Category: English

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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The day after the locks were changed, I posted a message in the company-wide Slack channel. “If anyone needs a spare key to the penthouse, please come see me directly.” When my phone screen lit up, I was staring blankly at the steaming water in the clawfoot tub, precisely 98 degrees. The message from the intern felt like a needle pressed into my pupil. “Hey Oliver, Serena actually gave me a spare key a few days ago. She said it would make things more efficient.” Efficient? The corner of my mouth twitched. My gaze drifted to the bowl of slow-simmered beef consommé on the nightstand, still radiating a faint warmth. My mind kept looping back to that strand of chestnut hair I’d found caught in the shower drain this morning. Coarse, wavy—entirely different from my own straight, ink-black hair. The mystery of the missing spare key from the entryway console finally had an answer. Last night, when Serena told me she’d lost her set, the sizzle of the steak in the kitchen had drowned out my doubt. She always used the keypad. Now, I realized her casual “I lost them” had been as calculated and light as a feather. I hung my suit jacket on the mahogany valet, watching my shadow stretch long across the hardwood floor. On the brass key rack, the silver fob was indeed gone. … The moment Serena walked through the door, her face was a mask of cold fury. “Oliver, have you lost your mind? What the hell was that message in the Slack channel? Do you have any idea what people are saying about him now?” I set the soup spoon down and looked at her, my gaze unwavering. “Why did you lie to me about losing the keys?” She froze. After a long beat, she exhaled, her voice dropping an octave into a deceptive softness. “Milo is my personal assistant, Oliver. Giving him a key was about logistics, nothing more. I only told you I lost them because I didn’t want you overthinking things. Are you really going to be this reactive?” I was silent for a few seconds. When I spoke, my voice was a raspy ghost of itself. “Should I just give him my set too, then?” “Oliver!” Serena’s voice sharpened, hitting the ceiling. “Milo left the office in tears this afternoon. He’s my employee, period. Can you please stop being so paranoid?” “Then how do you explain the handprints on the glass in the steam shower?” “What handprints?” I grabbed her hand and led her toward the master bath, pointing at the glass partition. But the surface was pristine. Empty. Serena wrenched her hand away, letting out a sharp, mocking breath. “I’m not doing this with you. Don’t let it happen again. Go fix your head.” Ten minutes later, I was removed from the company Slack. A notification popped up on my phone: my position as the “Executive Liaison”—a title she’d given me to justify my presence in her life—had been terminated. The grayed-out group icon and the termination notice felt like two successive slaps across the face. My skin burned. The aroma of the beef consommé drifted from the kitchen, but suddenly, it made my stomach turn. Two thousand, four hundred and eighty-five days. I was still waiting for the marriage certificate she had promised me years ago. Instead, I got a front-row seat to her publicly defending another man. My mind drifted back to the year my father jumped from his office window and my mother vanished into the night. Serena had been the one to hold me, her eyes red with a fierce vow. “Listen to me, Oliver. Even if the whole world turns its back on you, you have me. I can’t be a surgeon anymore, but I can sell the tech. I can build us a home. We’ll have a balcony full of flowers—you’ll plant hydrangeas, I’ll keep the succulents. We’ll have a life. A real one.” Back then, my heart ached with a gratitude so deep it was indistinguishable from love. I couldn’t say no to the woman who had lost the dexterity in her hands—the hands of a prodigy surgeon—saving me from that car wreck. So I stayed. I transformed from a concert pianist with a promising career into her high-end housekeeper, her personal chef, her shadow. Massages, gourmet meals, managing her social calendar—my entire existence was filtered through Serena. My mother hadn’t understood. “Is it worth throwing away your life’s ambition for her?” I had been so certain when I answered. But now, looking at Serena’s beautiful, increasingly distant face under the warm glow of the chandelier, I realized I had been catastrophically wrong. We settled into a cold war. She stopped coming home, though I still had the driver deliver her meals like clockwork. Meanwhile, Milo’s Instagram became a broadcast of my displacement. He posted a photo of the executive lounge door; a pair of black leather slippers sat by the threshold. They weren’t my size, and they certainly weren’t Serena’s style. Then came a photo of a new set of stoneware soup bowls—dark, masculine, nothing like the ones Serena usually preferred. In the photo, they were sharing a meal, their blurred reflections caught in the window, smiling at each other. Milo’s caption read: “Hearty soup with my favorite person. Some vintage relics are just meant to be replaced.” I had spent four hours slow-roasting the bones for that soup. The bowl they’d discarded was part of a set I’d bought her seven years ago for our first anniversary. The comments were a bloodbath of subtext. “Is the CEO finally trading up? This looks like a much better match than the last one.” Serena didn’t argue. She simply “liked” the comment. In the warmth of our living room, with the central heating humming perfectly, I felt a bone-deep chill. It was that casual, effortless “like” that did it. Seven years of giving everything I was, and I was just a “vintage relic” in the eyes of others, and a “previous model” to her. A notification pinged. Milo had tagged me in a post. “Oliver, I’m so sorry about the misunderstanding! I accidentally spilled something on my shirt the other day and had to use your shower. Please don’t be hard on Serena because of me.” “Serena said she’s added my biometrics to the smart-lock system now, so I don’t have to bother you for keys anymore…” followed by a smug emoji. He had every reason to be smug. On the surface, it was an apology. In reality, it was a flag planted in my territory, letting everyone know whose side Serena was on. A mutual friend commented: “Is this an apology or a victory lap? Serena, you’re really letting this slide?” Another replied: “Let it slide? Can’t you see the ‘Mr. CEO’ position is up for grabs?” Serena remained silent in the threads, but under the comment about “replacing the man of the house,” she posted a single smiling face. I stared at the screen until my eyes blurred with a stinging heat. I exited the app, opened the smart-home security settings, and deleted my own fingerprint from the system. I left only hers and his. Serena wanted to swap me out. And frankly, I was tired of being the help. That night, Serena finally came home. Her expression was neutral, but her eyes held a strange, bright intensity. She thrust a vintage leather-bound book of sheet music into my lap. “I told you I’d find this for you. Keep it.” She pushed me gently onto the sofa and sat down at the Steinway in the corner. Her back was to me, her shoulders hunched as she clumsily hunted for the notes with her scarred hands. If this had been a month ago, I would have been like Milo—I would have taken a photo and captioned it: “She’s trying so hard just to make me smile!” But now, I just asked quietly, “When did it start?” The piano went silent. Serena turned around, her brow furrowed into a tight knot. “I explained it. I even humbled myself to apologize. Oliver, what more do you want?” I looked her straight in the eyes. “There’s a pair of men’s slippers in your office. A new bottle of cologne in your gym bag. A high-end gaming console in the guest room. And the drawer in the nightstand? It’s full of a brand of protection we’ve never used. Your closet—” “Enough!” The silence that followed was deafening, filled only by our jagged breathing. Serena stood up after a few seconds. The sheet music was crumpled in her grip, her knuckles white. She looked at me with a cold, condescending disappointment. “Oliver, I’m starting to wonder if your father’s instability was genetic. What’s next? Are you going to threaten to jump off a balcony to guilt me?” “Like your father did when he found out your mother was leaving?” The words hit me like a physical explosion. My heart felt like it had been ripped open. I expected her to argue, to deny, to lie. I never imagined she would reach into my chest and twist the oldest, rawest scar I had. “In the adult world, we don’t say everything out loud. It’s called grace,” she said, her voice icy. “Whatever I do outside this house doesn’t change the fact that you were always going to be the man I married. I ruined my hands for you. I gave up being a surgeon for you. What else could you possibly want?” “Milo using the shower was a lapse in judgment, fine. He apologized. Let it go. Stop acting like a martyr.” The louder she spoke, the more clinical her gaze became. She framed it as if I were the one being unfaithful, the one being unreasonable. I looked at her and realized she wasn’t hiding out of guilt. She was acting out of the absolute certainty that I had nowhere else to go. She believed she owned me because I was “broken” without her. My throat felt constricted. I didn’t say another word. She remembered her ruined hands. She remembered her lost career. But she had conveniently forgotten that I had ruined my own hands too—not in a crash, but in the slow, agonizing death of a thousand chores, tending to her every whim until my technique was a memory. After she retreated to the bedroom, I sat at the piano. I pressed a key, then another. The notes were there, but the soul was gone. Later that night, I heard the front door click. Serena had slipped out. I opened my eyes in the dark. A few minutes later, Milo posted again. Five photos. Each one showed a drone-light display over the city skyline. Together, they spelled out: “SERENA LOVES MILO.” I had seen that same display three years ago. It was the night Serena’s company went public. She had given me the deed to the penthouse and a balcony filled with roses, peonies, and succulents. She had yelled into the night: “I kept my promise, Oliver! I’ll love you forever!” The woman was the same. The recipient had changed. My phone vibrated. A text from my mother. I turned off the phone, pulled my suitcase from under the bed, and began to pack. My clothes went in first. Everything else—the gifts, the mementos—went into the trash. When Serena returned the next morning, she saw the suitcase by the door. She loosened her silk tie, a mocking smirk playing on her lips. “And where do you think you’re going?” “On a trip.” “A trip?” She laughed as if I’d told a joke. “You’ve waited on me hand and foot for seven years. You haven’t spent a single night away from this house. You think you can just leave?” “Oliver, if this is some play to make me crawl back to you, it won’t work.” “I don’t think I’m in the wrong here, and I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong with Milo. I’ve supported you for seven years. It’s time you grew up.” I didn’t argue. I didn’t even look at her. I just tucked the suitcase back into the closet for now. It felt light—empty, almost. Just like the house I’d lived in for seven years, and the marriage I’d been waiting for. I thought it was a sanctuary; it was just a cage. Serena nodded, satisfied. “Good. You’re learning.” “Nobody else in this world is going to give you a home like this, Oliver. You should be grateful for what you have.” Her words were cold, punctuated by the faint scent of a strawberry-flavored vape—Milo’s brand—clinging to her hair. My heart gave one last, dull throb of pain. “Just remember, you aren’t that shining star on the stage anymore. You’re just my domestic partner. A man who’s lost his edge. Stay quiet, stay obedient, and I’ll keep taking care of you…” Her voice drifted off as she turned on the shower. I couldn’t hear the rest, but I’d heard enough. I smiled to myself. She didn’t know that my passport and essentials were already in that bag. I wasn’t staying because I was “grateful.” I was staying because my flight wasn’t until the day after tomorrow. The next day, Serena called me—a rarity. Her voice was uncharacteristically soft. “The annual gala is tonight. The board and the investors all want to finally meet you.” She let out a small, flirtatious laugh. “Come. Use the opportunity. Propose to me in front of them. Let’s make it official.” My heart skipped a beat, then went flat. No excitement. No joy. But I agreed. Not because I had hope. But because after seven years of giving her my soul, I wanted a definitive ending. That evening, she sent a courier with a gift. A vintage-style leather watch strap and a tailored black tuxedo. My favorite color. My exact size. A ghost of warmth flickered in my chest. When the double doors of the ballroom opened and I walked toward the center of the room, I froze. In the center of the gala floor, on a platform draped in white orchids, stood Serena. She was wearing a stunning black diamond-encrusted gown and a sapphire pendant. And Milo was there, down on one knee, holding a ring box. The flashes of the cameras were blinding. The roar of congratulations felt like a tidal wave crashing over me. I should have been devastated. But I wasn’t. I just felt a profound sense of “of course.” Seeing me, Serena stepped off the platform and hurried over. She kept her voice low, urgent. “This proposal is just for show, Oliver. It’s for Milo’s birthday wish. He needs a ‘best man’ to stand with him for the photos. Just play along for tonight. I’ll explain everything when we get home.” She didn’t even realize how insane she sounded. She shoved me toward the platform, positioning me right next to Milo. And so, I stood there. The actual partner of seven years, forcing a smile for the cameras. I watched the woman I loved take the engagement ring I had picked out months ago and let another man slide it onto her finger. I watched them gaze into each other’s eyes. I watched them embrace and kiss while the room erupted in applause. I had dreamed of this moment. In my dreams, I was the one holding the ring. In reality, I was the prop. During the cocktail hour, Milo followed Serena around with a glass of custom-made ginger-infused water. It was my recipe—the one I’d perfected after dozens of tries to help with her chronic migraines. “You’ll be my ‘Water Man’ forever, won’t you?” she had once joked. Now, she’d given that recipe to him too. “The CEO and Mr. Milo are a match made in heaven,” a guest toasted. “I bet we’ll hear wedding bells and see a baby within a year.” “From your lips to God’s ears,” Serena laughed, raising her glass. Milo looked at me, his grin widening with triumph. He leaned in close under the cover of the noise. “Oliver, the proposal you waited seven years for? I got it with one little lie. You’re just as pathetic as your deadbeat dad. Why don’t you do the world a favor and follow in his footsteps?” His voice was low, but loud enough for Serena to hear. A few guests nearby went silent. Serena just sipped her wine, her eyes darting away, pretending she hadn’t heard a thing. I picked up a glass of red wine from a passing tray. I took a slow sip, then threw the rest of the glass directly into Milo’s smiling face. The room went dead silent. I turned to Serena. “Why did you really bring me here? To be a groomsman? To pass a loyalty test? Or just to be the punchline for your friends?” Serena’s face flushed with anger. “Oliver! I explained this to you! What the hell is wrong with you?” She stepped in front of Milo, shielding him. I didn’t look at her. “Whatever it was, you got what you wanted,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Serena, we’re done.”

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The rules of Truth or Dare have a brutal clarity on the final night of a reality dating show. The loser has to confess the story behind their most cherished gift. It was Janet who turned the spotlight on Parker, her eyes sparkling with a practiced, feline curiosity. She pointed to the faded red silk cord around his wrist—frayed, salt-worn, and looking entirely out of place against his designer watch. “A lucky charm from a secret lover?” she teased, her voice carrying that effortless flirtatiousness that had made her the season’s fan favorite. Every camera lens in the room pivoted. I felt my stomach drop, my fingers instinctively curling around the identical cord hidden beneath my own sleeve. I had spent an entire afternoon on my knees at a secluded chapel three years ago, praying for our future while that cord was blessed. Now, in front of millions of viewers, Parker didn’t even blink. “Just a lucky string my mom got me,” he said, his voice flat. “Nothing special.” As the group erupted into giggles, Parker reached down, untied the knot, and tossed the cord into the overflowing trash can next to the sofa. In the roar of the celebration, my fingertips went ice-cold. That discarded thread was supposed to bind our fates together. It turned out it couldn’t even hold his interest. When my phone buzzed with a new notification, for the first time in seven years, I didn’t check for his name. I tapped ‘send’ on a draft I’d been holding for weeks. And the recipient wasn’t Parker. 1 The production moved to the living area of the beach house. The air was thick with expensive perfume and the lingering scent of tequila. “Janet, you cheated back there,” the host said, wagging a finger. “Truth or Dare means you answer, not ask. That’s three penalty shots for you!” Janet let out a melodic laugh, pressing a hand to her chest as she leaned back. “Oh, I’m a total lightweight. I’ll be under the table. Parker, be a hero and save me?” The rest of the cast groaned in mock protest, but Janet’s eyes were locked on Parker, wide and pleading. It was the “damsel” act she’d perfected since Episode One. Without a word, Parker reached over, took the shot glass from her hand, and knocked it back. The second shot followed. Then the third. He slammed the empty glass onto the marble coffee table with a decisive clack. “Look at Mr. Knight-in-Shining-Armor,” another contestant smirked. “Confession Night isn’t until tomorrow, Parker. You’re making it a bit obvious, don’t you think?” Parker let out a faint, lopsided smile. “Just helping out a friend. It’s no big deal.” I watched him, a dull ache throbbing behind my ribs. I remembered our college graduation party—how I’d turned down a guy’s confession and the crowd tried to peer-pressure me into drinking. Parker had stood there with a dark scowl, silent. Later, when I’d had a single drink to be polite, he’d spent the rest of the night complaining about the smell of alcohol on my breath. But for Janet, he was a hero. For her, it was “no big deal.” I let out a short, jagged breath of a laugh. Parker’s gaze snapped to me. It was only for a second, but his eyes were hard, carrying a sharp flick of warning. Don’t ruin this, they said. I looked down, my thumb tracing the red cord on my wrist. “Rowan!” I looked up. The host was beaming at me. “Since Parker took the hit for Janet, her question is void. It’s your turn. You’ve been the quiet one all season. Tell us—what’s the most unforgettable gift you’ve ever received?” The room went quiet. Janet was practically draped over Parker’s shoulder now, her silk slip dress sliding dangerously low. Parker’s arm was stretched across the back of the sofa, almost—but not quite—circling her. I stayed silent for a few heartbeats. The bitter taste of irony was heavy on my tongue. “I have a red cord, too,” I said, my voice quiet but steady. “But it wasn’t from my mother.” The cameraman zoomed in. I didn’t look at Parker, but I could feel the air around him stiffen. “I hiked to a chapel in the mountains years ago to get it. It was supposed to ensure a ‘happily ever after’ with the person I loved.” I kept my eyes on the host, ignoring the way Parker’s hand clenched into a fist on his knee. Janet blinked, her expression a mask of manufactured sympathy. “That’s so romantic. So, did you end up with him?” I forced a smile, swallowing the salt in my throat. I looked her right in the eye. “Of course I did.” Parker suddenly broke into a fit of coughing, the veins in his neck bulging. As the others crowded around him with water, he shot me a look of pure venom. The conversation shifted, the laughter filled the room again, and the “quiet moment” was over. During a break in filming, I retreated to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Parker followed me. He used the open refrigerator door to shield us from the cameras, his voice a lethal whisper. “What the hell was that, Rowan?” “I was answering the question, Parker.” “That’s private. We agreed to keep our history out of this show. You’re going to blow everything.” He paused, his jaw tight. “I threw that cord away for the cameras. It’s a performance. Don’t make it more than it is.” I looked at him, really looked at him, and realized he had no idea how much of a stranger he’d become. I remembered the chapel priest telling me the cord only worked if the heart was sincere. I had knelt for four hours until my legs went numb. I thought I was being devout. I was just being a fool. “Parker,” I whispered. “Do you even remember you have a girlfriend?” Before he could answer, Janet’s voice drifted in from the hall. “Parker? Are you done with those fruit platters yet?” Parker’s entire demeanor shifted instantly. “Almost ready, Princess!” The tone was so natural, so intimately playful—a voice he hadn’t used with me in years. He finished rinsing the grapes and pushed past me, his shoulder clipping mine. “We’ll talk tomorrow when the cameras are off,” he muttered. I watched him set the platter down in front of Janet. She picked up a slice of starfruit, took a bite, and made a face. “Ugh, too sour.” Parker naturally reached out, took the half-eaten fruit from her hand, and finished it himself. I finished my water and looked away. It was time for the final segment of the night: The “Ship Highlights.” 2 The production team projected the “High-Sweet Moments” onto a massive screen. This was the part where the audience’s favorite pairings were showcased, and we had to vote on which couple had the most “chemistry.” The winners would get a “Special Privilege” for the final confession night. Parker and Janet’s first date took up the most screen time. They were at an archery range. Parker was standing behind her, his chest pressed against her back, his hands over hers as he helped her draw the bow. His chin was practically resting on her shoulder. “Lift your elbow,” he whispered on screen. “Control your breathing.” The live-stream comments scrolled past in a blur of heart emojis. OMG, this is literally a Rom-Com. Parker is so smooth. He knew exactly what he was doing picking this date! They look like a power couple. Look at that height difference! On screen, Janet let him “teach” her for a few minutes before smirking. She drew the bow back with perfect form and hit the bullseye. Parker looked stunned, stepping back as a look of genuine admiration flooded his face. “You knew how to do this the whole time?” Janet turned around, handing him the bow with a wink. “I had to give you a reason to put your arms around me, didn’t I?” The screen showed Parker’s ears turning bright red. He looked flustered, shy, and completely smitten. My heart felt like it was being scraped by a dull blade. I had only seen that look on him once before—the night of our high school graduation when we’d snuck into the equipment shed for our first real kiss. In the years since, he’d always said we were “adults now” and needed to “be professional” in public. He’d become so obsessed with his image as a rising songwriter that he’d pushed me into the shadows of his life. The comments were losing their minds. Get them a room! Janet is a literal queen of flirting. Parker is toast. Is this Parker’s first love? He looks so innocent! Even the other contestants were nodding along. “Why are we even voting?” one girl joked. “Just give them the privilege card now. Nobody can compete with that.” I sat in the corner of the sofa, a plush throw blanket pulled over my knees, my fingers white-knuckled as I gripped the fabric. Janet was leaning her head on Parker’s shoulder, whispering something that made him chuckle. “Wait, wait,” the host said, trying to maintain some suspense. “We have to see everyone’s clips. The underdog might still surprise us!” As the reels continued, the girl sitting next to me gasped. “You know, I just noticed something. Rowan, you barely have any solo screen time, but in every group shot, your eyes are always on one person.” The room went deathly silent. Parker’s hand, holding a glass of water, froze mid-air. The host leaned in, sensing blood in the water. “They say the eyes don’t lie. Who were you looking at, Rowan? Who’s the secret crush?” Parker was staring at me, his eyes wide with a desperate, silent plea: Don’t you dare. I let out a soft laugh. I let my gaze drift past Parker, past the cameras, to where Gordom was leaning against the far wall, a cup of black coffee in his hand. Gordom was the “dark horse” of the show—a quiet, brilliant architect who mostly stayed out of the drama. The host followed my gaze and let out an “O” of realization. “Oh! So Rowan has had her sights set on the quiet one all along. You’ve just been shy!” Gordom looked up, his dark eyes meeting mine. There was a flicker of something intense and unreadable in his expression. “I thought she liked—” someone started to say, but Parker cut them off by slamming his glass onto the table. The sharp clink made everyone jump. The crew handed out cards and pens. “Time to vote! Write down the couple with the most genuine connection.” I took my card. In my peripheral vision, I saw Parker writing quickly, his pen flying across the paper. I didn’t need to see it to know what name he was writing. The results were announced immediately. Parker and Janet: Seven votes. A clean sweep. “It’s official! Parker and Janet are the nation’s choice!” The room erupted. Janet turned to Parker with a look of triumph, and he didn’t pull away. He looked back at her with an intensity that felt like a physical blow to my chest. I took my blank card—the one where I hadn’t written a single name—folded it twice, and tucked it into my pocket. Nobody noticed. As the cameras cut, I started down the hall toward my room. I heard heavy footsteps behind me. Parker grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the shadows of the alcove under the stairs. “Since when do you have a thing for Gordom?” he hissed. I looked down at his hand on my wrist. “It’s just for the cameras, Parker. Isn’t that what you told me? Why are you so worked up?” 3 A flash of guilt—or maybe just annoyance—crossed Parker’s face. He didn’t let go. “Are you pissed about the vote?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “I told you a thousand times, the stuff with Janet is just branding. You saw the comments. The audience eats that shit up. It’s what my label wants.” He stepped closer, looming over me, his breath warm against my skin. Usually, this proximity would make my heart race. Now, I just felt tired. “You don’t have to explain,” I said. “I didn’t say anything on camera. Your ‘brand’ is safe.” I tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip. “We’ve been together for seven years, Rowan. You know how I feel about you. Why can’t you just trust me for once?” I’d heard that line so many times. He always framed my hurt as a “lack of trust,” making himself the victim of my “insecurity.” But he was the one who threw away the cord. He was the one who drank for Janet. He was the one who had spent six weeks flirting with another woman while I watched from the sidelines. “You’re right,” I said, my voice hollow. “I get it now.” He exhaled, looking relieved. He patted my shoulder as he walked past me. “Good. Just stick to the script.” That night, we were supposed to send our “Heartbeat Texts”—the daily anonymous message to our choice. Out of twenty-one nights, I had sent twenty to Parker. Tonight, the streak ended. The next morning was the final day of filming. The host gathered us in the courtyard. “For our final morning game, we’re doing a classic: Partner Push-ups. The winning pair gets a ‘Special Privilege’ card that could change everything for tonight’s Confession Gala.” The group buzzed with excitement. We all reached into a glass bowl to draw numbered balls for pairings. I was the last to draw. Ball number 3. Parker opened his palm. Ball number 3. The silence that followed was heavy. One of the other guys laughed nervously. “Maybe we should swap? Parker and Rowan haven’t really spent any time together. It’ll be awkward as hell to do partner push-ups.” Janet looked at Parker, a pout forming on her lips. “I don’t care about the rules, but I wonder who Parker would really want to partner with?” Everyone waited. Parker looked at me, his brow furrowed. “Rowan,” he said, his voice low. “Give your ball to Janet.” I looked at the number in my hand. Only last night, he was asking me to “trust his heart.” Now, he was asking me to hand my spot to the woman he was supposedly just “pretending” to like. “It’s just a game,” he added, his voice tinged with impatience. “Don’t take it so seriously.” I looked at him, and for the first time in seven years, the pedestal I’d put him on finally crumbled. He was right. It was just a game. I dropped the ball back into the bowl. “Fine. Take it.” Parker looked stunned for a split second. He probably expected me to put up a fight, to cry, to make a scene. But I was done fighting for a seat at a table where I wasn’t wanted. Suddenly, a hand reached into the bowl and tossed another ball back. “If Rowan is switching, I’m switching too,” Gordom said. He stepped forward, his gaze steady on mine. “Rowan, care to partner with me?” I looked up at him. “I’d love to.” Janet beamed and grabbed Parker’s arm. “Then it’s settled! Let’s go, Parker.” Parker didn’t move. He kept staring at me, his jaw working as if he wanted to scream. I didn’t give him the satisfaction. I walked over to Gordom. “You ever done these?” Gordom asked, his voice a warm baritone. “A few times.” “Do you want to be on top or bottom?” Someone in the back coughed. Gordom’s ears turned pink, and he quickly clarified, “I mean—for the weight distribution—” “It’s okay,” I laughed. “You do the work. I want to win.” He nodded. I lay down on the mat, and he positioned himself over me, his arms caging my body. By the twentieth push-up, his face was flushed, and I could feel the heat radiating off him. “If you’re uncomfortable… we can stop,” he whispered, his eyes locked on mine. “No,” I said, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I want to win.” From the next mat over, Janet’s giggles punctuated the air. “Slow down, Parker! Save some energy for later.” “Parker, you must work out all the time.” “Parker, do you need me to cheer louder?” Her voice was like a mosquito in my ear. I squeezed my eyes shut and gripped the edges of the mat. 4 Gordom won. His grey t-shirt was soaked with sweat, but he didn’t look tired. He looked triumphant. The host stepped forward with a flourish. “Gordom and Rowan take the prize! And here is your privilege card: The power to swap any person’s confession target tonight. The chosen person cannot refuse.” Janet’s eyes widened. Parker’s expression went from annoyed to borderline murderous. After the game, we were sent to our separate rooms to write our final confession letters. If a couple successfully “matched” tonight, they would be sent on an all-expenses-paid luxury date. I sat at my vanity, the blank card staring back at me. I didn’t hesitate. I wrote the name and tucked the card away. There was a knock at the door. Parker walked in without waiting. “Rowan, about tonight… please,” he started. “Don’t pick me.” The words were short, but they hit me like a physical weight. I held my breath, waiting for the rest. I knew he’d rented out an entire amusement park for Janet. I’d overheard the producers talking about ten thousand balloons and a diamond necklace hidden inside one of them. “One in ten thousand”—his way of telling Janet she was the only one. “I don’t want you to do anything impulsive,” he continued, his voice grainy. “Once the show is over, we can—” “Parker,” I interrupted, looking him in the eye. “It’s been seven years. Have I ever been impulsive?” He looked at me, a flicker of something like shame in his eyes. “The only impulsive thing I ever did was hike up that mountain for a piece of string,” I said. He was silent for a long time. Then he noticed my bare wrist. “You took it off? The cord?” He seemed to relax, a small, arrogant smile tugging at his lips. “I get it. You’re hurt. But look, after tonight, I’ll take you back to that chapel. We’ll get a new one together.” After tonight. Always after he was done with whatever was more important than me. A producer knocked on the door. “Five minutes to the Gala!” Parker didn’t say another word. He turned and headed downstairs. The courtyard was transformed. Fairy lights dripped from the trees like liquid gold. The host took the stage, looking like he was about to burst with secrets. “Before we begin, the Privilege Card has been played! Let’s see whose fate has been shifted.” All eyes turned to me. My phone buzzed in my pocket—multiple times. I glanced at it under the table. Parker: I told you not to pick me. Why can’t you just listen? Parker: Even if you confess, I’m going to reject you on live TV. Don’t do this to yourself. Parker: Rowan, don’t make a fool of yourself. Don’t ruin my career. I put the phone away and didn’t reply. Janet was the first on stage. She stood in the spotlight with a bouquet of white roses, her gaze fixed on Parker. “Parker, this journey has been a whirlwind,” she said, her voice trembling with just the right amount of scripted emotion. “Meeting you was the highlight of my year.” The audience (the other contestants and crew) cheered. “Say yes! Say yes!” She walked down and handed the flowers to Parker. He took them, his movements mechanical. When it was his turn, he stood at the mic, his eyes scanning the crowd. He looked at me for a split second—a look of pure warning—then turned to Janet. “I came here looking for inspiration,” he said. “And I found something I didn’t expect…” I stopped listening. I wasn’t looking at him. I was looking at Gordom. When the applause died down, it was my turn. I walked up the petal-strewn aisle. Parker stood up instinctively, then caught himself and sat back down. I gripped the microphone. “The person I’m choosing tonight is…”

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When May kicked the door open for the third time, flanked by her entourage, I was slowly straightening my collar in front of the mirror. Clifford, the lead counsel for the Sterling Group, spoke first. His voice was as clinical as a scalpel. “Mr. Smith—pardon me, Gavin. This is the third documented instance of marital infidelity.” “The prenuptial agreement is ironclad,” he continued, adjusting his glasses. “You are to leave with nothing. No assets, no alimony, and you are permanently waiving all custodial rights to your son.” May stood behind him. Those eyes, which I once thought held the stars, were now filled with nothing but a toxic, concentrated hatred. “The first time, you claimed she was a stranger. The second time, you played the amnesia card.” “Three strikes, Gavin. What’s the script this time?” She slammed the divorce papers onto the nightstand so hard a spray of ink speckled the mahogany. I didn’t look at her twisted expression. I didn’t care about the predatory clauses in that contract. As my fingers brushed the pen, I felt a sudden, inexplicable lightness. The moment my signature hit the paper, I heard May catch her breath. As I turned to leave, her controlled facade finally shattered into a scream that echoed down the hallway. But it didn’t register. Wasn’t this the ending she had been writing for us all along? … Clifford snatched the papers away before the ink could even dry. As if terrified I’d change my mind, he turned to May with a triumphant nod. “It’s done, May. He signed.” May stared at me, her brow furrowed. I suppose she was waiting for the encore—waiting for me to rip the papers to shreds like the last two times. Waiting for me to drop to my knees, forehead hitting the floor until I bled, sobbing, “Please, for the sake of our son, just believe me one last time!” I calmly capped my pen and set it on the table. “I’ll have my things moved out as soon as possible. As for visitation—” “You don’t deserve to be a father,” she interrupted, her voice dropping to a low, jagged growl. “You will never see him again.” I didn’t look up. I just let out a small, tired laugh. “I was actually going to say… I don’t want them. The visitation rights. You can keep them.” The indifference in May’s eyes flickered. For a split second, she looked unsettled. She couldn’t wrap her head around this sudden “efficiency.” For the last four years, she and our son had been my entire universe. I used to feel a pang in my chest just hearing the boy call Clifford “Uncle T” one too many times. To walk away now, so cleanly—it wasn’t like me. “Pathetic,” she spat, finally finding a way to rationalize my behavior. “You’re throwing away your own flesh and blood for whatever tramp you have waiting outside.” “Tell me, Gavin… was it worth it? All those schemes you used to crawl into my bed, forcing me to have that child—what was it all for if you’re just going to discard him now?” I listened to her, but the urge to defend myself had simply evaporated. The first time she “caught” me in a hotel room, I was catatonic with confusion. I had screamed myself hoarse trying to explain I hadn’t touched anyone. But May was always certain I was obsessed with her. And because the woman I was allegedly with had vanished—leaving nothing but a blurred silhouette on a security feed—May “mercifully” believed me. But she took our son away. I was relegated to once-a-month visits, scheduled a week in advance through Clifford. Every second was supervised. I had to watch Clifford’s smug face while I held my boy. I had to ask permission to buy him clothes or toys. If Clifford didn’t approve, the gifts never made it past the front gate. My mental health spiraled. Then came the second “affair.” I had taken a job to keep my mind busy. On a business trip, I woke up in a haze in a cheap motel. A stranger was lying next to me, watching me with a predatory grin. I called the police myself, but the medical exam showed no signs of assault. To May, that just meant I hadn’t had time to “finish the job.” After that, I was banned from parent-teacher conferences. May told the school Clifford would handle everything. She told me to stay home so I wouldn’t “embarrass the family.” When our son pointed a finger at me and called me a “bad man,” she stood by and said nothing. And now, the third time… I was tired of the game. I decided to give them exactly what they wanted. So why was she asking me why? Clifford stepped closer to her, lowering his voice in a mock-whisper that he intended for me to hear. “May, I’ve seen a lot of deadbeat dads in my career, but I’ve never seen one sign away his rights this eagerly.” “He’s probably been planning this for a while. A kid is just baggage when you’re trying to live a playboy lifestyle. Don’t waste your breath on him.” He glanced at me, a flicker of something dark and heavy in his eyes. I smiled. He seemed to have forgotten… four years ago, he was the one who drafted that absurd “three strikes” prenup with surgical precision. May’s face turned several degrees colder. “You’d better mean it. Don’t come crawling back to my doorstep on your knees.” She turned and swept out of the room. I watched her back, the corners of my mouth twitching. I won’t be back, May. Years ago, to convince myself I was worthy of you, I visited every cathedral and small-town chapel I could find. I prayed until my knees were raw. I traveled five thousand miles on a spiritual pilgrimage just to hear a priest tell me that “love is a destiny, regardless of birthright.” I thought I had found a miracle. It turns out I just found a curse. This time, my knees wouldn’t bend an inch. Clifford looked at me, a smirk playing on his lips. “Well, Gavin, time is money, and I’m sure you have a ‘busy’ night ahead of you. We’ll leave you to it.” The door clicked shut. Silence flooded the room. I looked down at the woman still sleeping off a drug-induced stupor on the bed. A wave of nausea hit my stomach. I had woken up before her; I could have left before they arrived to “catch” me. But I was bored of being the mouse. I had stayed just to end the game. I threw on my coat and walked out without looking back. The next evening, I went back to the house to pack. When I pushed open the master bedroom door, I found it stripped bare. My clothes, my books—everything was gone. The maid wouldn’t look me in the eye. “Sir… your things were moved to the garden shed. Mr. Clifford said… he said the master suite needs to be ready for its new owner immediately.” I let out a dry laugh. Four years of marriage, and I didn’t even get a decent goodbye. I walked to the storage shed in the backyard. It was a graveyard of boxes and plastic bags. I knelt and started digging. Nothing else mattered, except for my mother’s jade bracelet. It was an heirloom passed down through six generations, the only thing in this world that truly belonged to me. Finally, I found it at the very bottom of a crate. I clutched it in my palm, letting out a long, shuddering breath. As I started to gather a few shirts, a high-pitched, mocking voice came from the doorway. “What are you doing?” I turned. Parker stood there, his small frame silhouetted against the light. He looked exactly like May, but he had adopted that same condescending posture as Clifford. “Taking my things,” I said, returning to my packing. Usually, I would have rushed to hug him, even if he pushed me away. This time, I was a hollow shell of calm. “Those aren’t yours.” He walked inside when I didn’t respond, deliberately stepping on a pile of my sweaters. “Uncle T says everything in this house belongs to Mommy. You aren’t allowed to take anything.” I paused. “These are my personal belongings, Parker.” “You bought them with Mommy’s money.” He put his hands behind his back. “Mommy’s money belongs to the Sterlings. Sterlings don’t give things to outsiders.” Outsourcer? I looked up at him. My four-year-old son was looking at me as if I were a common thief. The coldness in his eyes was even sharper than May’s. “I’m taking one thing,” I said, tightening my grip on the bracelet as I stood up. “The rest you can burn for all I care.” “No.” He stepped in front of the door, spreading his arms wide. “You can’t steal from us.” “Parker, move.” “No!” he shouted. “You’re a beggar! A thieving beggar! Uncle T said once you leave, you’re never coming back, and if you touch anything, it’s stealing!” My pulse throbbed in my temples. “I’m saying it one last time. Move.” “No! Give it back!” He lunged at me, grabbing for the red silk pouch in my hand. I instinctively pulled back, and the silk tore. The jade bracelet slid out, hitting the concrete floor with a sickening crack. It shattered into jagged shards. I stood frozen. I remembered the day my mother put it on my wrist. She was so frail then. “Gavin, this has survived six generations. Give it to your daughter one day. Or your son’s wife.” I had no daughter. I would never have a daughter-in-law. All I had was this bracelet. Six generations of history, shattered by my own son. Parker stood there, muttering under his breath, “You should have just let go…” My eyes burned as I looked at him. “I told you… that was all I had left of your grandmother.” “You think she cares? Do you even know why she’s rotting away in that nursing home?” Parker blinked, taking a half-step back. “I don’t have a grandmother. I just know about the old lady who’s a money-pit.” The blood roared in my ears. “Uncle T said so. He said she stays in that fancy room and burns through Mommy’s money, and she’s never going to get better anyway. She’s just a waste of—” “Say that again.” My voice didn’t sound like mine anymore. It was a low, vibrating hum of pure rage. Parker looked startled, but he bit his lip and doubled down. “She’s a money-burning old lady! What are you going to—” I shoved him. He tripped over a box and landed hard on his rear. He stared at me for one shocked second before letting out a blood-curdling scream. “MOMMY! MOMMY!” I stood there, my palm tingling. I looked at my son wailing on the floor, but all I could hear was “money-burning old lady.” That woman was my mother. His grandmother. The woman who, despite being fresh out of surgery, spent weeks hand-knitting him a baby blanket. The woman who, every year on his birthday, had the nurses help her call him just to whisper a blessing. And he called her a waste of money. A sharp piece of jade sliced into my palm. The pain cleared my head. May burst in, saw Parker on the floor, and scooped him up. “Parker! What happened?” Parker buried his face in her neck, sobbing hysterically. “He hit me, Mommy! Make him leave! I want Uncle T!” May looked at me, her eyes flashing with cold disgust. “Gavin, have you lost your mind? Putting your hands on a child?” “I didn’t hit him,” I said quietly. “I pushed him.” “Is there a difference?” I looked down at the broken jade in my hand. “Yes. Hitting him would be an act of a father trying to discipline a child. Pushing him was simply giving him what he deserved.” May stiffened. She looked down at her son. Parker’s cries subsided into a smug mumble. “I was just telling the truth… Uncle T said that old lady is just burning Mommy’s cash…” May pinched the bridge of her nose. “He’s a child, Gavin. Don’t be so sensitive. Clifford manages our family’s finances; he was likely discussing fiscal realities, and the boy overheard. Don’t make this a moral crusade.” “Clifford does so much for this family. You wouldn’t understand the pressure he’s under.” She caught sight of the shattered bracelet in my hand. For a fleeting second, her voice softened. “Look, I brought Parker here today so we could talk. But the divorce… let’s not tell him just yet. I don’t want to affect his development.” I knew what she meant. She wanted me to play the part of the disgraced ghost until she was ready to announce her “new” family. I didn’t say a word. Talk? About what? In four years, the total time she and my son had spent talking to me didn’t equal half the time she spent with Clifford. It was May who had pursued me in college. She was the one who broke down my walls, making me believe in a “possibility” that everyone said was impossible. I had prayed for a miracle, and I thought I got one. Now I realized the miracle was a mirage. My mother was waiting for me. I picked up my bag and walked out of the shed. In the living room, Clifford was kneeling in front of Parker, whispering something to soothe him. I walked past them like they were ghosts. Behind me, Parker wailed again. “The bad man is ignoring me!” He stamped his feet, furious. He was used to me groveling after he threw a tantrum. He was used to me saying, “Don’t be mad, Parker. Daddy’s sorry.” When I didn’t even give him a glance, his world tilted. May’s voice cracked like a whip. “Stop right there!” I stopped. “Come here and apologize to Parker,” she commanded. “You scared him.” I paused. I realized this might be the last time I’d ever see them. I didn’t have the energy to fight. I walked over and knelt down. “I’m sorry,” I said, looking her in the eye one last time. “I shouldn’t have pushed him.” Parker sniffled, then suddenly spat directly into my face. The glob of saliva slid down my cheek. “Dirty man,” he chirped in his sweet, childish voice. “You deserve it.” May watched with icy indifference. “Even a child can see through your disgusting behavior, Gavin. Your affairs have consequences.” I slowly wiped the spit from my face. I started to laugh. “My affairs?” The setups were so clumsy, so transparent—did she really not see the holes? Or did she just choose not to? “May, for four years, you and Clifford have been a couple in everything but name. You even sent my son to stay at his house. Who’s really the one stepping out here? We’re getting divorced. Can we at least stop lying to ourselves?” Clifford’s face went pale. His eyes welled with performative tears. “Gavin, how could you say something so cruel? May, I…” “Gavin, enough!” May’s gaze burned into me. “You want to talk about being ‘unfaithful’? Fine. Since you’re so convinced we’re ‘dirty’—” She stepped toward me, grabbing my wrist and dragging me toward the bedroom. “I’ll show you what dirty actually looks like.” She threw me onto the floor and used one of my own ties to bind my wrists. Then she turned, grabbed Clifford by his lapels, and pulled him close to her ear. “Do you want me?” she whispered, loud enough for me to hear. Clifford hesitated for a heartbeat before wrapping his arms around her. “May, I’ve waited a lifetime for this…” They began to lose themselves in each other, clothes hitting the floor. I bit my lip until I tasted copper. “May, we’re getting divorced. You can do this whenever you want. Why do you have to humiliate me like this?” She stopped, her hand gripping my chin. “Humiliate you? Gavin, you think you still have enough dignity left to be humiliated?” “May, honey, don’t let him distract you…” Clifford murmured, breathing against her neck. She let go of me and sank back into his embrace. I closed my eyes, silent tears tracking through the dust on my face. Then, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a call from the nursing home. I struggled against my bonds to reach it. When I finally pressed ‘accept,’ it wasn’t my mother’s voice. It was a nurse, her voice trembling. “Mr. Smith? You need to get here immediately. Your mother… she found out about the divorce. She thinks she’s a burden to you. She’s on the roof—” “What?” “She said—” The line went dead with a burst of static. My brain exploded. “May!” I screamed. “Something’s wrong with my mother! Let me go! Please, just let me go!” She glanced back at me, a mocking smile on her lips. “Trying to use the ‘dying mother’ card again, Gavin? I told you, I’m watching the show. You stay put.” “I’m not lying! The hospital called! She found out about the divorce and she’s—” “Enough.” She stood up. “The ink isn’t even dry on the papers. How could she possibly know? You probably told her yourself just to trigger another crisis. It’s your own fault.” She turned back to Clifford. I lunged toward the door, my wrists screaming against the tie. “May! She saved your life! She saved Parker! She took that hit for you three years ago! Please don’t do this!” “Gavin!” She looked at me with pure exhaustion. “Is your mother your hostage? Every time you get caught cheating, it’s either ‘think of the baby’ or ‘remember the accident.’ I’m done.” “I’m not—” I choked on a sob. “This is real. Please…” Clifford wrapped his arms around her waist. “May, everyone knows she only jumped in front of that car to save her grandson. If it had just been you, she wouldn’t have moved a muscle. You’ve already paid her medical bills for years. You’ve done enough.” “Let’s not let him ruin the mood…” The last spark of hesitation in May’s eyes died. I stopped begging. I threw myself at the door, my head slamming into the wood. Blood smeared the white paint. She marched over, grabbed me, and threw me back into the center of the room. “You wanted the truth, Gavin? Here it is. You’re going to watch.” She tore a strip of duct tape and slapped it over my mouth. Then she hauled me up and shoved me into the walk-in closet, locking the door from the outside. The light disappeared. In the darkness, I heard them continue. Again. And again. The next evening, May returned from a gala. She stood in the living room, rubbing her temples, and habitually called out: “Gavin? My head is killing me. Make me some tea.” No one answered. She frowned and turned to the maid. “Where is he?” The maid looked confused. “Ma’am, I was going to ask you. Parker had a fever this morning—102 degrees—and he’s been calling for his father. Also… the hospital called. They said Gavin’s mother jumped last night. The body is at the morgue. No one has come to identify her.” May froze. “What did you say?” A cold realization gripped her heart. “You… you didn’t let him out?” The maid looked blank. “Let him… out of where?” May bolted up the stairs, her heart hammering against her ribs. She threw open the closet door—

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I never imagined that the woman I called my sister, the person I shared every secret with, would suddenly cut me out of her life like a tumor. It happened in a flash of cold contempt. She tossed a debit card at me, her voice dripping with a disdain I didn’t recognize, calling it “compensation” for all the years I’d spent “sucking up” to her. I was reeling. I couldn’t wrap my head around what had shifted between us. Then, later that night, in a private VIP suite of the most exclusive club in the city—a club, ironically, owned by my own family—I witnessed a scene that will be burned into my retinas forever. She was on her knees. Someone was shoving her head down, forcing her to buff the shoes of a man who looked like he’d been carved out of pure grease. I lunged forward to pull her up, but she shoved me back so hard I hit the wall. Her eyes were feral, filled with a terrifying malice. “What is wrong with you?” she spat, her voice a jagged blade. “This is a private moment between me and my man! How did a nobody like you even get in here? Are you trying to steal him? Get out! Now!” She screamed at me, physically pushing me toward the door. I wanted to scream back. I wanted to tell her that this club was my birthright, that I hadn’t snuck in—I belonged here. But before I could find my voice, the man in the leather armchair let out a low, oily chuckle. “Since she’s already here,” he said, his eyes raking over me, “why don’t we let her stay?” 1 I had just stepped out of my internship at the firm, still buzzing from a quick call with my brother, when the receptionist handed me an envelope. Inside was a debit card. She told me my best friend, Norah, had left it for me. Confused, I pulled out my phone. I had a message from her sent thirty minutes ago. A single paragraph that made the world tilt on its axis. We’re done. Don’t look for me. Tell Wyatt it’s over, too—I don’t want him anymore. There’s ten thousand dollars on that card. Divide it between the two of you. Consider it a tip for all those years you spent barking at my heels like loyal little dogs. I stood frozen on the sidewalk. Norah was supposed to be my sister-in-law. We were family. How could she just… flip a switch? I thought back to last night. It was our birthday—we shared the same day. Norah had surprised me with a mango cake she’d baked herself. The thing was, Norah was deathly allergic to mangoes. She’d made it because it was my favorite flavor. I remembered the red, itchy hives blooming across her hands and the way my chest had ached with a mix of guilt and overwhelming love. When I started to cry, she’d wiped my tears, laughing and calling me a “forever-child.” We’d made a wish together. Mine was for our friendship to last a lifetime, for her to officially become a part of my family. Hers was for my brother and me to always be happy, healthy, and safe. We’d stayed up late, whispering about double weddings and our future kids being cousins. How does everything die in the span of a single sleep? My head was a chaotic mess. The card in my hand felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. Norah was a scholarship student, a girl who had clawed her way up from nothing. When I first met her at the university, I’d heard the rumors—disabled parents, a brother with severe cerebral palsy. She survived on grit and the meager wages from three different part-time jobs. I remember seeing her for the first time in the corner of the cafeteria. She was wearing a faded, threadbare hoodie, eating plain white rice with a side of the free soup. My heart had broken for her. I started “complaining” that my food tasted terrible, sliding my steak and sides over to her tray every day. She’d looked up at me once, her eyes red-rimmed but shining with a fierce, incredible light. From that day on, she became my shadow. She tutored me, held my spot in the library, and looked after me with a devotion I’d never known. Then, a year ago, I was in a horrific car accident. The hospital’s blood bank was low. Norah didn’t hesitate; she gave me everything she had. When the doctors told us I’d suffered kidney failure, she begged them to test her. When they found a match, she pleaded with them to take hers, despite being malnourished and frail. She’d begged the doctors not to tell me, fearing I’d live under the shadow of a debt I could never repay. What she didn’t know was that my family owned the hospital. My parents knew everything the moment the intake forms were signed. We never let on that we knew, but in my heart, I vowed that Norah would never want for anything again. Because of that sacrifice, my brother, Wyatt, had fallen for her. He was moved by her soul, her quiet strength. With my help, they started dating. The call I’d just had with Wyatt? He was planning to propose tonight. The ten thousand on that card… to me, it was pocket change. But for Norah, it was four years of grueling, agonizing savings. I didn’t believe for a second she was walking away because she wanted to. I didn’t believe she’d stopped loving Wyatt. The only logic my panicked brain could find was that she was sick—some terminal diagnosis she didn’t want to burden us with. Terrified, I called Wyatt. He couldn’t reach her either. He was already headed into the city. All these years, I’d followed my parents’ rule: stay low-key. They wanted me to build my own life from the ground up, so no one knew I was the heiress to the Vanderbilt-level fortune of the East Coast. Not even Norah. But in that moment, I didn’t care about the secret. I wanted to find her and tell her that we didn’t care about the burden. We had the money, the resources, the best doctors in the world. Whatever was breaking her, we could fix it together. 2 By the time I reached the VIP suite at The Zenith, the air was thick with the scent of expensive gin and the sound of breaking glass. My stomach did a slow, sickening roll. I checked the room number my assistant had pinged me and pushed the door ajar. The sight inside turned my blood into ice. Norah was there, but she wasn’t the girl I knew. She was wearing a crimson, low-cut dress that looked cheap and desperate. Her makeup was heavy, almost theatrical. She was being held down on the floor by another woman—one of the club’s regulars, a girl named Crystal. In front of them sat a man who looked like a thumb in a suit. He was short, morbidly obese, and radiated a kind of oily cruelty that made my skin crawl. That was Silas Dickson. “Mr. Dickson, I told her to just lick the scuff off your shoe, but she’s acting like she’s too good for you,” Crystal purred, shoving Norah’s face closer to the floor. “Clearly, she doesn’t respect your position.” Dickson’s face turned a mottled purple. He grabbed Norah by the hair and slammed her head against the glass coffee table. The glass cracked. Blood began to bloom on Norah’s forehead, stark and terrifying against her pale skin. “I’m the only reason you’re making a cent in this city, bitch,” he growled. “Lick the shoe. Now.” Even with blood streaming down her face, Norah crawled forward. “Mr. Dickson, please. I’ll drink. I’ll sing. Just… don’t make me do that.” He kicked her back, the force snapping the delicate chain around her neck. Norah lunged for the necklace, her eyes wide with panic. But Crystal snatched it first. “Oh, look at this. I thought I’d lost my necklace. This little whore must have stolen it.” “Give it back!” Norah screamed, her voice breaking. “That’s mine!” I recognized it instantly. It was the birthday gift I’d given her last night. Knowing she’d refuse anything obviously expensive, I’d had our family’s jewelry team design a custom piece—understated, no brand name, but made of the rarest platinum and diamonds. It was one of a kind. Crystal, who had spent enough time around wealth to recognize quality, knew it was worth a fortune. She leaned into Dickson’s chest. “She’s been here two days and she’s already stealing, Silas. You have to teach her a lesson.” Dickson loved the “pure” types. He loved breaking them. The more Norah fought, the more he wanted to crush her under his heel. Norah was sobbing now, a mix of blood and tears masking her face. She knelt, her forehead touching the carpet. “I’ll do it. I’ll lick the shoes. Just please, give me back the necklace. My sister gave it to me. It’s… it’s more important than my life.” Crystal laughed, crossing her legs. As Norah crawled toward her, Crystal planted her stiletto directly on Norah’s cheek. “I’ve hated your face since the moment you walked in here. Playing the virgin in a place like this? Who do you think you are?” I was shaking, my vision tunneling with rage. I burst into the room and shoved Crystal back with everything I had. “Don’t you dare touch her again!” I stepped in front of Norah, my eyes burning as I stared down everyone in that room. There were at least ten people, all of them frozen in shock at my intrusion. Norah’s face went white. After a flash of pure terror for me, her expression hardened into a mask of disgust. “This is a high-end club, Cassidy. How did a loser like you sneak in? Get out. I can’t stand the sight of you.” I stared at her, stunned. “Norah, talk to me. What is happening? Whatever trouble you’re in, I can fix it. I promise.” The room erupted in cruel snickers. Norah started shoving me toward the door. “I’m in trouble because of you! You’re getting in the way of me making real money. If you want to help, then leave! Go!” I stumbled back, but I heard the desperation in her voice. She wasn’t angry; she was trying to shield me. She was trying to get me out of the line of fire. I grabbed her hand. I was seconds away from telling her that my brother owned this entire building, that he was on his way, and that I could make everyone in this room disappear from the social fabric of this city with a single phone call. But then, Dickson’s voice drawled out, “Norah, is this the sister you mentioned? Since she’s here, it would be rude not to have a drink.” 3 Norah swayed, her face turning the color of ash. “Mr. Dickson, she’s just a kid. She’s annoying and has a terrible attitude. I’ll drink with you. Anything you want, as much as you want.” Dickson just arched an oily eyebrow and waited. Without a second thought, Norah grabbed a bottle of bourbon from the table and began to chug. She only had one kidney. Alcohol was poison to her. This much, this fast—it could kill her. I tried to grab the bottle, but she swung an arm to ward me off. “You don’t get a drop of this, Cassidy. This is top-shelf stuff. Way out of your league.” She was still standing between me and Dickson, a human shield. My heart felt like it was being shredded. I snatched the bottle and smashed it on the floor. “Stop it! You can’t do this to your body! Norah, talk to me!” “Do what?” she spat. “I’m a girl from the gutters, Cassidy. I finally found a way to the top. Men like Mr. Dickson are my salvation. You? You’re just a broke anchor dragging me down.” “You need to leave,” she whispered, her eyes pleading even as her words remained harsh. “You’re like a leech. It’s disgusting.” It hit me then—the bitter irony. I had kept my wealth a secret to protect her dignity, and now, that same secret was letting her believe she had to sell her soul to save me. Crystal spoke up then, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Honey, didn’t she tell you? Your ‘big sister’ sold herself to this club for three years. All for a hundred thousand dollars. She told the manager her sister was dying and needed the cash for surgery. For the next three years, she’s a dog. If we tell her to eat off the floor, she eats.” Norah didn’t have a sister. Unless… My heart stopped. I looked at her, and the tears were streaming down her face. She squeezed my hand, a silent goodbye. “Cassidy, just go. Please. I’ll get the money. I won’t let you die.” A hundred thousand dollars? That was a month’s allowance. And what surgery? I wasn’t sick. I started to explain, but Dickson was done waiting. He kicked the table over. Three hulking security guards stood up, closing in on us. I felt a cold resolve settle over me. “I’ll pay the hundred thousand. I’ll pay double. I’m taking her with me right now.” I turned to the door, but two men blocked the exit. Their eyes were bright with a sick kind of excitement. Dickson leaned back on the sofa, letting Crystal light his cigar. Through a cloud of foul-smelling smoke, he smirked. “In my world, there are rules, little girl. You broke my bottle, you crashed my party. You think you can just walk out?” My palms were sweating. I knew how these “nouveau riche” types operated. They felt invincible in their small ponds. “I apologize for the disruption,” I said, forcing my voice to stay level. “Two hundred thousand. Let us go, and you can find ten other girls to entertain you.” I thought I was being reasonable. But I’d made a mistake. I had bruised his ego. Dickson slammed his fist onto the arm of the sofa. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? You think you’ve got more money than me? In this city, I am the money!” I learned later that Dickson was a lottery winner turned slumlord who had been humiliated by old money his entire life. To him, anyone acting superior was a target. He gave a sharp nod. Two men grabbed my arms, pinning me. From a side room, they rolled out a massive, cylindrical glass tank. It was nearly nine feet tall, narrow, and made of thick reinforced acrylic. It looked like a vertical coffin. They started filling it with water. Norah let out a strangled scream. She lunged at Dickson, but a guard kicked her in the stomach, sending her sprawling across the floor. She coughed, gasping for air, but still managed to crawl to his feet, sobbing. “Mr. Dickson, she’s just a child! Please, take me instead! I can hold my breath! Put me in the tank!” 4 Crystal stood over me, grinning. “You’re in for a treat, sweetie. Silas calls this ‘The Golden Three Minutes.’ If you can get out in three minutes, you both walk. If not… well, we seal the lid and watch the show until you stop kicking.” “This is murder!” I screamed. Dickson laughed. “In this zip code, I’m the law.” “Mr. Dickson treats people like you like ants,” Crystal added. “You think you’re special? What, is your family richer than him? Do you have more power? Please.” Dickson checked his watch. “Hurry it up. The Manhattan heavyweights are coming by tonight to talk about the new pier development. I don’t want a mess when they get here.” Crystal’s eyes lit up. “The ones from the Vanderbilt circle? I heard the heir is only here because his little sister is going to school nearby. They say he’d burn the world down for her.” Dickson’s bravado flickered into something like genuine fear. “Exactly. If I want to land that deal, I need to impress them. Crystal, go get that ten-million-dollar vintage watch I won at auction. I want it ready as a gift for the sister if she shows up.” He turned back to me, his face twisting into a sneer. “See that? That’s real royalty. You? You’re just a toy. Throw her in.” I struggled as they lifted me toward the top of the tank. “You’d better let me go! My brother is the man you’re waiting for!” The room went silent for a beat. Then, they erupted into hysterics. “You? The princess of the East Coast?” Dickson doubled over, clutching his stomach. “Then I’m the King of England!” Crystal was laughing so hard she had to lean on the tank. “And I’m the Queen! Come on, ‘Your Highness,’ give us a performance. I’ll make sure to buy plenty of funeral flowers with your ‘royal’ money.” Dickson grabbed a half-full bottle and smashed it against my forehead. “Let’s add some color to the show.” My head rang. The world spun as blood blurred my vision. Splash. The water was ice cold. I gasped, and my lungs burned as I broke the surface. “Start the clock!” someone yelled. I clawed at the sides of the tank, but it was perfectly smooth. There was no grip, no way to climb. The blood from my forehead turned the water into a swirling, pink mist. Through the glass, I saw them. I saw Norah being dragged across the floor, her clothes being torn as she fought them off. She picked up a shard of glass, ready to end her own life to protect her dignity, but they just laughed and kicked her again. I pounded on the glass, my screams turning into a pathetic trail of bubbles. The faces around the tank weren’t human anymore. They were monsters, illuminated by the blue light of the club, grinning at my slow, rhythmic drowning. The three minutes passed. I saw a guard slide the heavy acrylic lid over the top and lock it. Oxygen was a memory. My lungs felt like they were filled with molten lead. My limbs grew heavy, drifting like seaweed in the crimson-tinted water. My vision began to flicker, fading to black. Dickson leaned his face against the glass, his smile a distorted nightmare. “So much for the princess. Toss the body in the alley for the strays.” Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the suite were kicked open. Wyatt strode in, flanked by a wall of men in black suits.

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I’ve had a secret since I was a kid: at a gambling table, I don’t lose. It’s not a streak; it’s a law of nature. This past spring break, my roommates were itching for a thrill. They dragged me to a private, high-stakes club in the desert outskirts of Vegas, certain they could strike it rich. To give them the “joy” of winning, I spent the whole night playing the opposite of my instincts, effectively “feeding” them my own savings, dollar by dollar. But in that final round, I let my focus slip for just a second. In the blink of an eye, the house swept the board. They didn’t just lose the “winnings” I’d funneled to them; they burned through their own cash and ended up deep in the hole with a group of predatory loan sharks. I was about to say, “Don’t worry, I can cover it,” but they turned on me before the words could leave my mouth. They lunged, tied me up tight, and prepared to hand me over to the house to settle their debt. Looking at their twisted, desperate faces, I couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh. “Save your energy. This place wouldn’t dare touch me.” Bella, my roommate, sneered as if I’d lost my mind. She pointed a trembling finger at my nose. “If you hadn’t spaced out, we wouldn’t have lost! You’re the one going to the wolves, not us.” “Once the house takes a few of your fingers as collateral, maybe we can actually go back to campus in one piece!” Watching their greed strip away their humanity was almost comical. They had no idea. This underground gold mine—the very tiles they were standing on—was something I won in a card game years ago. Whether I’d lose a finger remained to be seen. But I knew one thing for certain: by tomorrow, there’d be a few heads on the table serving as the next round’s stakes. … 1 Bella yanked my hair back, forcing my face up to meet her crazed eyes. “Judy, quit acting like you’re already dead!” Her eyes were bloodshot, and her spit hit my cheek. “We just lost five rounds in a row. You blew your cash, and then you blew the money we borrowed! If we don’t hand your ten fingers over to the house today, none of us are getting out of here!” I was trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey on the hotel carpet, my scalp screaming in protest. But I didn’t struggle. I just looked at her—this girl I’d shared a dorm with for four years. “Bella, did the gambling rot your brain?” I asked, my voice laced with a cold, sharp edge. “Leaving aside the fact that your losses have nothing to do with me, we’re in a high-end establishment. You’re kidnapping someone in a luxury suite. Do you have any idea who runs this territory?” “I don’t give a damn who runs it!” Macy, another roommate, stepped forward and drove her heel into my knee. “Stop trying to scare us with ‘rules’!” “Exactly! We’ve already made the arrangements!” Bella let go of my hair and crossed her arms, a smug, triumphant grin spreading across her face. “I might as well tell you—the man in charge of this whole operation is my uncle.” I arched an eyebrow. “The man in charge?” “That’s right!” Bella looked down at me as if I were a bug. “Everything in this building moves when my uncle says so. Once we hand you over, he’ll take what’s owed in blood, and then he’ll sell whatever’s left of you to some offshore ‘entertainment’ ship. Our debt gets wiped, and we get a nice little finders’ fee to disappear.” I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. Bella’s face contorted. “What’s so funny? You finally snap?” “I’m laughing at how pathetic you are.” I shifted my bound wrists, my tone dripping with mockery. “If your uncle was really the King of the Strip, if he really held the keys to this kingdom, would he really need three college girls to pull off a messy kidnapping in a hotel room? He would have had his enforcers snatch me off the floor the moment I stood up.” The room went deathly silent for two seconds. Bella’s face turned a violent shade of crimson. Hitting a nerve felt good. Enraged, she swung her arm back and delivered a heavy slap across my face. “Shut up! You’re just a bitch who doesn’t know when she’s beaten!” The metallic taste of blood blossomed in my mouth. I ran my tongue over my split lip, my eyes going stone cold. “I’m the one out of my depth?” I stared her down. “Fine. What’s his name? This ‘uncle’ of yours.” Bella gritted her teeth. “Write it down for your obituary! His name is Mr. Ray—Ray ‘The Hammer’ Vance!” Ray Vance? I almost lost it again. Just last month, I was sitting in the penthouse office reviewing the monthly HR reports. There was a new hire, a guy who wasn’t even qualified to work the floor, so they stuck him at the service entrance to check IDs. His name was Ray Vance. Mr. Ray? The Hammer? The world is truly teeming with idiots. BANG! The hotel door was kicked open. A middle-aged man in a cheap, ill-fitting suit with a protruding gut sauntered in, followed by four scrawny guys in “Security” shirts. “Uncle Ray! You’re here!” Bella’s face instantly shifted into a fawning mask of adoration as she rushed to meet him. “Here she is! She’s got the looks—she’ll definitely fetch a high price!” When Ray’s eyes landed on my face, he visibly swallowed. “Damn… she’s a premium find.” He crouched in front of me, rubbing his hands together, reaching out to touch my face. I jerked my head back and spat right at him. “Keep your filthy hands off me.” Ray froze. He blinked, then backhanded me across the head. “The bitch has claws!” He stood up and turned to his ‘security’ detail. “Boys, we just hit the jackpot. The Ghost has been in a foul mood lately, looking for some new… amusement. This girl is pure, she’s got fire—exactly his type.” He stepped on my calf, grinding his shoe into the bone. “Tie her tighter! If we deliver her to The Ghost’s bed tonight, we’re set for life!” 2 THUD. Ray kicked me in the stomach. I curled into a ball on the floor, coughing up a bit of red-tinged saliva. “Bella… maybe we shouldn’t kill her…” Macy whispered, shrinking back, covering her eyes. Tiff, the third roommate, was white as a sheet, trembling behind Bella. “Shut up, you cowards!” Bella hissed. I looked up at Bella, offering one final test. “Bella, it’s not too late. Untie me, and I’ll act like this never happened. I’ll pay off your debt. We’ve been friends for four years. Don’t throw your life away over a moment of desperation.” Bella froze for a second. Then, she let out a peal of hysterical laughter. “You’ll pay? With what? You lost your last dime just trying to buy a bottle of water!” She lunged forward, grabbing my chin in a bruising grip. “Judy, it’s because you have money that we’re doing this!” Her face was distorted by years of repressed envy. “Four years, and you were ‘so good’ to us. But why does one of your handbags cost more than my entire tuition? Why do you get to wear designer clothes and never work a shift while we’re out handing out flyers for pennies just to eat? I’m sick of it!” She shoved my head back against the carpet. “When you’re sold and gone, you’ll just be a ‘missing person.’ Your rich parents will come to campus, desperate. And we—your best friends—will be there to cry on their shoulders. They’ll give us ‘thank you’ money for our help, won’t they? Your useless life is finally going to pave the way for ours!” The other two girls seemed ignited by Bella’s venom. The hesitation vanished, replaced by the same ugly greed. They began hurling insults: “Always acting so damn superior! Every time you paid for dinner, you thought you were being nice? It was disgusting!” “I’m so done with the ‘Little Miss Princess’ act. Once you’re in a brothel, your family’s money will be enough to put a down payment on a condo for me downtown!” I lay there, listening to the depths of their malice, and I actually smiled. “Fine,” I whispered. “You chose this.” You can’t save people who are already dead inside. “Enough talk with a corpse!” Ray interrupted, impatient. He grabbed my collar like he was lifting a stray kitten and hauled me up. “If The Ghost wasn’t busy on the floor tonight, do you think we’d be wasting time here?” When Ray mentioned ‘The Ghost,’ his eyes filled with a terrifying, cult-like devotion. “The Ghost is the Reaper of this town! One word from him, and the whole Strip trembles! They say he carved his way to the top with nothing but a blade and a cold heart. Being sent to his bed is the greatest honor you’ll ever have—if you survive the night.” I smiled inwardly. A blade? Yeah, I remember. He was bleeding out in an alley, his insides nearly on the outside, when I found him. I gave him his life back. I groomed him, placed him in the spotlight, and made him the “Reaper” so he could take the bullets meant for me. The whole underworld knew: the legendary Ghost was just a loyal, rabid dog I kept on a very short leash. I let out a cold snort. “Since he’s so terrifying, why don’t you take me to him right now? I want to see if he dares to touch a single hair on my head.” Ray’s face darkened. He delivered another stinging slap. “You don’t even get to speak his name, bitch! Let’s see how much you talk when you’re kneeling at his feet, begging for mercy!” He signaled his men. “Grab her! Straight to the penthouse office!” Two guards grabbed my arms, wrenching them behind my back, and dragged me toward the door. Bella followed close behind, her eyes wide with excitement. “Uncle! Make sure he cuts off a few fingers in front of us!” 3 I was thrown onto the floor of the penthouse office. Two guards held me down against the massive mahogany desk. “Uncle, look!” Bella cried out, pointing to a crystal picture frame on the corner of the desk. Ray strode over and picked it up. Inside was a photo of a young girl in a white sundress. “I knew it!” Ray’s eyes lit up. “I told you he liked them pure. Look—this girl in the photo looks just like this bitch!” I glanced at the frame. It was a photo of me when I was six, taken at a theme park. Of course it looked like me. That idiot actually kept it on his desk. “Not just the photo! Look at the wall!” Macy pointed to a bulletproof glass case behind the desk. Inside were two brass casings stained with dried blood. Ray looked at them with religious awe. “See that? Those are the bullets he took for the business. He’d die for the rules, for this house!” He grabbed my hair again, forcing me to look at the display. “A brat like you, causing trouble here? You’re going to be skinned alive!” My scalp throbbed. But looking at those bullets, I couldn’t help but smirk. “He’d die for the house?” I repeated. Three years ago, a rival syndicate sent a hit squad after me. Kael—the man they called The Ghost—didn’t even have time to draw his gun. He threw himself in front of me and took those two rounds to the chest. “You’re still smiling?!” Ray was losing his mind. My lack of fear was an insult to his reality. I stared at him, my voice steady. “I’m just curious. If he’s such a martyr, where is he? Why hasn’t he shown his face?” “You little whore! You think you’re worthy of his time?” Ray was livid. He pulled a tactical knife from his belt and slapped the cold flat of the blade against my cheek. Bella stepped up, grinding her stiletto into my calf. “Uncle! Stop talking and do it! She was so tough downstairs—cut her thumb off first!” The other roommates crowded around, their faces twisted with anticipation. “Yeah! Do it! Let’s see how she acts then!” Ray hissed, moving the blade to my right thumb. “Consider this a little ‘welcome gift’ for him tonight. Hold her down!” The guards put their full weight on my shoulders. Just as the knife began its downward arc— A low, guttural voice echoed from the doorway. “What exactly are you doing in my office?” 4 Kael stood there, draped in a charcoal-black suit that made him look like a shadow given form. The room froze. The girls, who a second ago were screaming for blood, scrambled back into the corner, their mouths clamped shut. Ray’s bravado evaporated instantly. He transformed into a whimpering poodle, bowing and scraping as he hurried toward Kael. “Sir! I didn’t expect you back so soon!” Kael didn’t look at him. His eyes were fixed on the desk, though the guards were still blocking his view of me. The lighting was dim, my face obscured by my own hair. “I asked a question,” Kael said, his voice like grinding stones. “What are you doing in here?” Ray gestured wildly toward me, desperate for credit. “Sir, we caught a cheat! A little brat who thinks she can spit on the rules of the house. She’s been insulting your name, acting like she owns the place!” Bella, afraid her uncle would take all the glory, chimed in. “Yes! She’s a fraud, a liar! We were just… cleaning house for you, Sir! Setting an example!” Kael’s brow furrowed, a flash of irritation crossing his features. Ray misread the cue. To prove his loyalty, he didn’t even wait for Kael to come closer. He spun back to the desk, raising the knife high above his head. “Don’t you worry, Sir! I won’t let this trash offend your eyes a second longer. I’ll take her hand right now!” The blade caught the light—a cold, silver flash. It came down with everything Ray had. “Die!” Bella shrieked, her eyes wide with malicious joy. CRACK. The sound of bone and steel meeting flesh echoed through the room. A spray of warm, copper-scented liquid hit the mahogany desk. A severed piece of a finger flew off, rolling across the carpet. “AHHHH!” Bella’s triumphant grin turned into a horrific gasp. Ray stood there, his arm trembling, the knife frozen in mid-air. The fawning look on his face was replaced by a terror so deep he looked like he’d seen the devil. Because the blade hadn’t hit my hand. My thumb was untouched. Kael had caught the blade with his bare hand. The force of the strike had been so great that the knife had sliced clean through his own pinky finger. Kael didn’t even look at his mutilated hand. He slowly lifted his head. Those eyes, usually as dead as a winter pond, were now a roaring, bloodshot red. He stared at the shaking Ray Vance and spoke with a terrifying softness: “I took bullets for her… and you thought you could touch her?”

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In preschool, the other kids called me a freak. I didn’t want to be a freak. More than that, I didn’t want to be the reason my mother cried. That day, I finally found the shards of courage I’d been hiding and told her: I didn’t want to play my brother anymore. I even asked her if she could just let him eat me—let the ghost of the boy take what was left. But Mom said I’d already done the eating. She told me I ate him while we were still in her womb. Back then, she’d used the promise of twins—a boy and a girl, the perfect “million-dollar” pregnancy—to marry into a family that lived behind iron gates and sweeping lawns. But when the dust settled, there was only me. A daughter. A consolation prize. My father walked away, leaving her with nothing but a grudge and a name that didn’t belong to her anymore. As punishment, she forced me to live two lives. One week, I wore the wig and the dresses, playing the daughter. The next, she’d take the clippers to my head, buzz it down to the scalp, and I’d become her son. Whenever I faltered, she would unravel. She’d scream that she was supposed to have a pair of kings, but I’d played the hand wrong. She’d ask the air why I was the one who survived. She’d demand I give her son back. During those fits, I would go still. I let her mold me, trim me, erase me. Mom was right, after all. I owed her. I was living on borrowed time, using a heart that should have been shared. 1 Mom’s favorite refrain was that the wrong twin died. If it had been me, she said, she’d still be in that limestone townhouse with the floor-to-ceiling windows, draped in the life she deserved. “It’s because of you—this useless, extra weight—that your father left us,” she’d whisper, the electric hum of the clippers vibrating against my skull. She’d stare at my reflection in the cracked vanity mirror, her grip so tight it felt like she was trying to peel the skin from my head. “Do you have any idea how rich he is?” she’d ask. “His guest house is bigger than this entire roach-infested apartment. If Danny were alive, I’d be sitting on silk right now. Not here. Not like this.” She suddenly yanked a handful of my hair. I winced, my neck snapping back, but I didn’t make a sound. In the mirror, Mom’s eyes were rimmed with a manic red. She wasn’t looking at me; she was looking through me, searching for a ghost. She told me that if I ever stopped being “good,” she’d send me back to the dark place—back to the womb—so Danny could finish what I’d started and take his turn at living. I was terrified of being sent back. I was terrified of losing the only person who looked at me, even if she looked at me with hate. “When I grow up,” I used to tell her, “I’ll get rich. I’ll buy you a house bigger than the one Dad has.” She’d just laugh, a sharp, bitter sound like glass breaking. “Your own father didn’t even want you for free. You’re a deficit, Maisie. You’ll spend your whole life trying to pay back a debt you can’t afford.” Today was a “Danny” day. The razor felt cold, a biting winter against my scalp. My hair couldn’t be longer than a half-inch, or the illusion would shatter. I hated the clippers. I hated the way the tiny, prickly hairs got under my shirt and itched until I bled. But if it kept her sane—if it kept her here—I’d let her shave me bald every day. I thought I could handle it. I really did. Until I started school. Last week, it was a “Maisie” week. I wore a sun-yellow dress with daisies on the hem. The other girls told me my hair looked pretty, and the teacher, Ms. Parker, even braided my wig into tiny, intricate plaits. I felt light. I felt real. But this week, the wig was in its box. I was in cargo shorts and a t-shirt, my buzzed head exposed to the fluorescent lights of the classroom. The other kids stared. “Wait, are you a boy or a girl?” I opened my mouth, but the answer felt like a lead weight. “She was a girl yesterday! Now she looks like a thumb!” a boy named Toby shouted, pointing a sticky finger. “She’s a freak! A half-and-half!” They formed a circle around me. It felt like the walls were closing in, the way Mom said the womb did. “Freak! Freak! Freak!” I tried to push past them, but someone shoved me back. I tripped, my knees skidding across the rough concrete of the playground. Blood blossomed through my skin, hot and stinging. That night, I sobbed into my pillow. I wanted to be like the other girls. I wanted to keep my braids. I didn’t want to be a debt collector for a ghost. But I didn’t have the right to choose. I had eaten my brother. The thought took root in my mind, growing like a dark vine. Give him back. Just give him back, and Mom won’t be sad anymore. I waited until she was mid-shave, the clippers buzzing near my ear. “Mom?” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the hum. “What?” she snapped. “I… I don’t want to be Danny anymore.” 2 The buzzing stopped. Mom’s hand froze in mid-air. She set the clippers down with a deliberate thud, then walked around to face me, crouching so her eyes were level with mine. “What did you just say?” I shivered, but the words I’d practiced in the dark finally spilled out. “Can we… can we just let Danny eat me now?” Mom went perfectly still. Seconds ticked by like hours. She stood up slowly, looking down at me with a terrifying blankness. She blew a few stray hairs off her palm, watching them float down onto my face like gray snow. “Oh,” she said, her voice dropping to a low, lethal chill. “I see. Two days of school and suddenly you’re too good for this? You think you can just stop paying what you owe?” “No,” I said, the words tripping over each other. “I want to give him back to you. Then you can go back to the big house. You can be happy again.” I didn’t tell her the other part—that I was tired of being a freak. It felt too selfish to mention. “Mom, you said it. You said if you sent me back, he’d come back.” I expected her to be relieved. I thought she’d be happy I was finally offering her the one thing she actually wanted. Instead, her eyes turned into chips of flint. “Maisie. Who do you think you’re talking to?” She grabbed my shoulder and spun me back toward the mirror, pressing the clippers against my skin harder than before. It hurt. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing? You’re just like your father! You’re looking for an exit strategy!” Her voice rose, hitting a jagged, hysterical pitch. “You two ruined my life, and now you want to just skip out on the bill?” Her breathing became ragged, hot against the back of my neck. “You manipulate, you lie… just like him! ‘Oh, poor Danny,’ you say, but you just want to leave me here alone in the dark!” The clippers caught on a stray knot, yanking sharply. I gasped as a stinging heat flared across my scalp. When I reached up, my fingers came away red. Mom saw the blood. She didn’t stop. She just moved the blade to the other side, her strokes faster, more violent. “A useless girl like you doesn’t get to ‘exchange’ herself for a son. I told you—you belong to me for life!” She didn’t stop until the buzzing eventually died out. That night, she sat on the floor and cried until her voice gave out. The next morning, the “Mom” I knew returned. She made oatmeal, dressed me in a boy’s flannel, and walked me to the school gates. But when Ms. Parker saw me, she stopped dead. “Lydia,” the teacher said, reaching out toward the red scab on my head. “What happened here?” Mom swiped her hand away. “She was playing explorer. Fell into a rosebush. You know how clumsy kids are.” Mom’s voice was as smooth as silk. Ms. Parker didn’t look convinced. Her brow stayed furrowed the whole time she watched Mom walk away. Once we were inside, Ms. Parker took me to the “Quiet Corner.” “Maisie,” she whispered, “is there anyone else at home? An aunt? A grandma?” I shook my head. “Just Mom.” Ms. Parker hesitated. “And… is she kind to you, honey?” I blinked. No one had ever asked me that. Was she kind? I thought of the times she brushed my wig so gently I’d almost fall asleep. But I also thought of the bathroom floor, the locked doors, the way her fingernails left crescents in my arms. But those were my fault. I was the one who ate Danny. “Mom is good,” I told her, my voice steady. “She takes care of me.” “Then why the hair, Maisie? Why the clothes?” I looked at the floor. I didn’t want to lie, but the truth felt like a secret language. “I’m paying her back. It’s my turn to be Danny this week. If I do it long enough, maybe he’ll come back for real.” 3 I didn’t look up. I was waiting for her to laugh, or to tell me I was a freak like the boys on the playground did. But she didn’t. She just let out a long, shaky breath and touched the edge of the bandage she’d put over my cut. “Does it hurt?” she asked. I nodded, then shook my head. “A little. But it’s okay. I’m a boy this week. Boys are supposed to be tough.” Ms. Parker’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. She turned away quickly, wiping them with the back of her hand, then turned back with a brittle smile. “You’re very brave, Maisie.” That one sentence kept me warm all afternoon. When the bell rang, Mom was waiting at the fence. Ms. Parker walked me out, her hand resting lightly on my shoulder. “Lydia, do you have a moment? I’d love to do a quick home visit this evening,” Ms. Parker said. Mom’s face went from neutral to porcelain-white. Then, she snatched my arm, her grip digging into my elbow. “What did you tell her?” Mom hissed, right there in front of everyone. Her nails bit into my skin. “I didn’t say anything!” I cried out. “Don’t lie to me!” “Lydia!” Ms. Parker stepped between us, trying to pry Mom’s hand off. “You’re hurting her!” Mom jerked back, her eyes wide and wild, fixed on me like I was a traitor on a battlefield. “Maisie is a wonderful girl. She didn’t say anything wrong,” the teacher said, her voice dropping into a calm, authoritative tone. “A home visit is standard. I just want to see her environment.” Mom stared at her for a long time. Then, a fake, chilling smile stretched across her lips. “Oh. A visit. Of course.” She patted my head, her hand heavy and stiff. “I thought she’d gotten into trouble. We’d love to have you, Ms. Parker. Excuse the mess.” The walk home was silent. When we got inside, Ms. Parker followed. I watched her eyes sweep over our apartment. It was a museum of “Two.” Two of everything. Two toothbrushes. Two sets of shoes. The most haunting part was the wall with the wardrobes: one painted a soft, dusty rose with princess decals; the other a sharp navy blue with racing cars. Ms. Parker took a sharp breath. “Lydia… isn’t Maisie your only child?” Mom smiled. “This is a private matter, Ms. Parker. You’re here as a teacher, not a therapist.” She glared at me. “Maisie, go to your room.” I turned to go, but Ms. Parker called out. “Wait.” She turned back to Mom, her voice softening, pleading. “I’m trying to help. The kids at school… they’re bullying her. She’s confused, Lydia. And these bruises—” she gently lifted my sleeve to reveal the mottled purple marks on my forearm. “You have to know this isn’t right.” The fake smile on Mom’s face shattered. It didn’t just fall away; it exploded into rage. “And what do you know?” Mom’s voice started to tremble. “My parents died when I was a kid. I clawed my way into a life that mattered! I was carrying twins! Real, beautiful twins!” She pointed a shaking finger at me. “And then this… this thing happened. I’ve sacrificed everything to keep her fed, to keep her clothed. Do you have any idea how hard I work?” She began to scream. The veins in her neck stood out like cords. “I haven’t done anything wrong! I’m the victim here!” I started shaking. “Mom, you’re right. You’re right. It’s my fault.” Mom turned that terrifying gaze on me. “Yes! It is your fault! You’re the one who ruined everything!” 4 “Lydia, stop!” Ms. Parker pulled me into her arms, shielding me. “Do you hear yourself? She’s a baby! She’s five years old!” Mom went feral. She lunged forward, trying to yank me away. “Get your hands off my child! You have no right!” Ms. Parker held on tight, though I could feel her heart hammering against my back. “Lydia, look at me. If you don’t calm down, I am calling the police.” “Call them! Let them take me!” Mom shrieked, collapsing into a heap of hysterical sobs. Seeing her like that broke something inside me. I couldn’t stand her pain. I squirmed out of Ms. Parker’s arms and crawled over to Mom on the floor. “Mom,” I whispered. She looked at me, her face a mask of tears and smeared mascara. “Mom, let Danny eat me. Please. If I go away, you won’t be scared anymore.” Mom stared at me for an eternity. Then, she let out a soft, hallow laugh. “Fine,” she whispered. “Then go die. Go die and give him his turn.” Ms. Parker froze. “You’re sick,” she breathed, her voice thick with horror. “You aren’t a mother. You’re a monster.” Mom didn’t even look at her. She stood up and pointed toward the door. “Get. Out. My house, my rules.” Ms. Parker tried to argue, but Mom shoved her. “Out! Now!” The door slammed shut, the lock clicking with finality. Mom turned back to me, her eyes dead. “Smart girl,” she said quietly. “Found yourself a little protector, did you? You think a teacher can save you from who you are?” “No,” I whispered. “I gave you everything! I sent you to that school so you could be someone! And you use it to turn people against me?” She grabbed me by the scruff of my shirt and dragged me into my bedroom, throwing me inside and locking the door from the outside. “Stay in there and think about who really loves you!” I sat on the floor in the dark. I already knew she was the only one who loved me. But I was thinking about what she said. If I died, Danny could come back. There was a way. A real way to pay the debt. I stood up and walked to the window. It was a warm evening. I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t even feel brave. I just felt like a check that was finally being cashed. I climbed onto the ledge and let go. The fall was fast. A rush of wind, a blurred world, and then— CRACK. It hurt. For exactly one second, it was the worst pain I had ever known. And then, it was nothing. I felt light. Like a balloon that had finally untied its string. Inside the apartment, I heard Mom screaming. “What was that? Maisie! You better not be breaking things in there! I’m not letting you out until you apologize!” I floated up. I passed through the ceiling and saw her kicking the door. “Mom, I’m not breaking anything!” I shouted. But she couldn’t hear me. She kept kicking until she slumped against the wood, sliding down to the floor. She put her face in her hands and started to sob. I tried to reach out and hug her, but my hands passed right through her shoulders. “Don’t cry, Mom,” I whispered. “Danny’s coming. You’re going to have your son back.” Mom sat there for a while, then wiped her eyes. She knocked on the door softly this time. “Maisie? Come out. I’m sorry. I just… I don’t want you to think she’s better than me. I’m your mother.” She sounded so small. So fragile. I can’t come out, Mom. I’m gone. Suddenly, a thunderous pounding came from the front door. “Lydia! Open the door!” It was Ms. Parker. Mom groaned and went to open it. Ms. Parker burst in, followed by two police officers. Her face was bloodless, her eyes wide with a terror I’d never seen. “Lydia!” she screamed, grabbing Mom by the shoulders. “Did you push her? Did you push her out the window?” Mom’s jaw dropped. She stood frozen, the world slowing down as the realization began to bleed into her mind. 5 “What… what are you talking about?” Mom’s hand stayed on the doorknob, her body a statue. Her eyes were wide, but they were vacant, like she was listening to a language she didn’t speak. “Maisie fell!” Ms. Parker shrieked, tears streaming down her face. “I was outside on the phone with the police, and I turned around and—” Mom didn’t wait for the rest. She shoved Ms. Parker aside and bolted for the window. We were on the sixth floor. She leaned out so far I thought she might fall too. I floated beside her, looking down. A crowd had gathered around the flowerbed. In the center of the concrete, there was a small shape. A blue t-shirt, khaki shorts. A buzzed head. The limbs were twisted at impossible angles. Beneath it, a dark, velvet red was slowly blooming across the gray pavement. That was me. “No,” Mom whispered. It wasn’t a word; it was a ghost of a sound caught in her throat. She stared at the little body, her eyes unblinking. Then, her bones seemed to turn to water. The officers caught her before she hit the floor. “Ma’am? Ma’am!” Her eyes moved, but they didn’t see the room. She tried to speak, but her voice was gone.

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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.

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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.”

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