque kind of local celebrity. Everyone knew Thomas was a hypochondriac. He was a man who treasured his own life above all else. For him to suddenly hurl himself over a railing meant that whatever my mother whispered had to be unspeakably horrific. People flocked to our house, desperate to buy the secret. When that didn’t work, the police stepped in. But even under intense interrogation, my mother just stared at her hands, completely silent. Eventually, she was convicted of involuntary manslaughter—reckless endangerment resulting in suicide—and sentenced to three years in a state penitentiary. Once the dust settled on my father’s estate, I drove up to the prison to see her. The question was a physical weight in my chest. “Mom, what did you say to him?” I begged, pressing my hand against the thick plexiglass. “Why did he do it?” On the other side, her face was a mask of cold indifference. “He didn’t want to live anymore. What does that have to do with me?” Looking at her chillingly calm expression, a sharp pain radiated through my ribs. “Dad used to go to the ER if he got a papercut because he was terrified of a blood infection,” I choked out, the bitterness coating my tongue. “His birthday wish every year was to live to a hundred so he could hold his grandchildren. You tell me why a man like that would just end it.” I wasn’t just grieving; I was completely unmoored. My dad had a heart of gold, and as far as I knew, their marriage had been peaceful. Loving, even. Why would she deliberately trigger his death? What could possibly possess her to say those words? Faced with my sobbing, my mother just looked at me—a long, inscrutable gaze that seemed to pierce right through me. “Stop asking,” she said flatly. “Knowing too much won’t do you any good.” 2 With that, she stood up and signaled the guard to end the visitation. I drove back to the house alone. The space that used to ring with laughter and the smell of Sunday dinners was now just a tomb housing my father’s black-and-white memorial portrait. The ache in my chest deepened with every room I walked into, and the mystery gnawed at my sanity. I went into their master bedroom, desperate for a breadcrumb, a clue, anything. In the closet, their clothes were meticulously folded. Dad wore almost exclusively white shirts because Mom once mentioned offhandedly that he looked handsome in white. In the vanity drawer, there were velvet boxes of gold jewelry—pieces he had bought her over the decades just because she loved the way gold caught the light. In his bedside table, I found her daily medications, neatly organized in a pillbox he used to fill for her every Sunday. The longer I looked, the less sense it made. This room was a shrine to domestic devotion. He loved us so much. Why did she shatter our entire universe with her own two hands? I needed answers, but after that day, my mother refused to see me. She put me on her restricted list. Her cold, absolute rejection broke whatever was left of my spirit. I packed a suitcase, left that house of ghosts, and moved in with my long-time boyfriend, Kieran. During the darkest, most hollow years of my life, Kieran was the anchor keeping me from floating off into the abyss. He was infinitely gentle, making space for my trauma, cooking my meals when I couldn’t get out of bed, and loving me with a fierce, unconditional patience. Three years later, we set a date. A week before the wedding, Kieran sat on the edge of the bed and took my hands. “Gemma,” he said softly. “Your mom was released last month. It’s our wedding… are you really not going to invite her? Is the anger still that heavy?” I stiffened, pulling my hands back slightly. “I just don’t understand it, Kieran. He was a good man. Why did she have to kill him?” Kieran didn’t miss a beat. “What if it was a misunderstanding? Think about it—is it really possible for a string of words to make someone take their own life? Maybe his death traumatized her so badly that her silence is just a trauma response. A defense mechanism.” He reached out again, thumbing the center of my palm. “Whatever happened, she’s your mother. A wedding is a huge milestone. She’s the only family you have left in the world. Imagine how devastated she’d be to know her only daughter got married and didn’t even send an invite.” That was Kieran. Always looking for the grace in people, always acting as the sun to my shadows. He had spent three years teaching me how to step out of the dark and feel the warmth again. Hearing him frame it that way, a tight, painful knot in my throat began to loosen. After a long silence, I finally nodded. I mailed the invitation. 3 The next day, under a canopy of white roses, our wedding was in full swing. Kieran had spared no expense to make me feel cherished. The venue was packed with laughing friends and clinking champagne glasses. And my mother was there. I hadn’t seen her in years. She looked brittle. The deep lines around her eyes and the stark white streaks in her hair made her look like she had aged a decade. She sat with an emotionless expression, her eyes simply tracking Kieran and me as we moved around the room. Maybe it was the years apart, but looking at her, I felt a heavy, impenetrable darkness in her eyes that I couldn’t translate. When the time came for toasts, the bandleader warmly invited my mother to the microphone. Kieran, beaming, took the mic first. “Helen, thank you so much for being here today,” he said, his voice thick with genuine emotion. “I promise you, I will spend the rest of my life cherishing Gemma. I’ll never let her feel a moment of sorrow.” The crowd “awwed.” The bandleader smiled and handed the mic toward my mother. “As the mother of the bride, do you have any words for your daughter today?” My mother didn’t take the microphone. Her voice was terrifyingly calm as it carried over the quiet room. “No.” She stepped closer to Kieran. “I only have one thing to say to my son-in-law.” Before anyone could react, she leaned into Kieran’s ear and whispered a few faint syllables. I watched Kieran’s face. The bright, loving smile dissolved instantly. His pupils blew wide. The blood drained from his face, leaving him a sickening, ashen gray. He looked at me—a look of absolute, unadulterated primal terror. Then, he turned and sprinted toward the floor-to-ceiling balcony doors. “Kieran! Stop!” I screamed, dropping my bouquet. He didn’t even look back. It was as if he was being chased by demons. He hit the double doors, burst onto the terrace, and without a fraction of hesitation, vaulted himself over the stone railing. CRACK. The sickening thud from the courtyard below echoed through the silent ballroom, followed instantly by a chorus of blood-curdling screams. It happened in the blink of an eye. By the time my brain registered the horror, Kieran was already lying on the cobblestones below, his limbs bent at impossible angles, a dark pool spreading beneath him. Motionless. 4 Kieran was dead. Dead at our wedding. Dead because of a whisper. The guests stampeded toward the terrace, looking down in horrified disbelief. Kieran’s mother collapsed onto the polished hardwood, screaming his name, tearing at her own hair in grief. I stood frozen. It felt like a grenade had gone off in my chest. I couldn’t breathe. My legs gave out. The man who, just five minutes ago, had promised to love me for the rest of his life was now a mangled corpse. My reality was splintering. And then, I saw my mother. She was casually walking toward the exit, calmly tucking a stray lock of gray hair behind her ear, completely untouched by the absolute carnage unfolding around her. Seeing her apathy, Kieran’s father saw red. He lunged forward, pointing a trembling finger at her face. “What the hell did you say to my boy?!” he roared. “Why did he jump?!” The shock in the room curdled into violent outrage. Kieran’s groomsmen and relatives closed in on her. “You sick, twisted bitch! It’s his wedding day! Why are you doing this?!” “We knew about your husband! We knew you were poison, but Kieran begged us to give you a chance! He told us not to judge you, to treat you like family! He defended you, and you murdered him! Are you even human?!” “You belong in a psych ward for the rest of your miserable life!” Spit flew. Voices cracked. But my mother just stood in the center of the mob, her face as still as a frozen lake. “He chose to jump,” she said, her voice eerily light. “What does that have to do with me?” It was the detachment that broke Kieran’s mother. She scrambled up from the floor, lunged at my mother, and grabbed her by the collar of her silk blouse, weeping hysterically. “You murderer! Give me my son back! He was a good boy! He never hurt anyone! He worshipped your daughter!” She sobbed so hard she was choking. “He told us to be so gentle with her. All he wanted was to buy a house, have kids, and grow old with her. He loved life! He wouldn’t just jump! Tell me what you did to him!” Kieran’s mother was usually the sweetest, softest woman I knew. Seeing her fractured like this felt like taking a blade to my own throat. I didn’t try to pull her off my mom. I just looked at the woman who gave birth to me, my chest heaving with a sorrow so deep it felt like it was drowning me. “Why?” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Wasn’t killing Dad enough? Why did you have to take Kieran, too?” We used to be happy. Dad loved me. We were a family. And with one breath, she destroyed it. Then Kieran found me. He built a home for me out of the rubble. He showed me what warmth felt like again. And just as I was about to step into the light, she struck a match and burned my second chance to the ground. My hatred for her in that moment was an absolute, blinding force. My mother looked at me. For a split second, a microscopic tremor crossed her face. “Even you think that of me?” “I just want to know what you said to them,” I cried, the tears finally spilling over. I remembered it so vividly. Dad had given me that exact same look right before he jumped. That wide-eyed, apocalyptic terror. What combination of words could possibly compel two grounded, life-loving men to hurl themselves into the void? The crowd was practically vibrating with rage now. “First your husband, now your son-in-law! You don’t deserve to breathe the same air as us!” “You’re not leaving this room until you tell us what you said! Speak!” Surrounded by furious, grieving people, my mother calmly pried Kieran’s mother’s hands off her collar. She smoothed out the wrinkles in her silk shirt, looked slowly around the room, and let out a chillingly hollow laugh. “I dare to say it,” she challenged, her voice dropping an octave. “But do any of you dare to listen?” The ballroom went dead silent. The screaming stopped. People physically took a step back, exchanging terrified glances. It was a kill phrase. Two men had heard it, and two men had chosen instant death over living another second with those words in their heads. Human curiosity is a powerful thing, but self-preservation is stronger. No one made a sound. Except me. I stepped through the crowd. “I dare.” Because of those words, the father who adored me and the man who was going to spend his life with me were both dead. I needed to know why. Even if it killed me, I didn’t care anymore. My mother’s eyes locked onto mine, dark and fathomless. “Are you absolutely sure?” I nodded, my jaw set. “Tell me.” A flicker of something—sorrow? resignation?—passed through her eyes. She stepped into my space, leaned her face against mine, and whispered the words into my ear…

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Three years ago, the wedding that was supposed to be the highlight of the New York social season became my public execution. My ex, Quentin, didn’t just leave me at the altar; he replaced me. In front of eight hundred guests, he announced a change of plans, a change of brides, and a total erasure of my dignity. I shattered that day. For a long time, the only thing I lived with was a crippling, suffocating depression that felt like drowning in slow motion. Then came Gideon. He stepped into my life like a sunrise in a dark room. With a patience that felt holy, he stitched the pieces of my soul back together. He swore on everything he held dear that he would be my anchor, my sanctuary, my forever. I actually believed him. I believed I had finally found a way out of the wreckage. Until today—sixty minutes before our vows were set to begin. Gideon walked into the bridal suite, but he wasn’t carrying flowers. He was holding a bridesmaid’s dress. His face was a mask of cold indifference as he dropped the fabric onto the vanity and told me to put it on. I gripped the lace of my white gown, my knuckles turning white. I couldn’t process the words. My brain kept stuttering, trying to find a reason, a joke, anything. He looked at my stunned face and let out a short, jagged laugh. It was a sound I’d never heard from him before—it lacked any trace of the man who had held me while I cried. He told me, quite casually, that he’d forgotten to mention a small detail: the bride had changed. He had a “kept woman”—a girl he called his little songbird. Apparently, she had been demanding a title, a place in the sun. So, he decided to give her my wedding. Gideon had the audacity to offer me a hollow comfort. He said the legal marriage certificate would still bear my name; the ceremony, the dress, the public “I do”—that was just a performance for her. A gift. The door pushed open before I could even scream. Callie strolled in. She moved with a slow, predatory grace. Half of her face was stunning, like a masterpiece, but the other half… it was a nightmare of melted wax and distorted features. It was a haunting, visceral sight. Without a word, she reached out and ripped the silk from my shoulders, tearing the wedding dress right off my body until I was standing there in nothing but my slip. She looked at me with a twisted, triumphant smile and called me “sister.” The word felt like a slap. That’s when the realization hit me like a physical blow. I knew her. She was the woman Quentin had married after he left me. Gideon didn’t even flinch. He wrapped his arm around Callie’s waist and kissed her right there, in the middle of my ruined dreams. He looked proud. He looked satisfied. Callie leaned into him, her eyes locked on mine with pure malice. She whispered that my ex, Quentin, certainly had good taste—that she was “exquisite” in bed, a fact Quentin had clearly appreciated. Her words were a serrated blade, sawing through the last of my heart. I had been betrayed before, but I never thought I’d be led to the same slaughterhouse by a different man. The hope, the trust, the healing—it was all a lie. The abyss I had fought so hard to climb out of opened its mouth and swallowed me whole. … “What’s the point of being a beauty queen if you can’t even keep a husband?” “Seriously, is this Callie girl some kind of sorceress? She looks like that, yet she’s stolen two husbands from the most beautiful woman in the city? I need her to start a masterclass.” “Men are all the same. Callie must be thrilled—from mistress to wife, and she gets to make the ‘rightful’ bride play bridesmaid twice!” The whispers drifted through the air, sharp and poisonous. I dug my fingernails into my palms until I felt the warm slickness of blood, but the physical pain was a dull thud compared to the screaming in my head. An hour ago, I was the woman of the hour. Now, just like three years ago, my carefully planned life was nothing but a dowry for Callie. On the stage, they were exchanging rings. I wanted to run. I wanted to scream until my lungs gave out. But Gideon’s voice—that beautiful, demonic voice—was still vibrating in my ears. “If you walk out that door, your sister’s ventilator stops tonight. Daisy won’t make it to sunrise.” When he saw the color drain from my face, he had the nerve to lean in. He kissed me with the same mouth he’d just used on Callie. “Don’t look like that, Izzy,” he’d whispered. “Once I’m bored with her, things will go back to how they were. Your ex only lasted three months with her before he was done. Just hold on a little longer…” He watched my reaction, his eyes searching for my pain. When he saw my eyes turn bloodshot with unshed tears, he laughed—a bright, joyous sound. “Yes! That’s it! That’s the exact face you made three years ago when Quentin replaced you at the altar!” Callie stood beside him, looking down at me from the height of her stolen pedestal. “Pathetic,” she mouthed. I didn’t look at her. My heart felt like it was being flayed alive. “Why?” I gasped, my fingers catching the fabric of his lapel. “Why, Gideon? Why are you doing this?” He smiled, a cruel, handsome tilt of his lips. “Why? Why do you always need a reason? I fell for you at first sight—you didn’t ask why then. Now I’ve got a taste for someone else, and you’re obsessed with the ‘why’ of it?” “Fine. You want a reason? She’s better in bed. She makes me feel things you can’t. Is that enough for you?” My hands began to shake uncontrollably. It had been a year since my last major episode, but the tremors were back—the physical manifestation of a soul breaking apart. Gideon’s eyes flickered with a momentary panic. He reached into his pocket and pulled out my medication, trying to force a pill into my mouth. Even while he was destroying me, he carried my meds. He acted as if he still couldn’t stand to see me hurt. I had been so afraid of marriage. It took every ounce of my strength to say yes to him, to believe that love wasn’t a trap. How could he turn his heart off like a faucet? And how could he choose her—the one person who had already gutted me once before? I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I broke. The sobs tore out of me, jagged and ugly. Gideon was the first to notice the tears. His face shifted from concern to a sneering contempt. “Isabel, you’re still so incredibly stupid.” “You lose a man and all you know how to do is cry. But unfortunately for you, there’s no ‘second me’ coming to save you this time.” As if on cue, the doors burst open and the paparazzi swarmed in like vultures. The flashes were blinding, the shutter clicks sounding like gunfire. The questions were relentless, honed to draw blood. “Miss Thorne, can you explain why the invitations had your name, but you’re standing here in a bridesmaid’s dress?” “How does it feel to be dumped at the altar for the second time? Do you think you’re just cursed?” “We heard you struggle with clinical depression. You’re shaking—is this a nervous breakdown on live TV?” “How does it feel to lose two men to a woman like Callie?” I clenched my fists, my gaze burning into Gideon. He leaned in and mouthed two words: “Quentin. Accident.” The blood turned to ice in my veins. Three years ago, when Quentin announced Callie as his bride, I had lost my mind. I had screamed. I had slapped him in front of everyone. The price for that slap was my family’s car being run off the road that night. My parents died instantly. My sister, Daisy, survived by a miracle, but she hadn’t opened her eyes since. Quentin had whispered it to me at the funeral: “If you’d just been a good girl, they’d still be alive.” Callie had laughed in my face: “Who cares if you’re the ‘it-girl’? You’re just a discarded toy. You can’t beat me.” Gideon was reminding me of the cost of rebellion. He was holding my sister’s life over my head. I took a shuddering breath, my teeth gritted so hard I thought they might shatter. I turned to the cameras, my voice trembling but audible. “I… I have no comment. I just wish Mr. and Mrs. Vance a very happy life together.” Gideon smiled, satisfied. With that one sentence, I became the headline. I was the national laughingstock. The girl who didn’t just lose—she thanked them for it. That night, Gideon brought both of us back to the penthouse. Callie had been his “bird in a cage” for a year, but this was her first time stepping into the home I had built. I had spent a month decorating the master suite for our wedding night. She took one look at it and claimed it. She looped her arms around Gideon’s neck, her eyes fixed on me. “Gideon, honey… I’m your wife now. That means everything here is mine, right?” Gideon looked at her distorted face with a terrifyingly tender smile. “Everything.” “What about her?” Callie pointed a manicured finger at me. I felt my heart hammering against my ribs, a trapped bird in a cage of bone. Gideon leaned down and playfully nipped her nose. “Do whatever you want with her.” I turned to run. I didn’t care about the consequences; I just needed to be out of that house. But Gideon’s low, melodic voice drifted down the hall. “Are you forgetting Daisy? You really want to run?” I froze. Daisy was all I had left. My parents were gone because of me. I couldn’t let her blood be on my hands too. I turned back. Seeing Callie’s face in the dim light of the hallway sent a fresh jolt of horror through me. No matter how many times I saw it—the way the skin on the left side of her face sagged and puckered—the primal fear remained. Callie caught my expression. Her smile vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp fury. “You’re afraid of my face, aren’t you?” My scalp tingled with dread. She had been bullied for that face her entire life. She was hyper-sensitive to every flinch, every look of pity or disgust. I could see the murderous intent in her eyes. “No… no, I’m not…” “Aren’t you?” Callie laughed, a sound like dry leaves skittering on a grave. “Gideon, I don’t like her. Let’s just kill her. Let’s get rid of her for good.” She said it with the sweetness of a child asking for candy. I remembered then what Quentin had told me—that the “accident” that killed my parents had been Callie’s idea. Why were men so drawn to this kind of darkness? Why did they choose her over me? Gideon’s expression flickered with a brief, sharp annoyance. “Callie, don’t forget your place.” “Isabel is still the woman I publicly claimed. She has a certain… value. You? You’re still the thing that stays in the shadows.” Callie’s face twisted with resentment. I looked at Gideon, a tiny spark of hope igniting in my chest. Maybe he still cared. Maybe this was some sick test. But then he crushed it. “You can do anything you want to her,” he said, his voice cold as a winter morning. “Just don’t kill her.” That was the moment I finally died. Callie let out a jagged, manic laugh. She grabbed a steak knife from the side table. She pinned me against the wall, her nails digging into my cheeks, and pressed the cold, sharp edge of the blade against my skin. She didn’t even push hard, but I felt the stinging line of heat as the skin parted. I was paralyzed. “Please… not my face…” My face was the only thing I had left of my mother. I looked so much like her. It was my only connection to the life I had lost. But Callie was beyond reason. Her words were venom, dripping into my wounds. “I hate this pretty little face of yours.” “Why do you get to be the one everyone loves? Why do people look at you with stars in their eyes while they look at me like I’m a monster? You’re the ‘Belle of the Hamptons,’ right? Let’s see how they like you when you look just like me.” “No! Gideon! Please! You know… you know what this face means to me!” I was sobbing so hard I could barely speak. I looked at Gideon, pleading with my eyes. He had told me a thousand times that my face was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He knew I used it to see my mother’s ghost in the mirror. He watched. He didn’t blink. He didn’t move. He wasn’t just indifferent; he was enjoying the spectacle. I realized then that he didn’t love me. He didn’t even love Callie. He loved the power of breaking things. The instinct to survive—or perhaps just the pure terror—gave me a sudden burst of strength. I shoved Callie away. She tripped, the knife slipping from her hand, and as she fell, the blade caught the “good” side of her face, slicing a deep, ragged line across her cheek. She let out a blood-curdling scream. I didn’t wait. I bolted for the door, my throat dry and burning. But the bodyguards were already there. They blocked the exit, their faces like stone. Behind me, Gideon’s voice was slow, almost bored. “Izzy, I really didn’t want to ruin that face. I liked looking at it.” He walked toward me, his steps heavy and deliberate. He grabbed my jaw, forcing me to look at Callie, who was clutching her bleeding face and howling. “But you broke my favorite toy’s face. She’s very sensitive about her looks, Izzy. I’m afraid I can’t protect you anymore.” Callie’s screams turned into a manic, guttural sound. Gideon handed her back the knife. No matter how much I begged, no matter how much I screamed, he remained unmoved. He held me down. He literally held me down while Callie took her revenge. The blade cut into me, again and again. The sensation of skin being carved away was a white-hot agony that transcled pain. Everything in my vision turned a thick, sticky red. Through the haze, I heard Gideon whispering in my ear. “It’s okay, Izzy. I’ll still love you even when you’re ugly. Not like Quentin. He only loved the surface. I love the broken things.” Darkness began to pull at the edges of my consciousness. I drifted into a memory. Two years ago. Gideon had taken me to my final therapy session. The doctor told me I could stop the meds. Gideon had been so happy; he’d kissed my forehead and promised me a surprise. While I waited for him, I ran into Quentin. I was happy then. I had light in my eyes. Quentin saw it and told me he regretted everything. He tried to touch me, tried to pull me into his car. Gideon saw us. He didn’t see me rejecting Quentin; he saw me “glowing” because of him. He convinced himself that I was still in love with the man who had destroyed me. I had tried to explain for months, but he just went silent. I woke up to the sound of rhythmic thumping and moaning from the next room. “Gideon… do you like the black lace or the white?” “I like it all…” The sound of his voice through the wall was a spike through my heart. My body began to shake—the tremors were so violent I thought my bones might snap. Gideon. You saved me from the darkness, only to become the monster waiting in it. I listened to them for hours. Every sound was a fresh cut. Finally, the room next door went quiet. I heard the click of a lighter, and then Gideon walked into my room. He knew I was a light sleeper. When we first moved in, he had the entire place carpeted and padded so I wouldn’t wake up. He turned the house into a sanctuary of silence. Now, he used the sounds of his betrayal to wake me. “Does it hurt?” he asked. The tremors were so bad I couldn’t move. He sat on the edge of my bed and traced the bandages on the ruined half of my face as if he were touching silk. “I won’t ever leave you,” he whispered. “I just wanted you to feel the pain. If it hurts enough, you’ll never be able to forget me, will you?” “When this is all over, it’ll just be us. Forever.” I stared at him, my voice a broken rasp. “What are you talking about? I told you… I don’t love Quentin. I haven’t thought about him in years.” Gideon’s laugh was a hollow, self-deprecating thing. “Is that so? But Izzy… you don’t know, do you? Every night for the last three years, you’ve called out his name in your sleep. Every. Single. Night.” His eyes were bloodshot, manic. So this was it? All this horror because of a name I muttered in my nightmares? Or did he just want to own my trauma? I shook my head, tears leaking from my one good eye. “Gideon, please, you have to believe me… I was having nightmares… I was dreaming about the accident…” “I don’t believe you,” he said, his voice flat. He pulled out a phone and showed me a screen. It was a live feed of Daisy’s hospital room. “See this button?” he whispered. “One tap, and the oxygen flow to her ventilator stops. Don’t hate me, Izzy. I just can’t have you remembering him anymore. I have to be the only one left.” “No… no, please!” I screamed. I couldn’t lose her. I couldn’t be the reason she died. As his thumb hovered over the screen, something in me snapped. The pain in my body vanished, replaced by a surge of pure, adrenaline-fueled desperation. I threw myself at him.

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The sudden roar of the helicopter blades descending upon that desolate ridge finally shattered the last of my delusions. For three years, I had tried to accept this hell as my reality. But as I watched my former best friend and my ex-fiancé step onto the dirt, arm in arm and looking like they’d just stepped off a yacht in the Hamptons, the blood in my veins turned to ice. “Nicole, darling. It looks like three years of ‘rustic living’ has finally turned you into a proper little peasant,” Belinda said, her voice a silk-wrapped blade. I tried to speak, but my throat felt like it was packed with burning wool. I managed to croak out a single word: Why? Christian looked at me with a detached, almost clinical boredom. He explained that it was all because of a “lapse in judgment” I’d had years ago—when I had tried to set Belinda up with a blue-collar guy from my father’s warehouse. He felt I had been “cruel” to suggest she belong with someone so beneath her. So, he decided I needed to learn what “beneath” really felt like. Three years. A thousand days and nights. I had spent countless hours wondering if I had slipped through a crack in the universe, if I had accidentally wandered into a parallel dimension of cruelty. I never once imagined that my entire nightmare had been a carefully choreographed play produced by the two people I trusted most. I still remembered our wedding day. Christian had whispered that he had a surprise for me, his hands warm as he tied a silk blindfold around my eyes. When I finally woke up, the silk was gone, replaced by the stench of rot and cheap tobacco in a windowless shack in the middle of the Ozarks. A hulking, calloused man named Hank told me he was my husband. A filthy three-year-old boy screamed for me to hold him. In those dark, claustrophobic years, I was broken. Five miscarriages. Days spent locked in a cellar. Nights spent enduring Hank’s “rights” as a husband, punctuated by his heavy fists if I didn’t move fast enough. His mother, Maude, was even worse—a woman who viewed me as nothing more than a malfunctioning womb, constantly screaming for a grandson I couldn’t seem to carry to term. The scars multiplied. My spirit ebbed away. I eventually stopped fighting. I started swallowing the foul-smelling herbal “tonics” Maude forced down my throat, desperate to produce a son just so the beatings might stop. But looking at them now, I realized that all my suffering, all my agonizing compromises, were nothing more than a hilarious performance for their entertainment. 1 Acceptance hit me with the force of a tidal wave. I didn’t cry. Instead, I threw my head back and laughed. It was a jagged, hysterical sound that tore from my lungs until tears streaked through the dirt on my face. Belinda and Christian exchanged a look of bewildered disgust. “Has she finally snapped? Is she broken?” Christian’s brow furrowed. He was wearing a bespoke Tom Ford suit, looking even more handsome and refined than he had three years ago. The way he looked at me was worse than hatred; it was the way one looks at a crushed insect on the underside of a shoe. Belinda leaned into him, a smug little smirk playing on her lips. “Oh, look at her, Chris. She’s thrilled. Maybe she hasn’t had enough of her little roleplay yet.” She tightened her grip on his arm. “Remember, Christian? Nicole always said she wanted a ‘simple, happy family’ more than anything. I think I picked perfectly. A strong husband, a ready-made son… it’s exactly what she dreamed of.” She tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with malice. “She should really be thanking me.” Christian patted her hand affectionately. “You’ve always been too thoughtful for your own good, Belinda.” I clenched my fists so hard my nails drew blood. I looked at them through a haze of numbness. “Christian… why?” My voice was a rasping ghost of the woman I used to be. Three years ago, we were the “it” couple of the Manhattan social circuit. Everyone said the St. James and Beaumont merger was a match made in heaven. I thought he loved me. He’d spent six months planning our “wedding of the century.” He promised I’d be the happiest bride in the world. And then, in my Vera Wang gown, he’d blindfolded me. For three years, I’d racked my brain trying to understand how my life had been hijacked. I woke up to a toddler calling me “Mama” and a brute who treated me like livestock. I thought I’d been kidnapped, or worse—that I had suffered some psychotic break. I remembered screaming at them in the beginning. Let me go! I’m Nicole St. James! My father will pay you anything! Old Maude had just spat on the floor. “You’re nobody’s princess here, girl. You were dropped off like trash. Best start acting like a wife before I give you something to really cry about.” I had tried to send messages. Every desperate plea for help I’d managed to smuggle out had vanished into the void. “Nicole, you really are pathetic,” Christian said, stepping closer. He gripped my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “Don’t you get it yet? I arranged this. Every bit of it.” He let go with a flick of his wrist, as if he’d touched something greasy. “And here you were, waiting for me like a loyal little dog for three years. It’s almost sad.” He squinted at me, his lip curling. “Your skin is leather. You’re dark, haggard, and covered in filth. You don’t even possess a fraction of Belinda’s grace anymore.” “But then again,” Belinda chimed in, “this is what happens when you spend your life being a ‘natural beauty’—you forget that beauty requires maintenance you can’t get in a trailer park.” I looked down at my hands. The skin was cracked, my knuckles swollen and red from the winter chill. The face I used to spend thousands of dollars a month to maintain was now a map of fine lines, sunspots, and exhaustion. I was a stranger to myself. Christian stroked Belinda’s cheek. “You were right, Belinda. Clothes make the woman. You look more like a St. James heiress than she ever did.” Belinda had been a charity case. A “scholarship student” I’d sponsored because I felt sorry for her. I’d paid her tuition, bought her clothes, let her live in my penthouse. I thought she was my sister. I never realized I was nursing a viper. “Christian, honey, stop,” Belinda giggled, leaning into his chest. Then she stepped toward me, crouching down to my level with a mock-sweet expression. “Nicole, you should know… while you were gone, Christian took excellent care of me. And I’ve done my best to fill your shoes. In his bed, in his heart… everywhere. So you can just stay here and keep playing house. We’re done with you.” 2 Playing? I looked up, stunned. I had nearly died ten times over, and they thought this was a game? I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Christian waved a hand dismissively. “Actually, Belinda, I think she’s had enough ‘immersion therapy.’ Let’s take her back.” A flash of panic crossed Belinda’s face. “Wait, really? You said we were just here to check in on her.” “She’s seen us. She’s alive. She seemed happy enough laughing a second ago. Maybe we just take some photos and leave her to her… domestic bliss?” Christian hesitated. “She’s still a St. James. I’ve told everyone she’s been on a private sabbatical in Europe for three years. Her father is starting to get suspicious. It’s time for her to resurface.” Belinda’s eyes sparked with a brief, ugly flash of hatred. “Fine. If the ‘Princess’ must return.” As they moved to grab me, Maude and Hank stepped forward, blocking the path. “Hold on now,” Hank growled. “You can’t just take her. You said she was mine to keep.” Belinda didn’t even look at him. She just pulled a checkbook from her designer clutch. “Is the money we’ve been sending not enough? Here.” She scribbled a number and tore the check off. “That’s fifty thousand dollars. Consider it your bonus for the ‘roleplay’ services. For people like you, this should last a lifetime.” Hank’s eyes lit up as he snatched the paper. “Well now… that’s more like it.” He looked at me one last time, a predatory glint in his eye. “Shame, though. She was a fine little piece when she wasn’t crying.” Maude elbowed him hard. “Shut it. With that money, you can buy a wife who actually works and doesn’t lose every baby she starts. She’s used up anyway. Good riddance to the useless bitch.” I stood there, head bowed, letting their words wash over me. My face was a mask of stone. Belinda’s assistants dragged me into the shack to “make me presentable.” When I emerged wearing a simple white sundress they’d brought, Belinda burst out laughing. “Oh, Nicole. You used to own the color white. Now? It just makes you look… muddy. I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you’d gotten quite so dark out here.” Christian winced beside her. “It’s like a cheap imitation of the woman I knew.” He wrapped his arm around Belinda, who was wearing a nearly identical dress. “Standing next to her, you look like the heiress. She looks like the help.” Belinda giggled, playfully hitting his chest. “Don’t be mean, Chris! She’s my best friend. She’s the real St. James. I only met you because of her, remember?” Oh, I remembered. I remembered how Belinda used to “accidentally” text me every time Christian and I were out on a date. How our “couple time” slowly became a trio. How eventually, I was the one being left behind while they went for “coffee” to discuss my “surprise parties.” When I finally confronted him, Christian had been so gaslightingly patient. Nicole, she’s your friend. I’m trying to be nice to her for your sake. I don’t want you to feel stuck in the middle. If it bothers you, I’ll stop. And he did stop—publicly. Later, I tried to do something “nice” for Belinda by introducing her to my father’s junior executive—a brilliant, kind man with a massive future. Belinda had screamed at me, accusing me of trying to “marry her off to the help” because I thought she wasn’t good enough for my world. Christian had sided with her, calling me “elitist” and “clueless about boundaries.” I had apologized. I had crawled to her. I thought it was over. I had no idea they were just sharpening their knives. “Nicole? Are you even listening to me?” Christian’s voice snapped me back to the present. He was tugging at my arm. I looked up at him, dazed. “What?” Christian didn’t answer. He suddenly recoiled, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “What is that smell?” He stepped back, putting several feet of mountain air between us. 3 “Belinda, do you smell that?” Belinda sniffed the air, then her eyes widened with a cruel, mocking realization. “I smell it. It’s… ammonia. Like a kennel.” They both stared at me. My body went rigid. I stood perfectly still, but I could feel the warm, humiliating dampness spreading down my legs, soaking into the pristine white fabric of the sundress. Belinda let out a loud, theatrical gasp, pointing at my hem. “Oh my god, Christian! She’s… she’s wetting herself! Hahaha!” “Nicole, I know you’re excited to go home, but this is a bit much, don’t you think?” Christian looked at me with pure, unadulterated loathing. “You’re… you’re revolting. Where is your dignity? Where is the ‘Poised and Elegant Nicole St. James’? Three years in the dirt and you’ve turned into an animal. It’s disgusting.” Disgusting. I looked down at the wet stain on the white dress. Incontinence. A gift from five miscarriages in three years without a single doctor. A gift from the internal damage caused by Hank’s brutality and the lack of medical care in a place where “healthcare” was a bottle of moonshine and a prayer. I gritted my teeth, enduring the jagged shards of their laughter. “Enough,” I whispered. “Enough.” They didn’t stop. They doubled over, clutching each other, mocking the very tragedy they had authored. I looked around the room. My eyes landed on a heavy, blue-and-white porcelain vase sitting on a rickety table—a piece Christian had likely sent to the shack to “decorate” my prison. In one fluid motion, I grabbed it. I didn’t hesitate. I swung it with every ounce of the rage I’d suppressed for three years. It shattered against the side of Belinda’s head. “Is it still funny?” I asked, my voice flat. Belinda slumped to the floor, her hand flying to her temple. When she pulled it away, it was covered in bright, arterial red. She let out a piercing, curdling shriek. “She’s killing me! Christian, she’s a monster!” She rolled her eyes back and fainted. Christian stood frozen for a heartbeat, then lunged toward her, screaming my name in a tone of pure horror. “Nicole, you psychotic bitch!” He scooped Belinda into his arms, his face pale with panic. “Belinda, stay with me! I’m getting you to a hospital!” He didn’t even look back at me as he ran toward the helicopter. “I will make you pay for this! You’re dead to me!” I watched the helicopter lift off, the wind whipping my ruined white dress. “You’re right,” I whispered to the empty air. “I am a monster. And now, I’m coming for you.” 4 Belinda’s head wound required sixteen stitches. Christian had a dozen security guards stationed outside her hospital suite, and another four guarding my room like I was a high-security inmate. The moment he walked into my room, he backhanded me so hard I hit the floor. “Get on your knees,” he hissed. “Apologize to her.” “What happened to you, Nicole? You used to be kind. You were the girl who wouldn’t hurt a fly. Now you’re this… this violent, bitter creature. If your father saw you like this, he’d disown you out of pure shame.” I wiped the blood from my lip, the metallic taste fueling my resolve. He moved to strike me again, but this time, I caught his wrist. My grip was like iron—the result of three years of manual labor. “I have one question for you,” I said, my eyes boring into his. “Did you know? Did you know what they were doing to me in that shack?” Christian flinched, his eyes darting away for a fraction of a second before hardening again. “It was a game, Nicole. A lesson. I’m talking about what you did to Belinda. Don’t try to change the subject.” “So you were a co-conspirator. Good.” I didn’t need to hear anything else. That one sentence confirmed everything. For three years, I had clung to the hope that he would find me. I had kept the GPS tracker he’d given me—the one built into a designer leather belt. I remembered him telling me, With this, I can find you anywhere in the world. I’d worn that belt every day. I’d fought Hank and Maude to keep it, enduring beatings until my ribs cracked because I refused to let them sell it. It was my lifeline. My tether to the man I thought loved me. I reached into my bag and pulled out the tattered, blood-stained belt. I threw it at his feet. “Your gift. I’m returning it to its original owner.” Christian looked down at it and recoiled. “Why is there… why is there so much blood on it?” “My blood, Christian. Mostly from when I wouldn’t let them take it off me because I thought you were coming for me.” He looked at me, his guilt flashing briefly before it was swallowed by anger. “Did you act like this out there? This arrogant, ‘heiress’ attitude? I bet you were just as insufferable there as you are here. No wonder you’ve become so… unhinged.” He grabbed the belt, his knuckles white. He looked like he wanted to lash me with it. I didn’t flinch. I just closed my eyes. But the blow never came. Instead, my vision began to swim. My legs, already weakened by the trauma of the last few days, finally gave out. “Stop faking, Nicole. Get up.” I didn’t get up. As I slipped into the black, I heard his voice change from anger to a sharp, jagged edge of panic. “Nicole? Nicole! Wake up! Somebody get a doctor!” … When I drifted back into consciousness, I could hear voices arguing in the hallway. “Doctor, what do you mean? She was fine a minute ago. She’s just being dramatic.” The doctor’s voice was stern, professional. “Sir, she’s in a state of extreme physical collapse. She’s recently miscarried, and her body is severely malnourished. You need to keep the patient calm.” There was a long, heavy silence. Then Christian’s voice, hushed and horrified: “What do you mean, miscarried? We haven’t even… I haven’t touched her in three years.”

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On the fifth anniversary of our relationship, Ethan stood me up. He didn’t answer my calls and ignored my SnapChat messages. I was starting to worry that something might have happened to him. Then a message popped up in our group chat. It was from Melissa. “My car broke down on the highway, but luckily Ethan came to save me! And we had some amazing sushi too.” The photo showed a table full of premium sashimi, along with a hand peeling shrimp. That hand was wearing the watch I’d spent half a month’s salary on for Ethan’s birthday last month. I actually laughed out loud. The rage burning in my chest instantly transformed into an indescribable disgust the moment I saw that photo. I directly tagged Ethan in the group chat. “So this is what you meant by ‘urgent meeting at the office and need to work overtime’?” The group chat immediately went silent. A full five minutes passed before Ethan slowly replied in the group. “Melissa’s car broke down on the road. How unsafe is that for a girl alone at night? I happened to be nearby, so I went to help her out. Do you really need to be this passive-aggressive?” I was truly speechless. “Nearby? Your office is in the east district, and she’s on the western ring highway. You call that nearby?” I called out his lie without mercy in the group chat. “Today is our fifth anniversary. Did you forget?” Before Ethan could respond, Melissa jumped in first. “Stella, I’m so sorry! I really didn’t know today was your anniversary. It’s all my fault for being such a tomboy and not paying attention to these details. Don’t be mad at Etha. If you need to blame someone, blame me.” Her practiced performance as the innocent third party directly triggered Ethan’s protective instincts. Ethan replied instantly. “Why are you taking it out on her? Melissa just sees me as a good friend. When a friend’s in trouble, shouldn’t I help? Can you please stop being so petty about everything? You’re so dramatic!” Ethan’s pack of friends in the group started chiming in too. “Exactly, Stella. Ethan just went to help out. It’s not that big a deal.” “Always going on about anniversaries. Ethan works so hard every day, how’s he supposed to remember?” “Melissa’s just got that buddy personality. Don’t overthink it, Stella.” Looking at all these messages defending him on my screen, I suddenly felt utterly ridiculous. Five years of my life. I’d given up better job opportunities for him. I’d moved with him from a cramped rental to our current small apartment, cooking and doing his laundry every day after work no matter how exhausted I was. And this is what I got in return. Him peeling shrimp for another woman on our important anniversary, then calling me dramatic in front of everyone. In the past, I would have cried from feeling so wronged, then frantically called him demanding an explanation, ultimately comforting myself through the cold war that followed. But now, I just felt tired. Completely and utterly dead inside. I called over the server and calmly paid the bill. Then I typed in the group chat. “Fine. Go ahead and enjoy your time with your good buddy.” “Ethan, we’re done.” After sending that message, I didn’t wait for any response. I left the group chat immediately.

Back at the apartment we shared, I pulled out my suitcase and started packing. Clothes, makeup, laptop. All my personal necessities went straight into the suitcase. As for the sneakers and clothes I’d bought him, along with the matching couple mugs and bedding sets I’d personally picked out, I didn’t even spare them a glance. Just as I zipped up my suitcase, the front door clicked open. Ethan walked in reeking of alcohol. He saw the suitcase on the floor and his brow furrowed tightly, his tone full of impatience. “What are you making a scene about now? I just went to help Melissa with her car. Making a fool of yourself in the group chat wasn’t enough? Now you’re playing the running-away-from-home card too? Is this fun for you?” I didn’t even look up, just grabbed my bag and prepared to change my shoes. “Whether it’s fun or not, you’ll find out eventually. Move. You’re blocking my way.” Not only did Ethan not move, he crossed his arms over his chest and let out a cold laugh. “Where are you going? Who else do you have in this city to rely on besides me? You think you can afford to stay in a hotel?” He was banking on my frugal habits, convinced he had me figured out, certain I was just bluffing. I actually laughed. I looked up at this face that I once found so captivating, but now it just seemed unbearably sleazy and arrogant. “Ethan, I’m telling you one last time. We’re broken up. This apartment’s lease ends at the end of the month. I’ve already paid my share of the rent. You figure out your own rent from now on. Don’t come looking for me again.” With that, I shoved him aside forcefully and dragged my suitcase toward the elevator without looking back. Ethan’s furious cursing echoed behind me. “Fine! Once you leave, don’t ever come back! I’ll be a complete idiot if I beg you even once!” I pressed the button for the first floor. Sitting in the taxi to the hotel, my phone buzzed. It was my best friend Jessica sending me several SnapChat screenshots. Jessica: “Has Ethan lost his mind? Look at this!” I opened the screenshots. They were from the chat group with Ethan and his friends. Jessica’s boyfriend happened to be in that group and couldn’t stand it anymore, so he screenshot everything and sent it to Jessica. Ethan had sent a voice message in the group, which when converted to text read: “What a buzzkill. Her temper’s getting worse and worse. She actually left with her suitcase.” His friend Marcus replied: “Is Stella serious this time? Ethan, aren’t you going to chase after her?” Ethan: “Chase after her? No way! She thinks twice about buying a cup of coffee because it’s too expensive. How many days do you think she can afford to stay in a hotel? She’s just acting spoiled.” Right after that, Ethan sent a large red envelope in the group. “Within three days, she’ll definitely come crawling back begging me to get back together. If she doesn’t come back, I’ll treat everyone to bottle service at the bar this weekend!” The group immediately erupted with laughter and comments praising Ethan. I saved the screenshots, then opened Ethan’s SnapChat and blocked and deleted him in one smooth motion. Then his phone number, Instagram, PayPal. Every possible way to contact me, all blocked. After finishing all this, I tossed my phone into my bag and turned to the driver. “Sir, please drive faster.” Three days? You’ll never see me again in this lifetime. I was finally free.

The next morning, I slept in until I naturally woke up in the hotel’s king-size bed. No Ethan’s snoring, no sound of him smashing his keyboard while cursing at video games first thing in the morning. The feeling was absolutely amazing. I quickly got up, washed up, and contacted a real estate agent to look at apartments. At ten in the morning, I found a nicely furnished one-bedroom apartment just a ten-minute walk from my office. Although the rent was a bit steep, now that I didn’t have to support that man-child Ethan, my salary was more than enough. I signed the contract on the spot, paid, and got the keys. Around noon, my best friend Jessica suddenly sent me several sixty-second voice messages, along with some screenshots. “I’m so angry! Look at what I sent you!” “That bastard Ethan? You’ve already moved out, and he still has the mood to game with that homewrecker?” “I seriously can’t believe this. Do they have any shame at all?” I opened the screenshots. The first one was a game stats screenshot. Ethan and Melissa’s duo queue record, from last night at eleven o’clock all the way until four in the morning today. The second was a screenshot of Melissa’s Instagram post from this morning. The caption read: “Even though my car breaking down on the road was unlucky, having Ethan stay up all night helping me rank up turned out to be a blessing in disguise. He’s so amazing!” Below it was Ethan’s comment: “Let’s continue tonight.” I actually laughed. I thought Ethan would at least have lost some sleep last night after making that bet in his chat group while so worked up. Turns out he turned right around and contentedly helped his good buddy rank up in games. Jessica was so angry she called me directly. “I want to reach through the internet and slap both of them! Does Ethan even know you two broke up?” I put her on speakerphone. “Of course he knows. But he thinks I’m playing hard to get. He bet Marcus and the others that I’d definitely come back begging him within three days.” “Disgusting!” Jessica cursed on the other end. “How inflated is his ego? Does he think he’s made of diamonds or something? So where are you now? You’re not homeless, are you?” “Don’t worry, I’ve already rented an apartment.” I said calmly. “Ethan’s trash. Whoever wants to pick him up can have him. I was just blind before.” “Exactly! Good riddance to bad rubbish! The next one will be better!” Jessica sighed with relief. “But what if he never comes looking for you?” I snorted coldly. “It’d be best if he didn’t. I’m just afraid he’ll shamelessly try to cling to me later. I’ve already blocked him everywhere. You don’t need to send me anything about his drama anymore.” After hanging up, I looked at my freshly decorated room, my mood soaring. That evening after work, I ordered myself a super large portion of lobster that I normally wouldn’t splurge on. No need to cook for Ethan, no need to listen to him complain that the food was too salty or too bland, no need to wash his socks for him. This life of not having to be a free maid in a relationship felt absolutely liberating, every pore in my body celebrating. Over the next two weeks, I threw all my energy into work. Not only did I complete my monthly tasks ahead of schedule, but the director publicly praised me at the morning meeting. Life without a scumbag boyfriend really did make even the air smell sweeter.

Friday evening, just before the end of the workday, it suddenly started pouring rain outside with howling winds. I pulled out my phone to call a rideshare, but there were over 300 people in queue. No way I could get one. A few coworkers who were also stuck at the office were complaining nearby. “This rain is crazy. I should’ve brought an umbrella this morning.” “My boyfriend said he’s coming to pick me up. I’m heading to the parking garage!” Watching my coworker happily get into her boyfriend’s car, I stood there as a memory suddenly flashed through my mind unbidden. It was also a rainy day last year. I’d gotten off work without an umbrella and was stuck at the subway station, so I called Ethan hopefully. “The rain’s too heavy and I can’t get home. Can you drive over and pick me up?” But Ethan responded extremely impatiently on the other end. “I’m in the middle of ranked! Can’t you just get a taxi or take the subway home? Can you be a little more independent and stop always relying on me?” Then he hung up directly. That day, I steeled myself and ran home through the pouring rain, getting completely soaked. That same night, I developed a 102-degree fever. But Ethan didn’t even pour me a glass of water. He actually complained that my coughing was keeping him awake. Looking back now, I was truly at a loss for words. What kind of spell was I under to waste five whole years on such a selfish man? Just as I was gritting my teeth, preparing to hold my bag over my head and just run through the rain to the subway, a low, gentle voice suddenly came from behind me. “No umbrella?” I turned around. It was Adrian Knight. The representative of our company’s newest major investor, who’d been at our office these past few days doing project due diligence. He was holding a black long-handled umbrella, his entire presence radiating a mature, steady aura. I froze for a moment, then quickly greeted him. “Mr. Knight, yeah, I didn’t bring an umbrella. Can’t get a ride, so I’m planning to run to the subway station.” Adrian frowned slightly, glancing at the torrential rain outside. “Where are you headed? I’ll have my driver drop you off on the way.” “No, no, I couldn’t impose on you like that.” I instinctively tried to refuse. But he didn’t give me a chance to refuse. “Let’s go.” He opened the large black umbrella, tilting it significantly toward my side without hesitation, sheltering me completely underneath. His shoulder was half-exposed to the rain. A black Maybach was parked steadily at the bottom of the steps. The driver quickly got out to open the door. Adrian let me get in first, then folded the umbrella and got into the back seat himself. Once inside, the driver immediately handed over a clean, dry towel. Adrian took the towel and passed it to me naturally. “Dry your hair so you don’t catch cold.” Then he said to the driver, “Turn up the back seat temperature by two degrees and adjust the vents away from her.” I held the towel, feeling the warm air in the car and the faint woody scent of the air freshener, completely stunned. “Thank you, Mr. Knight.” “After work hours, no need to call me Mr. Knight. Just call me Adrian.” Adrian turned to look at me, his gaze calm without any trace of superiority. “It’s not safe for a young woman to be caught in the rain alone. Next time you encounter this situation, don’t tough it out.” Hearing these simple words, an indescribable bitterness and relief welled up in my heart. They were both men, but the difference was bigger than between humans and dogs. Ethan wouldn’t even come downstairs to pick me up, while Adrian, a boss of such high standing, could attend to details so thoughtfully. I truly felt what it meant to be respected.

That night, I was suddenly jolted awake by severe cramping pain. The pain was so intense I was drenched in cold sweat, crawling and tumbling my way to the toilet where I vomited until I felt like I was dying. Acute gastroenteritis had flared up. Leaning against the cold bathroom tiles, completely drained, I fumbled for my phone wanting to call 911. But my hand slipped and I accidentally pressed a number in my recent calls. The phone was answered almost immediately. “Hello?” A deep, slightly nasal male voice came through. It was Adrian Knight. I froze, only then realizing I’d accidentally called him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Knight, I… I dialed the wrong number…” My voice was trembling from the pain, even my breathing was uneven. The other end went silent for a second, then Adrian’s voice turned extremely serious. “What’s wrong? Your voice sounds off.” “It’s nothing… just a bit of stomach pain. I called the wrong number…” I tried to hang up. “Send me your address.” Adrian didn’t listen to my excuses, his tone brooking no argument. “Right now!” “Really, it’s not necessary…” “Send your address, or I’ll look it up in your employee file directly.” I was in too much pain to argue with him, and that near-death feeling was too strong, so I could only weakly give him my apartment complex name and unit number. Less than twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang. I forced myself through the pain to crawl to the door. The moment I cracked the door open, Adrian strode in. He was wearing only a slightly disheveled shirt, his hair not as meticulously styled as usual. Seeing me curled up on the floor, he frowned and without a word, scooped me up horizontally. “We’re going to the hospital.” He carried me out, his steps quick but steady. In that moment, leaning against his broad, warm chest, I actually felt like crying. Back when I was with Ethan, I’d had gastroenteritis once too. It was two in the morning. I was rolling around in bed from the pain, pushing Ethan who was sleeping like a log beside me, begging him to take me to the hospital. But he groggily turned over, shaking off my hand and yelling at me impatiently. “What are you freaking out about in the middle of the night? You’re so high-maintenance! Just take some stomach medicine. Stop making a fuss. I have an early basketball game tomorrow!” That night, I forced myself to endure until dawn, then went to the hospital alone for an IV. And now, Adrian Knight, a boss who had no relation to me whatsoever, was speeding through the night to take me to the emergency room. At the hospital, he handled registration, payment, and getting medication, running around without letting me take a single extra step. By the time I was hooked up to an IV and lying on a bed in the emergency observation room, the sky was already beginning to lighten. Adrian sat by the hospital bed. Seeing my complexion improve slightly, he finally relaxed. “What did you eat last night?” he asked. “Well… I worked late and skipped dinner. I got hungry at night, so I ordered some super spicy chicken wings…” I said guiltily in a small voice. Adrian looked at me and sighed, pulling out a thermos from nearby. “The doctor said you can only eat liquid foods for the next few days. This is oatmeal porridge. Eat some to fill your stomach.” As he spoke, he opened the lid, and a light, pleasant rice fragrance wafted out. He blew on a spoonful to cool it, then brought it to my lips. I was so surprised I tried to take it from him. “Mr. Knight, I can do it myself!” He moved his hand away, his tone gentle but firm. “You still have an IV in your hand. Don’t move around.” I mechanically opened my mouth and swallowed that spoonful of porridge. My stomach felt warm, and my heart felt sour and full at the same time. This feeling of being carefully cared for and cherished. It had been so, so long. It turned out being truly cared about felt this good.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “394217”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I was once the person Ethan loved most. Because I saved his life. Because he owed me that life. My brother Sebastian died in that accident, pushing both of us to safety. Then they reopened the case. Changed the ruling. Sebastian’s rescue choice killed Ethan’s sister. Vivian was the real savior. From that day on, Ethan decided I was guilty. Vivian casually said, “I wonder if she’d just wait there and die if we locked her in a freezer.” Ethan locked me in the cold storage. Right away. But I was pregnant. My child died in that cold. Lying in the hospital bed, I sent that man a message. “I won’t love Ethan anymore. I’ll go to New York with you.” Natalie’s POV I was once the person Ethan loved most. If a little hot water scalded my hand, Ethan would drop everything. He would leave all the company directors waiting to personally take me to the hospital. When someone laughed at me for being too delicate, the next day that person’s company was removed from the collaborator list. Everyone knew I had saved Ethan’s life, and that I’d lost my brother saving him. Back then, Ethan said he would protect everything I had left. But last night, at a dinner party, Vivian casually mentioned wanting to see if I’d also wait in vain for rescue if locked in a freezer. After a few seconds of silence, Ethan had someone send me in. The freezer door locked from the outside. By the time they found me, it was already the next morning. When the warehouse worker opened the door, he stumbled backward in shock. I lay on the floor, my lips completely colorless, my hands and feet stiff as if pulled from ice. The doctor lifted me onto a stretcher. When the needle pierced the back of my hand, I didn’t even have the strength to flinch. Ethan stood not far away, his face pale. He had taken half a step forward. Vivian stood beside him, fingers touching the old scar on her arm, her voice soft. “Ethan, don’t forget. Melissa waited like this for someone to save her too.” Ethan’s footsteps stopped. He didn’t come any closer, only instructed the doctor. “Take her to the hospital.” When I woke up, a warming blanket covered me, and an IV dripped into the back of my hand. The doctor said I was lucky they found me soon enough, but I couldn’t be exposed to cold for the next few days. Ethan frowned as he listened. I stared at his face. I remembered years ago, right after the accident. I’d developed a high fever from smoke inhalation. My brother Sebastian died at the rescue site. Ethan sat by my hospital bed, holding my hand, saying over and over, “From now on, I’ll protect everything you have left.” And he really had kept that promise. He personally placed Sebastian’s memorial plaque in the hall. When I was too afraid to sleep alone, he renovated the master bedroom in the villa so I could rest peacefully. Until they reopened the old case and changed the conclusion. Sebastian was found to have wrongly sealed off a rescue route, indirectly causing Melissa’s death. Vivian was the responsibility Melissa left behind, and also a survivor of that accident. She had old injuries. Whenever she hurt, Ethan would think of his sister. I pushed myself up in bed, my throat raw and aching. “Did you agree to throw me in the freezer?” Ethan didn’t answer, only said, “Rest first.” I stared at his averted eyes. “If I hadn’t been the one who saved you back then, would you have been more decisive? Would you have just let me freeze to death in there?” Ethan’s expression darkened. “Natalie, saving my life doesn’t cancel out another life.” He looked at me. “The person who died was my sister.” I gripped the blanket. “My father’s rescue decision wasn’t meant to harm anyone. Sebastian also died in there. He-” “The investigation results are clear.” Ethan cut me off. “What your family owes Melissa won’t be canceled just because Sebastian died too.” The hospital room door was pushed open. Vivian walked in, holding Melissa’s old belongings. She wasn’t crying, just stood in the doorway with reddened eyes. “Natalie, Melissa was also waiting for someone to open that passage. But no one came.” Ethan’s gaze left me. He turned to support Vivian, his voice low. “Don’t upset yourself anymore.” I watched his hand fall on Vivian’s shoulder. The words on my lips were choked back. After the hospital room quieted down, my phone lit up. Adrian sent a message: “I’ve secured a job opportunity for you in New York. I’ve prepared everything for you. As soon as you agree to come work here, you can enjoy it all immediately.” He was the person who had been providing legal assistance for Sebastian’s memorial project after the accident. Three days ago, he went to New York to prepare everything for me. I didn’t reply immediately. Adrian sent another message: “Sebastian didn’t save you so you could stay trapped, being punished by others.” Before I could respond, a text from Ethan appeared. It was brief: “After discharge today, go back to the villa and clear out the master bedroom. Vivian is moving in tonight. Don’t leave any of your things in the room or the closet. It makes her uncomfortable.” I stared at those words, my eyes slowly growing cold. That master bedroom was the one Ethan had personally arranged for me years ago. Sebastian’s memorial items were kept there. My nightmares from the accident had gradually disappeared in that room. Now Vivian was moving in. I finally replied to Adrian: “I’ll go with you.” The moment I sent the message, footsteps sounded outside the hospital room. Ethan’s assistant entered with discharge papers, his tone polite. “Miss Natalie, Mr. Ethan wants you to return to the villa now. The car is waiting downstairs.”

Natalie’s POV When I was sent back to the villa, the master bedroom door was already open. My coats had been thrown in the hallway. Medicine bottles sat on a suitcase, with a mug lying beside it. A maid stood by the door, head down, not daring to look at me. Inside the room, Vivian’s belongings had already appeared. The right side of the closet had been emptied. Her medicine sat by the bed. Vivian sat on the edge of the bed, wearing Ethan’s coat. Ethan was bent over examining the old injury on her arm. “The family doctor will watch over you tonight. Call him if you feel unwell.” That was the spot where I used to sit when I felt cold. During many nights after the accident, Ethan sat there keeping me company until dawn. Now he left that light for Vivian. Vivian looked up and saw me. “Natalie, good, you’re back. Please hurry and clean this place up. When I see things related to that accident, my wound hurts.” I didn’t argue. I walked into the master bedroom and packed Sebastian’s memorial items one by one into a box. Vivian leaned against the bed watching me. “Sebastian’s death was truly unfortunate, but if your father hadn’t made that decision back then, Melissa wouldn’t have died in there.” My movements stopped. Vivian continued. “You people caused someone’s death, yet your brother still got placed in the memorial hall. While you lived in the villa, did you not hear how the other families cursed you outside?” I placed the materials in the box. “Don’t touch my family.” Vivian laughed. “Isn’t your brother’s death the best leverage you have to bind Ethan? He lost his own sister!” I looked up at her. “You’re using Melissa’s death to live here, using old injuries to make Ethan punish me again and again. Vivian, you have no right to use the dead as your weapon either.” Vivian’s expression changed. She suddenly reached out to grab the memorial items from my arms. I instinctively protected the box. Vivian deliberately stumbled against the corner of the bed, her arm hitting the edge. She immediately began crying out in pain. The bathroom door was pulled open. Ethan came out. His first glance went to Vivian clutching her trembling arm. He didn’t look at me, only walked to Vivian’s side. “Where does it hurt?” Vivian’s eyes reddened. “I was just trying to help Natalie pack. She might still be stuck in past pain. She suddenly pushed me away…” I stood beside the scattered memorial items. “She insulted my father and brother first, and tried to grab Sebastian’s belongings.” “Shut up.” Ethan coldly cut me off. He helped Vivian up, his gaze falling on my face. “Vivian’s old injuries are from that accident. If not for your father’s rescue error back then, Melissa wouldn’t have died. And you still want to hurt her?” I clutched the box tightly and said nothing more. Ethan turned to instruct the maid. “Move her things to the guest room.” The guest room was at the far end of the villa, far from the master bedroom. Boxes were piled at the door. Sebastian’s memorial items were mixed in, and several pieces had been broken. I crouched down and carefully put them back together, one by one. My phone vibrated. Adrian sent a message: “In ten days, I’ll meet you in New York.” I replied: “Okay.” Outside the door, the maid whispered that Mr. Ethan wanted the pillow I’d used thrown out, and the bedside lamp removed too, so Miss Vivian wouldn’t feel upset seeing them at night. At dinner, Vivian sat beside Ethan, wearing a coat I’d left in the master bedroom. “Natalie, I’m just cold. You don’t mind if I borrow this, do you?” Ethan didn’t ask her to take it off, only instructed the maid. “Pour her some milk.” I sat in the farthest seat. Vivian glanced at my still-stiff fingers and deliberately pushed a plate toward me. “Natalie, my arm hurts. Can you help me tear open this package?” Ethan glanced at me. “Vivian’s wound hurts. Help her.” I lowered my head and did as told. My fingers, damaged by the cold, couldn’t grip the bag properly. I nearly dropped it into the plate. Vivian’s eyes immediately reddened. “Ethan, is Natalie still angry that I moved into the master bedroom?” Ethan set down his utensils. “Natalie, be careful. Don’t take your resentment out on Vivian.” I placed the opened package in front of Vivian. Ethan’s gaze landed on my trembling hands, then quickly moved away. After dinner, I carried my medicine back to the guest room. As soon as the door closed, another message from Ethan came in. “Go to the memorial hall tomorrow and remove Sebastian’s materials from the main exhibition area. Vivian is upset tonight. She doesn’t want to see your family name displayed alongside that accident anymore.” I looked at his message, then slowly raised my head toward the box by the door. My brother had died in that accident trying to save me. Later, Ethan personally funded the placement of his materials in the memorial hall. Now, because Vivian didn’t want to see it, Ethan was telling me to remove those materials myself. Knocking soon sounded at the door. The maid’s voice came through. “Miss Natalie, Mr. Ethan also said you should go tomorrow morning.” The maid added another line. “Miss Vivian will go with you.”

Natalie’s POV Early the next morning, the driver took me to the accident memorial hall. A colleague was already waiting at the entrance, holding the notice Ethan had sent last night. The notice contained only one sentence: “Remove all materials related to Sebastian from the main exhibition area and transfer to regular archives.” Ethan had personally selected that memorial plaque’s location years ago. Back then, he stood beside me and told the staff, “Sebastian saved me. He saved Natalie. He deserves to be remembered.” Now, he wheeled Vivian inside without even glancing at that plaque. Vivian sat in the wheelchair, her arm still wrapped in a stabilizing bandage. When she saw me, her voice was gentle. “I don’t want to upset you, but I really can’t stand it. Why should the name of the person who caused Melissa’s death be displayed alongside hers?” Ethan didn’t correct her. He only told the staff, “Begin.” The staff member stepped forward and reached for Sebastian’s memorial plaque. I stood nearby, fingers gripping my sleeve, and didn’t stop them. A colleague asked quietly, “Ethan, where should we put the removed materials?” Vivian spoke first. “Put them in the regular archive room. Don’t display them in such a prominent place anymore. It’s too painful for us victims.” I looked up at her. “Sebastian wasn’t someone who harmed people. He went in to save people.” Vivian’s face paled. Her eyes quickly reddened again. “But if your father hadn’t sealed off that passage, Melissa wouldn’t have died. Your brother saving people is true, but your father causing death is also true. You can’t just remember what benefits you.” “Don’t lump my brother together with the accident.” My voice was hoarse. “He died in there. He didn’t die so you could insult his name.” Vivian suddenly reached out to grab the memorial plaque. “Then I’ll take it down myself, okay?” I instinctively blocked her. Vivian immediately pulled her hand back, clutching her old injury and leaning back, tears falling. “Ethan, I was just trying to help…” Ethan quickly stepped forward to support her. When he looked at me again, the last trace of hesitation in his eyes was gone. “Do you have to make a scene here?” I looked at his hands. “Do you remember? Years ago, you were the one who put my brother’s name in here.” Ethan fell silent for a moment. Vivian trembled beside him. “When Melissa was waiting for rescue inside, she probably didn’t even have the strength to call your name.” Ethan’s silence shattered under those words. He said coldly, “Remove that plaque.” I stepped forward and finally pressed my hand against the memorial plaque. Ethan gripped my wrist, his force landing right on my still-healing injury. My face paled, but I didn’t let go. “Stop using Sebastian’s death to claim victim status.” Ethan’s voice was ice cold. “Natalie, what your family owes Melissa is already too much.” My hand slowly released. The memorial plaque was taken away. A space opened up in the main exhibition area. Vivian looked at that spot and said quietly, “Tonight I can finally have fewer nightmares.” After it ended, Vivian said the stimulation had upset her, and she wanted me to spend time in the rescue experience zone too. Ethan frowned. “Her body hasn’t recovered yet.” Vivian took out Melissa’s old belongings and asked softly, “So you’re going to forget how Melissa died again, just because she saved you?” Ethan stopped looking at me. He had the staff leave, keeping only medical personnel outside on standby. After the experience chamber door closed, cold air and mist pressed down together. Through the glass, I saw Ethan standing beside Vivian, head bent as he listened to her speak. When the door opened again, I could no longer stand. When I was sent back to the villa guest room, my fingers had swollen again, and my wrist bore marks from Ethan’s grip. A maid brought a stack of cards, saying, “Miss Vivian is holding a memorial service for Miss Melissa tomorrow. Mr. Ethan wants you to finish writing these cards tonight.” I asked, “What if I don’t write them?” The maid kept her head down. “Mr. Ethan said the materials removed from the memorial hall are still in his possession.” I sat at the desk and opened the first card. From downstairs came the sound of Vivian trying on clothes. I gripped the pen, my fingers trembling with pain. My phone lit up then. Adrian sent a message: “The documents for leaving are being processed. Wait for me a few more days.” After reading it, I set my phone on the desk and continued writing.

Natalie’s POV I wrote those cards all night. By dawn, my fingers were so swollen I could barely hold the pen. A maid came in to rush me to the memorial service, scooping up the cards without daring to say an extra word. The memorial service was held in the old auditorium. Vivian sat in the front row wearing a black dress. Ethan stood beside her, speaking quietly. “If you feel unwell, go inside and rest first.” I was assigned to a corner, responsible for handing memorial cards to attending family members. As soon as I steadied myself, I heard someone say in a low voice, “Her family caused Melissa’s death, yet she can still stand here. Ethan is very kind.” I didn’t turn around, just handed out the cards one by one. When the memorial service began, Vivian took the stage to thank Ethan for caring for her all these years. When she mentioned Melissa, her eyes reddened. “If Melissa were still here, she wouldn’t want to see the person who harmed her still occupying a spot in the memorial hall.” As soon as she finished speaking, she suddenly clutched her chest and collapsed into Ethan’s arms. The scene immediately descended into chaos. Ethan caught her, his first reaction to call for a doctor. Vivian gripped his sleeve, her breathing shaky. “I just touched the card Natalie handed over… As soon as I touched that card, my old wound started hurting.” Every gaze in the room fell on me. I stood in place. “I didn’t touch anything else. You can check right now.” Vivian closed her eyes, leaning against Ethan. “I’m just saying what I touched… I don’t have the energy to argue with you.” Ethan looked at me, his eyes growing colder. He had his assistant collect all the cards, but didn’t send them for inspection. He only said, “Preserve these items carefully.” I tried to speak. Ethan cut me off in front of everyone. “Why do you insist on making a scene at my sister’s memorial service?” With those words, I knew he had already decided I was guilty. After Vivian was taken to the rest room, Ethan had someone take me to the back of the auditorium. There was an accident experience chamber there. When I saw that door, my body instinctively froze. Ethan said coldly, “Go in and stay for half an hour. If you really didn’t do anything wrong, you can come out in half an hour.” I looked up at him. “I just came out of the experience chamber yesterday. The doctor said I can’t handle more stress.” Ethan fell silent for a moment. From the rest room, Vivian called out softly, “Ethan, Melissa waited so long back then, and no one asked if she could bear it.” Ethan’s expression completely darkened. He had the staff open the door. I was pushed inside. The moment the door sealed, cold climbed up from the soles of my feet. The mist grew heavier and heavier. I leaned against the wall. My injured fingers quickly lost strength. Someone outside reminded him, “Mr. Ethan, Miss Natalie’s vital signs are showing problems.” But Ethan first looked toward the rest room. “How is Vivian?” When the experience chamber was forcibly opened, I had already collapsed on the floor. After examining me, the doctor’s face changed. “She must be taken to the hospital immediately. Her body can’t wait.” On the other side, Vivian was also helped out, saying her chest hurt and she wanted Ethan with her. Two ambulances stopped outside the auditorium. The doctor told Ethan, “Miss Natalie is in greater danger. Miss Vivian is conscious. She can wait a moment.” Ethan stood between the two vehicles. His fingers twitched, as if about to come toward me. Vivian called out softly, “Ethan, just now I almost thought I was back in that accident again.” Ethan withdrew his foot. He got into Vivian’s ambulance first, leaving only one sentence behind: “Save her.” After seeing this scene, I completely lost consciousness. When I woke up, I was already in the hospital. A nurse was changing my dressing. “You were in critical condition for a long time. Your husband was just in the hallway yelling at the doctor. He nearly made the doctor cry.” When I heard the word “husband,” my eyes flickered. I asked, “Where is he now?” The nurse paused. “He just got a call from the other ward. He went to see Miss Vivian.” I didn’t ask again. I looked at the monitor by the bed, my voice soft. “He’s not my husband.” The nurse froze. I added, “Very soon, he won’t be.” The hospital room door was pushed open at that moment. Ethan stood in the doorway, his face dark. He’d clearly heard that last sentence.

Natalie’s POV When Ethan entered the hospital room, he slammed the door hard. He walked to the bed, his voice forced low. “What do you mean, I won’t be your husband soon?” I’d just woken up. My throat still hurt. I didn’t answer immediately. Ethan leaned down and gripped the bed rail, his knuckles white. “Natalie, do you think you can leave me? We have a marriage. We have that accident between us. Do you think our relationship can end so easily?” I looked at him. “If you hate me so much, why did you have the doctor save me just now?” Ethan’s eyes darkened. My voice was soft. “You could have let me die in the experience chamber. That way you’d never have to see me again, and Vivian wouldn’t be upset by me anymore.” “Die?” Ethan seemed stung by that word, his face suddenly ugly. “You think too lightly. If you die, will Melissa come back? If you die, will the consequences your family left behind disappear?” I smiled faintly. “So you saved me to keep me alive and suffering.” Ethan didn’t deny it. A nurse came outside, saying Vivian’s chest hurt again and she wanted to see Ethan. I looked at his profile and suddenly asked, “If Vivian and I both stood before you, would you always choose her first?” Ethan frowned. “That kind of question is meaningless.” “It’s meaningful.” I raised my eyes. “Just now outside the experience chamber, the doctor said I was in greater danger, but you still got in her ambulance. Ethan, every time, you know exactly who you’re choosing.” Ethan said nothing. The nurse urged him again from outside. Ethan’s hesitation was crushed. He said coldly, “Vivian has endured Melissa’s old injuries to live until today. I can’t ignore her. You saved me, but what you owe Melissa can’t be covered by one act of saving a life.” I went quiet. I nodded. “I understand now.” Ethan looked at me like this, his expression growing even colder. “Get up. Go apologize to Vivian.” The nurse tried to intervene. “Mr. Ethan, Miss Natalie just woke up. Her body still hasn’t-” “If she can talk, she can apologize.” Ethan cut her off. I was wheeled to Vivian’s hospital room door. Vivian leaned against the bed, her face pale. When she saw me enter, she first glanced at Ethan, and her eyes immediately reddened. I spoke. “I apologize for what happened at the memorial service.” My words were brief. I offered no explanation. But Vivian gently shook her head. “Natalie, one apology can’t make up for your sins. You ruined Melissa’s memorial service. When I close my eyes, all I see is her waiting for rescue that never came.” Ethan looked at her. “What else do you want her to do?” Vivian said quietly, “Tomorrow, let’s go to the old accident site. Hand over Sebastian’s materials to the hall for archiving. And let Natalie admit that her father’s decision back then truly harmed Melissa.” Ethan didn’t speak immediately. Vivian saw his hesitation, and tears fell. “If she won’t even do this, I’ll think about today every single moment from now on.” Ethan looked at me. “You must go. And Sebastian’s materials. They don’t need to go into any archive in the future.” My fingertips went cold. Finally, I said, “I’ll go.” After returning to the hospital room, I didn’t sleep all night. Adrian sent a message saying I could leave in a few days. The residence in New York was confirmed. After reading it, I put my phone on the pillow. I began organizing what I could take with me. Besides these things, I only had an old key and a backup authorization card for Sebastian’s memorial project. The old key was what Ethan gave me years ago. He said no matter what happened, that would always be my home. I put the key in the bedside drawer and kept only the authorization card in my pocket. The next day, I was taken to the old accident site. Several family members had come. The hall staff were also there. Ethan stood at the front with Vivian. Vivian held Melissa’s old belongings, as if she were the only victim in this old case. The hall staff asked me to step forward. I held Sebastian’s materials but didn’t release them immediately. Vivian spoke publicly. “Natalie, today isn’t for you to cause trouble. The family of the one who caused harm should know their place.” Someone quietly echoed, “Sebastian did save people, but it’s also true that their father caused deaths.” I looked at Ethan. Ethan avoided my gaze, only saying, “Hand over the materials.” I gave the materials to the hall staff. The staff member took them and placed them in an ordinary archive box. My brother’s name was completely removed from the main memorial area. My phone vibrated then. Adrian sent a message: “Leave in three days.” I stood at the back of the crowd, clutching that message in my palm.

Natalie’s POV This wasn’t my first time at the old accident site. In the first year after the accident, I didn’t even dare approach this place. Sebastian died in this area after pushing Ethan and me to safety, then got trapped by a secondary collapse and never came out. Back then, Ethan hadn’t yet been crushed by the reopened investigation. He stood here with me and placed Sebastian’s name in the memorial area. He told me, “Your brother saved us. He deserves to be remembered.” I truly believed him then. Later, when the investigation results changed and it was determined that my father had wrongly sealed the rescue passage, Melissa’s death overshadowed everything. Ethan began avoiding this place, and avoiding the words he’d said years ago. Now, Sebastian’s materials were packed into an ordinary archive box. Vivian looked at the empty space in the main memorial area and said softly, “Ethan, I want to add a new plaque for Melissa. She’s waited so many years. Finally she won’t have to be displayed alongside the name of someone from that family.” Ethan frowned. “The memorial hall has procedures. We can’t make changes arbitrarily.” Vivian lowered her head and touched the old belongings in her hands. “Melissa was most afraid of being left behind alone. She’s already been trapped in that accident for so long. Doesn’t she even deserve a separate place?” After a moment of silence, Ethan turned to the hall colleague. “Make a temporary plaque first. We’ll complete the paperwork later.” I stood nearby, watching the staff place the new temporary plaque in the spot that had originally belonged to my brother. I didn’t speak. I only walked to the archive box and, under the pretense of organizing materials, figured out where the materials were being stored. The backup authorization card was still in my pocket. This was my last chance to access my brother’s materials. In the evening, people from the memorial hall gradually left. I said I wasn’t feeling well and didn’t go back with Ethan. Ethan glanced at me, as if wanting to ask something. Vivian suddenly pressed her hand to her chest. “Ethan, I stood too long today. I want to go back early.” Ethan withdrew his gaze and instructed the driver to take me back to the villa. He left first with Vivian. I didn’t get in the car. After the car lights disappeared, I circled to the memorial hall’s side entrance and used the backup authorization card to unlock the archive room door. At the bottom of the ordinary archive shelf, Sebastian’s materials were pressed there. A label on the file box read “Removed from Main Exhibition Area.” I took out the materials, photographed and recorded them, then took a backup copy. I couldn’t let Sebastian remain only in that ordinary archive box in Ethan’s hands after I left. Just as I closed the archive cabinet, footsteps sounded behind me. Vivian stood in the doorway. Ethan wasn’t with her. She saw the document folder in my hands, and the weakness on her face instantly vanished. “You still want to get Sebastian back into the main exhibition area?” I tightened my grip on the folder. “I’m only taking backup archives. I’m not touching the hall’s original materials.” “What if you’re lying to us?” Vivian took a step forward, her gaze sweeping the corner. “There are no security cameras here. If something happens to the materials, everyone will only know you snuck into the archive room after closing.” I looked at her, finally understanding she hadn’t appeared by chance. Vivian suddenly reached out to grab the folder. I stepped back, protecting the materials. Vivian deliberately stumbled to the side, and file boxes from the shelf came crashing down. A box of old accident materials related to Melissa scattered across the floor. The next second, Vivian fell to the ground, clutching her arm and crying out. “Natalie, why did you push me? Melissa’s things were already destroyed once. Can’t you leave her alone?” Urgent footsteps echoed from the end of the hallway. Ethan and hall personnel rushed over. Ethan’s first glance went to Vivian’s bleeding arm. His face immediately changed. Vivian gripped his sleeve, crying and trembling. “I found Natalie sneaking into the archive room and tried to convince her not to touch the materials. To grab back the folder, she pushed me into the shelf.” I held the folder. “She tried to grab Sebastian’s materials first.”Ethan looked at what I was holding. “Why were you here after closing?” “I have a backup authorization card.” I said, “I have the right to keep a copy of Sebastian’s materials.” Ethan ignored that statement. His gaze fell on Melissa’s scattered materials. Vivian called out softly, “Ethan, I don’t want to see Melissa’s things trampled on the ground like this again.” Ethan’s expression turned completely cold. He stepped forward and took the folder from my hands. I gripped it and wouldn’t let go. My injured fingers ached as he pulled. Then he took my access card from my pocket and handed it to the hall staff. “Cancel it.” The staff processed it right there. I stood there, watching the cancellation confirmation flash on the screen. The last door I had to access my brother’s materials. Ethan shut it.

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I was working late when my smart home app pinged me. Someone had opened the front door. Only Emily and I had registered fingerprints. Emily was three months pregnant. Worried something had happened to her, I opened the live feed. I was about to call the police. But what I saw stopped me cold. She was naked from the waist up, her pregnant belly showing. She was on top of her childhood friend, moving up and down. “Tristan, be gentle. I’m carrying your child.” My heart sank. She had told me the baby was mine. I pulled up every security video from the past few months. They had been having sex all over the house while I worked overtime. I downloaded everything. Tomorrow was our wedding anniversary. At the party, I would give them a gift they’d never forget. Ethan’s POV Emily was three months pregnant. We were supposed to announce the baby at our first anniversary party. The party was at our house. She had picked the house herself. The day she got the keys, she told me this would be our home. Just the two of us. No one would ever take my place. But before the party even started, Emily invited another man to sit at the head table. Years ago, Tristan took a blow meant for Emily. His right hand was permanently injured. His arranged engagement fell apart because of it. The Hayes family felt they owed him. They’d been carrying that debt for years. All the way to today. Now Emily’s unborn child already had someone trying to claim a place for him. Emily’s mother, Linda, spoke first. “Ethan, Tristan isn’t a stranger. If it weren’t for him back then, Emily would be dead. When the child has birthdays in the future, surely he can at least sit at the family table?” Another person piled on. “You’re about to be a father. Be more generous. Tristan doesn’t want any title. He just wants to feel included.” I sat beside Emily, my fingers slowly tightening. Tristan kept his head down, his voice soft. “Forget it. Don’t make things difficult for Ethan. The child is his and Emily’s. What right do I have to interfere?” The moment he said that, the table went even quieter. Linda’s eyes reddened. “You’re too understanding. That’s why people keep taking advantage of you.” “Ethan wouldn’t be that petty, would he?” “Tristan’s hand is ruined. What’s wrong with letting him be close to the child?” Every sentence was a blow to my face. I’d been afraid of scenes like this since I was a child. Even when something was clearly mine, as long as someone else cried harder, I had to give it up. But Emily stood up. She was wearing a formal dress, her belly not yet prominent, her voice steady. “The child is Ethan’s and mine. This house is Ethan’s and mine. The Hayes family owes Tristan, and I’ll repay that debt. If his right hand needs treatment, I’ll pay for it. If he has no one to take care of him, I’ll arrange for someone. But his name won’t be written into the child’s trust, and he won’t have access to our house.” Everyone at the table froze. Linda’s face darkened. “Emily, don’t forget who he became like this for.” “I haven’t forgotten.” Emily looked at Tristan. “That’s why I’ll compensate him. But I won’t use my husband to do it.” I looked up at her. In that moment, I truly believed Emily still remembered what she had said. The day our house was completed, she placed the keys in my palm. “From now on,” she said, “no outsiders. No relatives staying over. No one rearranging your things.” I had said, “Not even your savior?” Emily had smiled and answered, “No one.” I believed her. Before the party, Linda called Emily away to change her dress. I went to the study alone. In the study drawer was an anniversary ring with the date of our house’s completion engraved on the inside. I had planned to put the ring back on Emily’s finger after we announced the baby. But the computer was on. A security footage backup file sat alone on the desktop, labeled with the date of the night I had been on a business trip. The home security system had been installed after Emily got pregnant. It only recorded the door access and hallway. I had never checked it before. Now that backup file sat right in the center of the screen. I clicked it open. At one in the morning, Tristan used the access code to open our front door, as naturally as if he were coming home. He walked straight toward the master bedroom. A few minutes later, Emily appeared in the hallway. She didn’t call the housekeeper. She didn’t stop him. The master bedroom door opened, then closed. The camera couldn’t capture inside the room, but Tristan didn’t come out all night. Just before dawn, the master bedroom door finally opened. Tristan came out first, with Emily following behind. They stood at the end of the hallway talking. Tristan laughed softly. “After the child is born, surely he can’t be the only one the kid calls ‘Dad,’ right?” Emily’s voice was tight. “Don’t make a scene tonight. Don’t provoke Ethan at the party.” “You know better than anyone how this child came to be.” Emily didn’t argue. She only said, “Remember what you promised me.” Applause suddenly erupted from downstairs. The host was calling for us. “Please welcome Mr. Hayes and Miss Emily to the stage. There’s good news to announce tonight!” I stared at the master bedroom door on the screen. The anniversary ring in my hand dropped onto the desk with a soft clink.

Ethan’s POV By the time I came downstairs, the lights in the banquet hall were blindingly bright. Emily was waiting for me at the side of the stage. Seeing my expression, she reached out to steady me. “Ethan, are you feeling unwell?” I looked at her belly, then at Tristan standing behind her. Tristan was holding a glass of wine, also looking at me. His face was clean, as if he hadn’t entered the master bedroom last night at all. The host invited us onto the stage. Emily took my arm and faced the room full of friends and family, her voice gentle. “Tonight, there’s also some good news. I’m three months pregnant.” Applause immediately filled the room. Linda smiled with red-rimmed eyes. The Hayes family applauded while urging me to say a few words. Emily continued, “This child is the greatest gift of Ethan’s and my marriage.” She spoke so calmly. You’d never know about the security footage. Never guess about the words in the hallway. “You know better than anyone how this child came to be.” Tristan raised his glass with a smile. “Emily, Ethan, congratulations.” Everyone was looking at me, waiting for me to say I was going to be a father. Emily’s fingers pressed lightly against my arm. I took the microphone and only said, “Tonight is indeed very important.” I handed the microphone back. The atmosphere stiffened for a moment. Emily quickly smiled and covered for me. “That’s just how Ethan is. The happier he is, the less he can say.” The room laughed again. No one knew my hands had already gone cold and stiff. The party continued. Family members gathered around Emily. Some asked who would accompany her to the next checkup, others said the nursery should be changed to the south-facing room, and some were already calculating who would wait at the hospital when the baby was born. Emily answered everything smoothly. I stood nearby, and with every sentence I heard, I thought of Tristan’s words: “He can’t be the only one the kid calls ‘Dad.’” I went to the terrace. I had just stopped when Tristan came over with a glass of wine. “Ethan, congratulations.” Tristan’s voice was very low. “But why didn’t you bring out the anniversary ring tonight? I saw it in the study.” I turned to look at him. Tristan smiled slightly, his gaze falling on Emily’s belly inside the banquet hall. “That ring is quite a pity. But what Emily should be wearing tonight might not be something you gave her.” He paused, his smile deepening. “Something from the child’s real father would be more appropriate.” My grip on the wine glass tightened sharply. But Tristan stepped back. “Don’t be angry. There are too many people here tonight. If you make a scene, the one who’ll be embarrassed is Emily, and the child. You wouldn’t want the child to be called dirty before it’s even born, would you?” I set my wine glass down on the terrace edge. The base struck the stone surface with a crisp sound. After the party ended, Linda brought a trust document for the child to me. “Ethan, sign this. It specifies which school the child will attend, where they’ll live, which funds will be used for medical care. Everything’s written out in advance so there’s no confusion later.” I opened the document. Tristan’s name was written clearly in the “Long-term Care Participant” section. I stared at those words and let out a short laugh. Linda frowned. “What are you laughing at?” I ignored her and looked at Emily instead. “Did you know about this?” Emily paused for a second. That second was enough. She said, “I knew, but this doesn’t affect your status as the father.” I pushed the document in front of her. “Status as the father?” Emily’s expression changed slightly. The Hayes family immediately chimed in. “Tristan was ruined back then for Emily’s sake. Now, before the child is even born, you’re already shutting him out. Isn’t that inappropriate?” Tristan sat to one side and said quietly, “Forget it. Emily, don’t argue because of me. I shouldn’t have asked for these things in the first place.” Linda’s heart ached even more. “Look how understanding he is.” Emily reached out to take my hand. “Ethan, you can take your time reviewing the document. Tristan won’t take anything away from you. He just needs to be accepted by this family.” I pulled my hand back. I closed the document without signing. “I’m tired.” With that, I turned and went upstairs. I stopped at the master bedroom door. This used to be the place where I felt most at ease. Emily had refused to let relatives stay over, and she had refused to let the elders come in and redecorate. She said the master bedroom belonged only to the two of us. Now the door was closed, but all I could see was the image of Tristan walking out of it in the early morning. Emily came after me, softening her voice. “Ethan, you’re being too sensitive tonight. Tristan won’t affect us, and he won’t affect the child calling you Dad.” Every sentence she spoke avoided the question of how the child came to be. I asked, “Does Tristan come to our house often?” Emily’s eyes flickered. “Occasionally.” She said, “His right hand isn’t convenient. My mother worries he’ll have an accident alone, so sometimes she has him come over for a meal or rest in the guest room for a while.” “The guest room?” “Yes, just the guest room.” Emily immediately responded, “Don’t make it sound so ugly.” I looked at her for a long time. If it weren’t for that security footage, I might have actually believed her. I turned and entered the guest room. The moment the door closed, I opened my phone and saved the security backup, the trust document, and the access log pages. Outside the window, Tristan still hadn’t left. He stood at the gate, looking up at the second floor. Through the darkness, he slowly raised his glass toward where I was.

Ethan’s POV The next morning, I didn’t go to Emily to argue. I sat in the study and pulled up the house access log. Tristan had come more than once. Emily said he only occasionally came for a meal and rested in the guest room for a while. But the times in the access log were all chosen for when I was on business trips, working overtime, or not coming home at night. Several times, Tristan entered late at night and didn’t leave until dawn. The access permissions had been opened by Emily herself. I stared at those lines of records and suddenly felt that Emily’s act of covering for me at the main table last night was like an even louder slap in the face. She wasn’t unaware that Tristan had long since stepped into this home. She just wanted to placate me in front of everyone first. At noon, Emily came to the study. She was holding a revised trust document, her tone very low. “I had it revised. Tristan won’t touch the child’s money and won’t make decisions for the child. He’s just participating.” I didn’t take it. “Why does it have to include him?” Emily pressed her lips together. “Ethan, if it weren’t for him back then, I might already be dead. His right hand still can’t function normally, and his engagement fell through. He could have had a good life, but he became like this because of me.” “So?” “I can’t just give him money.” Emily’s voice grew even lower. “He’s not a servant, and he’s not a stranger. I have to make him feel that all these years of suffering weren’t for nothing.” I looked at her. “Then give him a Hayes family house, give him your shares, give him the car and staff under your name.” Emily’s face went pale. I pushed the document back. “Don’t use my child and my house to compensate him.” When Emily heard “my child,” her eyes clearly stiffened. She quickly suppressed it. “Ethan, don’t say that.” She reached out to touch me. “I won’t let you be wronged.” I looked down at that hand. In last night’s footage, it was this hand that had pushed open the master bedroom door. I moved away. Emily’s expression finally darkened. “Then take a few days to calm down.” She left with the document. That evening, Tristan appeared outside the gate. When the housekeeper came in to report, Emily was sitting in the living room. She went downstairs and saw Tristan standing in the wind, his right hand hanging down, his face pale, yet he wouldn’t step inside. Tristan smiled first. “I won’t go in. I don’t want Ethan to see me and think I’m stealing his home.” Emily immediately frowned. “What are you doing standing outside? Come in first.” Tristan shook his head. “Forget it. I won’t come to the house anymore, and I won’t bring up the child again. No one likes having an outsider in their home. I understand.” The word “outsider” had just fallen when I happened to reach the stairway. Emily turned and saw me, her eyes first showing panic, then turning to reproach. As if I had truly driven a pitiful man to stand outside the door. I didn’t speak, nor did I invite Tristan in. Tristan laughed softly and turned to leave. Emily took two steps after him, then stopped. She turned back to look at me. “Did you have to push him to this point?” I stood on the stairs and asked calmly, “Did I close the door?” Emily was blocked. But after that night, calls from the Hayes family came one after another. Some cursed me for being cold-blooded, some said Tristan was understanding enough already, and others said that before the child was even born, I had already made the household restless. I didn’t argue with any of them. I just recorded all the calls and put them in the same folder. The next day, the trust signing was still scheduled. The Hayes family didn’t cancel it, and they even called Tristan. As soon as Tristan entered, he apologized to me first. “Ethan, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put Emily in a difficult position, and I shouldn’t have caused the child to be gossiped about before it’s even born.” His words sounded like a concession. Every word pinned me as the oppressor. Linda immediately looked at me. “Tristan has already said this much. You should at least give him some face.” Emily also looked at me. “The document can be revised later, but don’t make today too awkward for everyone.” I opened the document but didn’t sign. “The trust is suspended. We’ll discuss it after the child is born.” The room instantly went cold. Tristan lowered his head and laughed. The next second, he clutched his right hand, his face going white. Emily was the first to rush over and support him. The Hayes family also gathered around. No one looked at the trust document still sitting on the table. I stood in place, watching Emily tightly support Tristan. Tristan leaned on her and looked up at me. In that gaze, there wasn’t a trace of concession.

Ethan’s POV The trust signing ended just like that. Tristan clutched his right hand while Emily helped him sit down and had the housekeeper bring medicine. The Hayes family surrounded him, all asking about his injury with their mouths while their eyes stabbed at me. Linda was barely containing her anger. “Ethan, did you have to push him on a day like this? Don’t you know who his hand was ruined for?” Tristan immediately spoke. “Don’t blame him. I shouldn’t have come.” The more lightly he spoke, the more the people in the room thought I was cruel. Emily supported Tristan and looked up at me. “Let’s not talk about the trust today. Tristan’s hand hurts so much. Are you going to continue?” I looked at her protective posture and didn’t argue anymore. I gathered up the documents. “That’s it.” When Emily left with Tristan, she didn’t look at me. I returned to the study and reopened the access log. Every time Tristan entered late at night, the source of the permission was crystal clear. Emily had opened it. I saved those pages of records, then placed last night’s security backup beside them. Not long after, there was a knock on the study door. Emily pushed the door open. Seeing the access log on the computer screen, her face changed immediately. I asked, “How many times has Tristan actually come to our house?” Emily was silent for a few seconds. “His right hand isn’t convenient. Sometimes the pain is so bad he can’t sleep. I just let him rest in the guest room.” I clicked on one particular night. “This night, he entered at one in the morning and left at six.” Emily glanced at it and averted her eyes. “That night he was in very bad condition. I took care of him until very late.” “What about the night in the master bedroom?” Emily completely froze. She didn’t ask how I knew, and she didn’t deny it. She only lowered her voice. “I’m pregnant now. I can’t be stressed. Ethan, can we wait until after the child is born to discuss some things?” I laughed. “After the child is born, will Tristan be able to move in smoothly?” “I never thought of letting him replace you!” Emily was agitated. “He was ruined for me back then. Now seeing me with a child, it’s normal for his emotions to spiral.” “His emotions spiraled, so you gave him access to the master bedroom?” Emily’s eyes reddened instantly. She seemed finally pushed to her limit, and her voice grew cold. “You know exactly what I feel most guilty about. Why do you keep tearing it open again and again? I’m caught between you and Tristan. Can’t you be understanding just once?” I didn’t respond. I stood up and opened the study door. “You should rest.” Emily stood at the door and looked at me for a long time. For the first time, I didn’t follow along with her guilt. That night, Tristan suddenly moved out of the residence the Hayes family had arranged for him. He didn’t take much, only leaving behind a note. It was very brief. He said he didn’t want to put Emily in a difficult position anymore, and he didn’t want the child to be caught between adults before it was even born. He wouldn’t participate in the child’s trust, wouldn’t enter our house, and wouldn’t disturb me anymore. Linda saw the note soon after. Her eyes immediately turned red. “Tristan has suffered enough, and now even this bit of hope has been taken from him.” Emily’s first reaction was to call Tristan. No one answered. A few minutes later, Tristan sent a location. An old apartment. That was the place where he had lived during rehabilitation after his accident. Emily grabbed her coat and headed for the door. I stood at the stairway. “You’re pregnant. Going out late at night isn’t safe.” Emily paused, as if thinking I had finally relented. I continued, “I’ll have the driver take you. But Tristan’s house access won’t be restored.” The softening on Emily’s face vanished instantly. She left with anger. An hour later, Tristan sent me a video. In the video, Tristan sat in the living room with medicine beside his right hand. He wasn’t crying, only smiling bitterly. “Emily, I didn’t save you back then to be humiliated like this today.” Emily stood at the door, her chest feeling pressed. Tristan looked up at her. “Ethan can’t tolerate me. I accept that. But after the child is born, will I have to ask his permission even to look at the baby once?” Emily was silent for a long time. Finally, she said, “I’ll handle the access issue.” Tristan lowered his head. “Don’t fight with him because of me.” Emily didn’t say anything more. In the study, my computer displayed a notification. Someone was requesting to restore Tristan’s access.

Ethan’s POV When Emily returned home, she went straight to the study. I was still sitting at the computer. She said directly, “Restore Tristan’s access.” I looked up at her. Emily, as if afraid I’d misunderstand, immediately added, “Only to the guest room and first floor. He won’t enter the master bedroom.” I looked at her. “Do you think the problem is just whether he can enter the master bedroom?” Emily’s face tightened. “His right hand isn’t convenient. When the old injury flares up, he can’t even hold a cup. The access is just a precaution. If something really happens, at least someone will see.” “Then have him stay at a hospital.” “Ethan Hayes!” Emily’s voice dropped. “He became like this because of me. When he’s at his most humiliated, I can’t shut the door on him.” I suddenly laughed. “Then who will shut the door for me, your husband?” Emily was blocked by this statement. Soon, her face went cold again. “You’re making this too dirty, and you’re making me out to be too despicable.” I didn’t say anything more. Right in front of her, I clicked “reject.” A system notification popped up. Emily glanced at it and turned to leave. The next day at noon, Tristan’s friend called. Last night, Tristan’s old injury had flared up. He had tried to get to the hospital by himself, fell halfway there, and was sent to emergency. The caller didn’t directly curse me, but every sentence revolved around that door I had closed. “He used to live at the Hayes place where at least someone could look after him. Now living alone outside, in so much pain, he didn’t even dare to trouble Emily.” By the time Emily and I got to the hospital, the Hayes family was already there. Tristan lay in the hospital bed, his right hand re-immobilized. Seeing her, he smiled first. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. This has nothing to do with Ethan.” Linda’s eyes immediately reddened. “You’re still speaking up for him? If he hadn’t closed the access and forced you out, would you have ended up falling in the street alone in the middle of the night?” Emily stood by the bed and didn’t explain for me. Everyone looked at me. Linda struck first. “Are you satisfied now? Tristan is lying here, and you’ve finally vented your anger?” Tristan tried to sit up. “Stop it. It really wasn’t Ethan’s fault.” As soon as he moved, his face went white. Emily immediately pressed him back down. “Don’t move.” Tristan kept his head down. While she adjusted his blanket, he glanced at me. That glance was light but precise. Linda pointed at me. “Apologize.” I didn’t move. Emily looked up at me, exhaustion filling her eyes. “Tristan has already backed down this much. Even if you’re uncomfortable, you shouldn’t have pushed him to the point of getting hurt.” I asked, “Have you already decided this was my fault?” Emily was silent for a few seconds. “You closed the access. He also moved out because he couldn’t get into the house.” I looked at her and said nothing more. I turned and left the hospital room. That same day, I had someone pull the surveillance footage from near the old apartment and the hospital. The footage was quickly delivered to me. When Tristan left his place, his steps were steady, and his right hand wasn’t in uncontrollable pain. After arriving near the hospital, he deliberately went to a stairwell. Where he fell avoided vital areas but was just enough to reopen the old injury. I saved the video. That evening, I returned home. Emily was sitting in the living room waiting for me. Her first words were, “Tomorrow, go to the hospital and apologize to Tristan. And restore his access.” I placed the video on the table. Seeing Tristan walk toward the stairs himself, Emily’s expression shifted for a moment. I said, “Whether this was an accident or not, see for yourself.” Emily was silent for a long time, but finally said, “Even if his emotions spiraled, it’s related to your rejection these past few days. He’s already been pushed to the point where he can only prove his pain this way. Are you really going to keep provoking him?” I suddenly understood. Evidence was useless now. Emily could see it. She just wanted to blame every one of Tristan’s breakdowns on me. Emily softened her voice. “I’ll go with you tomorrow. The access doesn’t have to be restored yet, but at least give him an explanation.” I looked at her for a long time. Finally, I said, “Fine. I’ll go tomorrow.” Emily thought I had finally relented. I went upstairs to the study and sent a message to my lawyer. Move up the departure arrangements by one day.

Ethan’s POV The next day, I went to the hospital. Emily was already in the room. Tristan was leaning against the headboard, his right hand immobilized. Seeing me, he spoke first. “Ethan, I’m sorry. Whether it’s the access or the trust, I’ve made things difficult for Emily.” I didn’t respond. Emily looked at me, waiting for the apology I’d agreed to last night. Seeing my silence, Tristan said quietly, “I won’t enter the house anymore, and I won’t get involved with the child. After the baby is born, I’ll just look from a distance.” When he mentioned the child, his gaze fell on Emily’s belly. That look was too familiar. Like he was looking at something already his. Emily saw it but didn’t stop him. I asked, “Whose child are you really looking at?” The room went silent instantly. Tristan lowered his head. “I know I’m not qualified to mention the child. It’s only natural for Ethan to mind.” Emily immediately frowned. “Ethan Hayes, this is a hospital. Tristan just had an accident. Don’t provoke him again.” I looked at her. “Asking whose child it is counts as provoking him?” Emily’s face went white. “Don’t say things like that here. Family and doctors are outside. If someone overhears, it’s bad for the child.” What she protected first was still appearances. Tristan spoke at the right moment. “Emily, maybe I should leave. I’ll leave San Diego. After the child is born, I won’t disturb you anymore.” Emily immediately turned to him. “Don’t say that again.” I stood where I was, watching her rush to keep Tristan. That apology no longer needed to be said. Soon, the Hayes family entered the room. Hearing that Tristan wanted to leave, Linda was the first to object. “Your right hand is like this, and you still want to live alone somewhere?” Another person pushed the conversation straight to Emily. “Doesn’t the house have a guest room? Let Tristan stay for a few days. Once his injury stabilizes, we’ll talk.” I looked at Emily. Emily didn’t immediately refuse. She only said, “Ethan hasn’t been in a good mood lately. If Tristan moves in, there might be conflict.” Linda sneered. “As long as he doesn’t make a fuss, what conflict could there be?” Tristan shook his head. “Stop it. I don’t want to disturb Emily anymore.” But the more he said he didn’t want to, the more others wanted it for him. Emily finally looked at me. “It’s just the guest room. Tristan can stay a few days while he recovers, and I can make sure his hand is okay.” Just the guest room. Those words were like old nails being driven into my heart again. I remembered when I was young, every time relatives came to stay, my parents said the same thing. Just let them have one room. Just a few days. Just be understanding. I asked Emily, “Do you still remember why we originally didn’t let anyone stay at our house?” Emily froze. Back then, when someone from the Hayes family wanted to stay over, she had personally stopped it. She said our house wasn’t a place for people to crash temporarily. Now, she had trampled those words herself. Emily was silent for a long time, then her voice lowered. “The situation is different. Tristan isn’t like other people. He’s suffered because of me.” I asked, “So?””A guest room, an access card, a spot on the child’s trust. After this, will there be even more ‘just this’?” Emily’s eyes reddened. “Why do you insist on seeing everything as someone taking from you? I’m pregnant, I have to deal with Tristan’s old injury, I’m already exhausted. Can’t you just trust me once?” I didn’t look at Tristan anymore. I only looked at Emily. “Do you really want me to give in?” Emily avoided my gaze. “Consider it me begging you.” The hospital room went quiet. I looked down at her belly, then at Tristan’s immobilized right hand. Finally, I said, “I understand.” After leaving the hospital, I went straight back to the house. I didn’t enter the master bedroom. I went to the study. The lawyer sent a confirmation message. The house disposal had begun, and the withdrawal from the child’s trust signature was also in process. I placed the anniversary ring on top of the divorce papers. Next to them was the access permission cancellation confirmation. Emily’s and Tristan’s permissions would both be deactivated tonight. I organized all the evidence and sent it to the lawyer for safekeeping. That evening, Emily sent me a message. “Tristan is coming back to stay in the guest room tonight. Try not to be cold to him.” I didn’t reply. I dragged my suitcase out of the house. The housekeeper came after me. “Mr. Hayes, do you need a car prepared?” I only said, “Don’t touch anything in the study. When Emily returns, let her see for herself.” A few hours later, I sat in the law office. The lawyer placed the materials in front of me. “The surveillance footage, access logs, videos before and after Tristan’s fall, recordings of the family pressuring you, and the unilateral commitment Miss Hayes just signed. Everything’s here.” I paused briefly when I heard “unilateral commitment.” The lawyer said, “Once this document takes effect, the child’s trust and everything involving Tristan will be separated from your name.” I nodded. “Keep going.” The lawyer asked, “Do you still want to leave any instructions here in the old city?” I turned off my phone, stood up, and walked out. “Everything worth seeing is in the study. There’s nothing to explain.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “394219”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Eight months pregnant, I accidentally discovered my Alpha husband Coran was cheating on me with my sister Mira, who had come to take care of me. When I caught them, his tone was flat: “You found out? Actually, I’ve been sleeping with her since your third month of pregnancy. These past few months, I’ve been taking her to hotels every night… Who told you to never let me touch you during your pregnancy?” I couldn’t help but raise my hand and slap him across the face. “You bastard! She’s my sister!” Mira dropped to her knees in front of me, tears streaming down her face. “Rowenna, don’t blame Coran. I was the one who started it…” My brain buzzed, and my body swayed. Coran caught me in his arms. I dodged his hands. “Why?” Mira bit her lip, struggling to speak. “I’ve always had feelings for him…” I slapped her across the face. Coran shielded her behind him, his eyes cold as ice: “I’m a man, and I have needs. Isn’t this arrangement better? She’s your sister—we’re all family. Would you rather I cheated with some stranger?”

I stood frozen in place, my throat feeling like it was stuffed with cotton. Coran sighed helplessly and gently wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes. “Rowenna, it’s just your pregnancy hormones making you overthink everything. Don’t get so upset—it’s bad for the baby.” The familiar features before me suddenly seemed like a stranger’s. So he did remember I was still pregnant. Mira scrambled up and headed to the kitchen, her legs still trembling as she walked. “Rowenna, what would you like to eat? I’ll make it for you…” Their concerned expressions made me feel like everything that just happened was a dream. “When did it start?” Coran frowned slightly. “January 25th. That day you went for your prenatal checkup and asked Mira to bring me some documents. I couldn’t control myself…” The bright red hickeys on his neck stung my eyes. The baby in my belly kicked me again. My back hurt so much I couldn’t straighten up, and tears fell in heavy drops onto the floor. So it was that day. I had taken a taxi to the hospital alone, waited in line, got my number, went through the checkup. I asked Coran if he could come with me, but he said he had work matters at the pack that needed his attention. I asked my sister if she could help me, but she said after delivering the documents, a friend needed her help. My legs were swollen during pregnancy, and someone bumped into me at the hospital. I almost had a miscarriage. The two people closest to me were locked in passion on his office desk. And I kept making excuses for him, thinking he was just too busy. I never imagined he was busy in my own sister’s bed. It turned out I was the only fool. Coran suddenly crouched down and rubbed my legs. “If you hadn’t found out, you wouldn’t be sad. Wouldn’t it be better to just keep playing dumb?” “Every time we had sex, we deliberately chose hotels far from home so the mate bond wouldn’t affect you and make you uncomfortable.” My stomach churned, and I kicked him hard in the chest. “Coran, you disgust me!” He took advantage of the momentum to help me onto the couch. “If this makes you feel better, you can kick me a few more times.” As I struggled, my hand touched something on the couch. I lifted it to see—a pair of torn stockings. The blood in my body seemed to turn ice cold. Coran looked like he wanted to say something but stopped. Mira walked out carrying soup, saw what was in my hand, and her face went white. She rushed forward to explain in a panic. “Rowenna, it’s not what you think…” Coran calmly took the stockings, his tone casual. “No need to make such a fuss. Yesterday you said you were going back to your mother’s house and wouldn’t be home that night. That evening I tried something new with your sister on the couch. Not only that, we also went to the bedroom and had sex on your marriage bed. I have to say, it was pretty thrilling.” Tears blurred my vision. I suddenly stood up and rushed into the bathroom, vomiting violently. Outside the door came Mira’s worried voice. “Rowenna, are you okay? Coran’s just talking nonsense. Don’t get upset. Your health is most important—you still have a baby inside you.” The nausea only deepened. I looked at my swollen belly in despair. Why did it have to be at eight months? Why did it have to be Mira? Since childhood, I’d given in to her in everything. When her fated mate died, I stayed by her side through the night, constantly comforting her. She said my house was closer to her university, so I let her move into the villa I shared with Coran. The jewelry and luxury goods on her body—I bought them all for her. I opened the door and stared at Mira. “Haven’t I been good enough to you?” Mira ingratiatingly handed me a bowl of soup, her tone cautious. “Rowenna, please eat something. After you eat, we can talk, okay?” I knocked the soup bowl from her hands. The scalding liquid splashed on the back of her hand, turning it bright red. “I don’t need your fake kindness!” Mira’s eyes instantly reddened. “Rowenna, how can you say that about me!” Coran’s face darkened, glaring at me with displeasure. “If you’re angry, take it out on me. Mira’s just concerned about you. Do you have to make such a big deal out of nothing?” He rubbed his temples while gently wiping Mira’s tears. “See? I told you we couldn’t let Rowenna find out. Your parents were right—Rowenna’s temper is just difficult. If she knows, this household will be turned upside down.” Mira looked at me with tears in the corners of her eyes, her face full of grievance. I felt like I was choking. Since childhood, she’d always been like this. “I’m taking Mira to the hospital. You stay home and reflect on yourself!” He slammed the door so hard it shook. I slumped powerlessly into a chair, but soon a strange smell came from the kitchen. They’d left in such a hurry they hadn’t even turned off the gas… I struggled to move my body to open the door, only to discover that Coran had broken the lock when he slammed it. I desperately called Coran. Call after call, all rejected. Until the last one—he answered, his voice impatient. “Can you stop being so paranoid? Because of you, Mira cried herself hoarse, keep asking if Rowenna really hates her. She really cares about you.” I dragged my heavy pregnant belly, my whole body weak and powerless. “Coran, I…” “I’m busy comforting Mira. If there’s nothing else, I’m hanging up.” The phone went dead with a beeping sound. The smell of gas had almost filled the entire house. I finally felt despair. Coran, I won’t love you anymore.

When I woke up, my mom was lying by my bedside. Overcome with grievance and fear, I instinctively hugged her, my voice choked. “Mom…” “Coran cheated on me.” My mom interrupted my tearful complaint. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a giant hand. “It’s such a small thing. Do you really need to act like you want to die? What man doesn’t cheat?” I became emotional. “But the person he cheated with is…” Her tone was calm. “I know.” I looked up in disbelief at my mother’s murky eyes. No guilt whatsoever, only dissatisfaction with me. I grabbed my mother’s arm, my voice hoarse with emotion. “You know? You knew and you still…” “Your husband is an Alpha. His work is stressful and he needs an outlet. As his wife, you don’t understand him—fine.” “Outsiders cost money. Your sister is clean. Isn’t it good that she’s sharing the burden for you? What do you have to make a fuss about?” Her mouth opened and closed, every word scolding me for being unreasonable. My mind went blank. Even though I’d long known her favoritism had no bounds. Even though I’d long known Mira was the apple of her eye. I still couldn’t understand. I broke down, screaming and questioning her. I thought she could at least show some concern for me, but instead she said, “When I gave birth to you, my body was ruined because of you. You’ve been ungrateful since childhood, always fighting with Mira over things. Now you even want to fight with Mira over a man!” My fingernails almost drew blood. My father was the previous Beta of Bronzefang pack. He died when I was young in a Rogue attack. I was still immersed in the pain of losing my father when my mom came up and slapped me twice across the face, pointing at me and cursing: “I knew it—you’re nothing but bad luck! It wasn’t enough that you ruined my body when you were born. Now you’ve brought your curse to your father, making him die so young!” Later, when I was eighteen, I became the fated mate of Coran, an Alpha. After we married, I became the pack’s Luna. I thought my mom would stop calling me bad luck. I thought my mom would finally like me. But it turned out she’d always hoped it would be Mira who married Coran and became Luna. My phone buzzed with a notification—one of my special alerts. Mira had updated her social media: “Feeling down. Coran rented out the entire Ferris wheel just for me.” I was lying in the hospital from gas poisoning. My husband was accompanying my sister to the newest Western restaurant, taking her to the amusement park, riding the Ferris wheel with her. “If you can’t keep your Alpha’s heart, who can you blame?” My mother’s flippant mockery made my red, swollen eyes look especially ridiculous. When Coran and Mira came back, I was still in the hospital waiting to give birth. “Rowenna, I’m so sorry. I forgot to turn off the gas when I was cooking. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have…” Mira cried pitifully, but I didn’t even bother to look at her. She cried harder. “Coran, is Rowenna mad at me? I’m so stupid—I can’t even handle such a small thing.” Coran comforted her gently. “It’s not your fault.” He looked at me, seemingly displeased with my attitude. “Rowenna, Mira is apologizing to you. Are you deaf?” I suddenly felt like laughing, but tears fell against my will. Coran realized his tone was too harsh and softened it. He pulled out two stuffed animals. “I know this scared you. I asked the doctor—you and the baby are fine. Mira is still young. She even brought you the stuffed animals you like.” The gemstone necklace on Mira’s neck was blindingly conspicuous. It was the wedding gift I’d asked Coran for over a year. To this day, my neck remained empty. Did I only deserve these cheap dolls? I bit my lip almost hard enough to draw blood. “In what capacity are you speaking for Mira? Brother-in-law? Lover?” Coran’s expression gradually darkened. He let out a cold laugh. “No wonder your mom doesn’t like you.” “Mira is sunny and cheerful, unlike you—petty, narrow-minded. If I were your mom, I would also…” I looked up in disbelief. Coran’s eyes showed panic. “That’s not what I meant…” For as long as I could remember, my mom hadn’t liked me. Even when there were two chicken drumsticks, she’d give both to Mira. When I was little, every friend I made would be drawn to Mira and become her friend instead. Every night in the quiet darkness, I hated myself for not being as likable as Mira. It was Coran’s appearance that told me even if I wasn’t perfect, he would always stand by my side. But now, even he was standing on Mira’s side. My tears flowed like an opened faucet, uncontrollable. I broke down, grabbing things and throwing them at him. “Get out! Just get out!” Over the next few days, probably out of guilt, Coran and Mira came to the hospital to see me every other day. Baby diapers and wipes, all kinds of pregnancy nutrition meals—an endless stream. “Rowenna, didn’t you say before that you really liked this necklace? I bought it specially for you.” The necklace I’d wanted for so long was placed in my palm by Coran, but it felt cold all the way to my heart. One year and three months. He knew I liked it, but never thought to buy it for me. I lifted my head and finally said the words I’d been holding in my heart.

“Let’s get divorced.” We spoke at the same time. I looked up in shock, only to see Coran’s face light up with joy. “That’s great! Rowenna, you know?” Confusion flashed across my face. Coran had already pulled out divorce papers. “This is the divorce agreement. If everything looks good, just sign it.” “After all, we as a married couple owe Mira. I’ll marry her, and you’ll give up your Luna position to her so she can participate in pack affairs as Luna. Consider it compensation.” “Don’t worry, we won’t break the mate bond. You’ll still technically be my wife. I’ll take care of you anyway. Being a housewife from now on isn’t bad.” By the time I finished signing, I finally processed what Coran had said. “Coran, do you remember what you promised me?” Coran paused, seemingly trying to recall. Clearly, he’d forgotten. When I spent two years trying to conceive, drinking countless potions from witches and taking countless fertility shots before finally having this child, he’d promised me, “You’ve sacrificed so much for me. I’ll make sure you become the most respected and happiest Luna among all the packs.” Now he wanted a divorce and to make Mira the new Luna. The door opened and Mira walked in. “Rowenna, are you feeling better?” Coran warned me with his eyes not to say anything. I smiled with tears in my eyes. “How can I be better with a bitch like you around? Seducing my husband wasn’t enough—now you want to steal my Luna position. Mira, you’re shameless beyond belief.” Her face went white as a sheet. Tears fell like broken pearls. Coran’s face darkened. “Rowenna!” “Am I wrong? She’s barely in her twenties and already knows how to climb into her own brother-in-law’s bed! Isn’t that slutty?” I raised my voice. People around us looked at her with mockery. Coran pulled her into his arms and sneered at me. “Who’s more slutty than you? At eighteen, you went to a bar and someone drugged you with an aphrodisiac. I took you to the hospital, but you refused treatment and insisted on having sex with me in the woods…” Contemptuous ridicule echoed around us. My face went from pale to red. I lunged at him in fury. Mira suddenly blocked his path and took the slap. “Rowenna, if you’re going to blame someone, blame me. Everything is my fault. Coran already works so hard.” “Rowenna, what’s wrong with you!” Pain flashed in Coran’s eyes as he pushed me away roughly. My belly hit the corner of the table hard. Blood spread beneath me. Coran shouted for a doctor in shock. Mira cried and hit Coran. “Rowenna, I didn’t mean to. Please don’t let anything happen to you…” Coran watched with tears as I was wheeled into the operating room. In the darkness, surgical clamps spread me open—a tearing pain. I cried my heart out. My life flashed before my eyes like a panorama. It was eighteen-year-old Coran on the grass, fingers intertwined with mine. “Rowenna, I’ll treat you well for a lifetime.” A lifetime—it turned out to only be seven years…

The baby was born premature and went into an incubator. Coran gripped my hand guiltily, his eyes red. “Rowenna, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to push you. When this summer ends, I’ll make Mira leave our house.” I turned to the side, tears flowing silently. After being discharged, Coran locked me in the house. He even hid my phone. The first day, they only brought three meals. I held my newborn baby and cried inconsolably. The second day, I smashed everything in the room and cut my hand. The third day, Coran finally came to see me. I broke down and demanded to know why he wouldn’t even give me the right to move freely. He frowned as he bandaged my hand, his expression helpless. “You’re too emotional right now. I’m afraid you’ll go out and ruin Mira’s reputation. She’s still a young woman. We can’t let your temper destroy her life, can we?” Mira beside him gave me a sympathetic look. “Rowenna, don’t worry. I’ll definitely be a good Luna for Bronzefang pack. I’ll help maintain your friendships too.” My heart felt like a piece of flesh had been carved out. I looked disheveled, my face bloodless. “Coran, what gives you the right to let someone else replace my life! Is this what you call love?” Coran froze for a moment, his patience exhausted. “When you learn how to be a gracious mother, I’ll naturally let you out.” He wanted me to learn to be a gracious mother while stripping away my marriage, my work, my freedom. Meanwhile, Mira enjoyed everything that should have been mine under his protection. I covered my face, laughing until tears streamed down. The baby beside me suddenly began wailing. I touched the child’s burning forehead, my heart twisting with pain. “Coran, let me out! Jack has a fever!” I pounded on the door hysterically, my nails leaving bloody scratches. The crying finally brought Coran. He frowned. “What are you making a fuss about now?” I begged without dignity. “Coran, please look at Jack. He’s your son! He could really die!” Hesitation and conflict flashed in his eyes. “But…” My mother suddenly entered. She glanced once and said flatly, “Making a big deal out of nothing. You had fevers when you were little too. Some fever medicine will be fine. You’re making such a scene—could it be because… today Mira is giving her speech as the new Luna? You wouldn’t be trying to sabotage her work, would you?” Coran’s expression instantly darkened. “Rowenna, enough is enough. When did you become so unreasonable? Using even your son as an excuse.” I laughed until my whole body shook. “I’m unreasonable?” He looked puzzled. “Mira is your sister. Why can she accept all this, but you can’t?” It was as if my breakdown and helplessness were trivial in Coran’s eyes. He took a phone call, a smile spreading across his face as he strode away. “Mom, Mira’s speech is about to start. Let’s go.” I looked at the child in my arms, his face flushed red. As if I couldn’t feel pain, I desperately kicked down the door. But I was covered in blood. Drivers who passed by didn’t dare let me in their cars. When I finally got a ride, I realized Coran had confiscated my phone, and I had no bank cards or cash—no way to pay. The driver kicked me out. By the time a kind person took me to the hospital, the doctor shook his head helplessly. “Why didn’t you bring him sooner? The child was already premature. You’re too careless as a mother.” Holding my child’s cold body as I returned home, my heart dead as ashes, I lit a fire. In the flames, the roar of a helicopter was particularly harsh. A figure slowly walked toward me… “I’m sorry. I came too late.”

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To save my fiancée Angela from a raging fire, seventy percent of my skin was burned. Angela spared no expense, hiring Europe’s top plastic surgery specialists to treat me. She flew to Europe countless times each month to stay with me. Until I recovered and returned to America, wanting to surprise her, I overheard a man outside her office saying: “You’ve done more than enough. You don’t owe him anything anymore.” Angela said nothing. The next moment, a little girl pushed past me and rushed into the office: “Mom, are you going to leave me and Dad? Who is this homewrecker trying to steal you away?” My heart jolted. When did Angela have a child? That brief moment felt like an entire century. Just then, someone came to report to Angela. They gave me a strange look before pushing open the office door. The instant our eyes met, I caught a flash of panic in Angela’s gaze. “Fernandez, you’re back.” Angela quickly composed herself and came forward to take my hand. She gripped too hard. A burning pain shot through the back of my hand, and bright red blood stained her pale fingers. Before I could react, something struck my shin. Then came a tearing pain. “You bad person, stay away from my mom!” The little girl’s shrill voice rang in my ears. Before she finished speaking, the man beside her immediately scooped her up. The girl’s features looked remarkably like Angela’s. When I looked at the man’s face, I froze. He looked seventy to eighty percent similar to me. The excruciating pain in my body made it impossible to think. I could only stare dumbly at everything before me. Who were these two people? A massive unease engulfed me. I slowly withdrew my hand from Angela’s grip and looked at her helplessly, hoping she would explain. But she had no time for me. Her brow furrowed tightly, her voice tinged with anger: “Bridges George, take Ellis away.” What a coincidence—he shared my surname too? Bridges looked aggrieved. The little girl called Ellis was startled into silence, looking completely dazed. But I knew very clearly that Angela felt guilty. The fiercer her words, the more panicked her heart. Bridges pressed his lips together, his eyes full of stubbornness. He held out for a while before finally carrying Ellis away. But he wasn’t watching where he was going, and the father and daughter crashed hard into the wall. The pain from her forehead made Ellis burst into tears, releasing all her pent-up grievances. Angela hesitated at first, but when she saw Bridges’s reddened forehead, she immediately stepped past me. She tenderly rubbed Bridges’s forehead, no longer sparing even half a thought for me. I stood there stupidly. When I looked up, I saw Bridges watching me with mockery. The corner of his mouth curved slightly in a provocative and contemptuous smile. Looking at that face so similar to mine, my heart felt heavy, as if something inside had died completely. I left the office in a daze and returned home alone, only to be locked out. Hearing the “incorrect password” message, my heart felt sour and swollen, an indescribable feeling. With a click, my father opened the door from inside. A flash of panic and guilt crossed his eyes, as if I’d come at the wrong time. The house was brightly lit. The table was laden with sumptuous dishes. Six chairs were arranged around the dining table, with a baby high chair placed beside one of them. Three elderly people were chatting and laughing, bustling about inside. They were my mother and Angela’s parents. When they saw me with my suitcase, the smiles on their faces instantly froze. After an awkward silence, my mother was the first to speak: “Fernandez is back? You should have told us you were coming.” Her voice carried both complaint and reproach, but no warmth. Looking at her, I suddenly remembered these past five years, enduring pain alone in a European hospital. And my parents seemed to have rarely cared about me. So much so that they hadn’t even noticed the doctor had already informed them of my discharge. I stared hard at the six chairs around the dining table, my heart dark and confused. “Fernandez?” Angela’s voice came from behind me. I turned to see the intimate figures of their family of three. Bridges held Ellis with one hand while his other arm wrapped intimately around Angela’s waist. The instant I turned around, Angela hastily broke free from Bridges’s embrace.

My parents shot me a reproachful look the moment they saw them. Then their eyes filled with immense joy and affection. “You’re back.” My father stepped forward and familiarly took the child from Bridges’s arms. At that moment, I had to admit it. After five years away, my place had been completely taken by Bridges. Only after everyone had entered the house did Angela realize I was still standing outside. Looking somewhat embarrassed, she pulled me inside: “Wait a moment, I’ll get you a chair.” “Angela, I’ll do it.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Bridges stopped Angela’s movement. He shot me a triumphant look. I lowered my eyes. From the earlier pulling, my grotesque skin showed spots of blood. “Fernandez is back.” Only Angela’s father offered an awkward smile and small talk. I forced the corners of my mouth up with difficulty but said nothing. At that moment, Bridges came over with a stool. “Sorry, Fernandez, I really couldn’t find a chair. It’s all my fault. Why don’t you take my chair?” Though he said this, his eyes held no trace of apology. “Enough. He has hands and feet. You even brought him a stool—what face does he have to blame you?” My dad interrupted impatiently. I hadn’t said a word since entering, yet I seemed to have done everything wrong. “Let’s eat.” I sat awkwardly on that stool in the corner. Looking at the seafood feast on the table, I didn’t know what to eat. “Can you please eat properly? Who are you putting on that pitiful act for?” My dad sounded impatient. Angela cut a piece of fish for me: “Try this. The housekeeper’s cooking is excellent.” Looking at that bright, colorful piece of fish in my bowl, I only felt my mouth growing more bitter: “I’m allergic to seafood.” At the dining table, Angela’s face stiffened, her eyes filled with guilt and panic. Five years was simply too long. She had forgotten. “I’m full. I’m going to rest now.” In the end, I was the one who broke the oppressive silence. Only to discover that everyone looked even more embarrassed. “My room—is it gone too?” Angela was silent for a moment: “Your room has the best lighting. Bridges’s health isn’t good…” So he’d occupied my room. “And you came back too suddenly. We haven’t had time to clean the guest room. How about you stay in the living room tonight?” A massive dizziness swept through my mind. “So my room—you and he are living in it?” I suppressed the anger inside me and asked word by word. Angela froze. All these years, she’d told herself that Bridges was just a substitute, but she didn’t realize that everything she’d done for Bridges had broken her own principles. At this moment, faced with my questioning, she suddenly didn’t know how to defend herself. Angela’s silence dealt me a heavy blow. “Are you two married?” I asked an irrelevant question. Angela instinctively shook her head. I laughed bitterly. Not married, yet they could sleep together and even had a child. It turned out Angela’s conservatism was only directed at me. An inexplicable rage surged from my heart. The immense anger made me extraordinarily strong. I flipped the dining table with one motion: “Get out.”

Everyone was startled by my sudden fury, frozen in place. “Fernandez George!” My father roared. “You…” He was about to curse at me, but when he saw my bleeding arms, he swallowed all those harsh words. He looked at me with complex emotions and let out a long sigh. For a moment, in that huge house, only Ellis’s wailing could be heard. “Fernandez, I know you can’t stand me, but Angela just got pregnant. She can’t handle being frightened!” Bridges tenderly stroked Angela’s abdomen and shot me a provocative look before continuing: “And Ellis—she’s still so young. What if she gets traumatized?” “If you have any grievances, take them out on me!” My mother came forward, somewhat at a loss: “Fernandez, let me bandage you first. Tonight… just make do for now.” “Tomorrow I’ll prepare a welcome party for you. Everyone will be so happy to know you’re back.” After all that, in my own house, I was still the one who had to “make do.” At that moment, I suddenly felt tired. I sat back down on the sofa without another word. But Bridges still wouldn’t let me go. In the middle of the night, I sat blankly on the sofa when I suddenly heard a soft laugh. I looked up to see Bridges. He was holding a glass of hot water, leaning against the doorframe, his eyes full of mockery: “I hope Angela’s carrying a son. That way we’ll have both a son and a daughter.” Seeing my lack of reaction, Bridges intensified his efforts. “You don’t know this, do you? Angela and I got together while you were still unconscious.” “Oh, and this.” He displayed the watch on his wrist. My pupils contracted. My heart throbbed with pain. That was the heirloom my grandfather left me on his deathbed. Five years ago, to save Angela, the strap had broken. Seeing my reaction, the malice in Bridges’s eyes became even more obvious: “Fernandez George, do you know how disgusting you are right now?” “She said just looking at you once makes her lose her appetite for three days.” “You’re already like that—why can’t you be more self-aware and break off the engagement yourself?” He started rambling about his efforts over the years. He was my uncle’s son, but my uncle was incompetent. Though he was the eldest, he lost to my father. He squandered the family fortune, dying young and full of regrets. When he was young, what he heard most was his father cursing mine. He said it was lucky I got burned, giving him the chance to return to the George family. In the future, not just the George family, but even the Angela family would be his. “Then what are you so worried about?” I interrupted him. “Since the George family and Angela’s family no longer have a place for me, what are you so worried about?” Bridges’s triumphant expression froze. Then his gaze turned cold as he looked at me: “I’ll show you exactly what your position is in this family now.”

With that, he walked to my side, released his hand, and deliberately fell to the ground. “Crash!” Along with the sound of the glass hitting the floor, Bridges let out a scream. Soon, everyone came out. Seeing the blood from glass cuts on Bridges’s foot, everyone’s faces changed drastically. “To the hospital!” My father’s brow furrowed tightly, his eyes showing an urgency and ferocity I’d never seen before. “If you have grievances, take them out on me! Why do you have to turn this house into chaos?” My breathing caught. My heart was squeezed tight by an invisible hand. Grievance, pain, anger, despair. Angela slapped me across the face, then helped Bridges out the door. My mother kept pounding on my chest, completely oblivious that the spot she was hitting had already begun to seep with traces of blood. “Why didn’t you just die five years ago? Are you alive just to torture us?” “If you have grievances, take them out on me! Bridges is innocent!” I stood there numbly. The pain in my heart had long since overwhelmed my physical wounds. Where no one could see, Bridges flashed me a provocative smile. I felt cold all over. The huge house returned to silence. In this place where only I remained, I quietly took out my phone, which was still recording. The next day, my parents acted as if nothing had happened, discussing details of the welcome party with me. But my heart felt no ripples whatsoever. The party was held in the George family garden, where there was a large swimming pool. At the banquet, I watched Bridges skillfully conversing with friends I used to be close with. The whole event felt absurd and laughable. Now in everyone’s eyes, Bridges was the George family’s favored son, the company’s legitimate heir. My heart ached numbly, especially when my father publicly announced he would divide the company shares between Bridges and me. Me: 1%. Bridges: 10%. In that instant, I became the biggest joke. “How pathetic.” “A homeless dog.” “He’s a废person. What use are shares to him?” “If you ask me, he shouldn’t have saved Angela back then. Who knows how much the George family could have developed by now.” Mockery, schadenfreude, mixed with a few words of pity and regret. The next second, Bridges walked toward me with a wine glass, looking triumphant. Everyone around watched with anticipation for the show. “Fernandez, congratulations.” A mocking smile played on his lips. I pressed my lips together and said nothing. Bridges’s eyes flashed darkly. The next second, he slipped, and the wine in his hand spilled all over me without missing a drop. Even more onlookers photographed my disheveled state, pointing and commenting. Angela tried to come forward to help me out of the situation, but I pushed her away. She looked somewhat confused, standing in place. Seeing I wanted to leave, Bridges wasn’t willing to let me go so easily. He followed close behind me to the poolside. “Did you enjoy the welcome ceremony I prepared for you?” Then he revealed a malicious smile. “Guess who they’ll save?” With that, he pulled me into the pool with him. The water in the pool was so cold. The pungent smell of chlorine constantly irritated my nose and skin. The stiffness in my limbs made even struggling difficult. On the other side, Bridges pretended his foot had slipped, putting on an act of drowning. He kept struggling, kept shouting. My consciousness gradually blurred as I slowly sank to the bottom. Meanwhile, Bridges continued struggling with all his might. Everyone rushed over. Angela jumped into the water without hesitation and swam straight to Bridges, rescuing him. My parents only gathered around Bridges, concerned about him. Completely forgetting that their own biological son was still in the water. Before I completely lost consciousness, I seemed to see a figure swimming toward me.

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