Category: English

When the horror game descended upon our world, my boyfriend awakened as the ultimate Boss. But me? I was stuck as the lowest-tier NPC. It happened again while I was complaining and demanding he spend his hard-earned points on expensive fresh fruit. That was when I saw the chat feed. 【He is so dramatic and annoying. Literally does nothing all day but stuff his face.】 【The Boss is fighting for his life out there against those psycho players. He is exhausted, and yet every single point he makes goes straight into this useless NPC’s mouth. Have some shame.】 【Exactly. The top healer on the leaderboard is coming to this instance soon. He and the Boss are the ones meant to end this world together. Useless NPC, just drop dead.】 I stared at the ridiculously priced fruit on the screen, my heart hammering against my ribs. Beside me, Ross turned to look at me while washing blood off his hands. “What’s wrong? Pick whatever you want, babe. We have plenty of points.” Terrified, I slapped the interface shut, my voice trembling. “I don’t… I don’t want to eat anything anymore.” 1 Ross straightened up, shaking the bloody water from his hands. It had been three years since the apocalypse, three years since the horror game descended upon our reality. He had become the ultimate Boss of this sector. In the entire Northern Sector, there wasn’t a single player who didn’t fear him. Yet, right now, he tilted his head at me, his dark eyes filled with nothing but confusion. “What’s wrong, babe? Weren’t you begging for strawberries last night?” He walked over, pressing the back of his hand to my forehead. “You don’t have a fever.” I instinctively flinched away. The cuts on his hands were still seeping blood. I had slowly grown accustomed to him returning from every instance covered in wounds. But now, the chat feed told me the truth. Those points were bought with his life, and I was using them to buy fresh fruit. How shameless of me. “I really don’t want to eat anything,” I murmured, keeping my head down. Ross narrowed his eyes, his crimson-tinted gaze locking onto me for several tense seconds. “Fine. If you don’t want it, you don’t want it.” He didn’t press further, turning his attention back to wrapping his wounds. “So, what do you want to do instead? Want to go for a walk? I’ll go with you.” I shook my head. “I want to be alone for a bit.” Ross’s movements faltered. Then, he sat on the edge of the bed and patted the space beside him. “Come here. Sit.” I didn’t move. He just watched me, patient, never rushing. After a long silence, I dragged my feet and slowly shuffled over. He reached out, pulling my shoulder into his chest. “What’s the fun in sitting alone? I’m here. But Jesse, you’re acting weird today.” I buried my face in his chest, staying quiet. Ross let the matter drop. He just held me close, resting his chin on my head, one hand gently tracing slow, rhythmic circles on my back, like he was soothing a frightened child. The chat feed drifted past again. 【Why did the little NPC stop whining? Did he suddenly find a conscience?】 【Please, him? Conscience? Pigs will fly first.】 【But seriously, Ross is so good to him. It actually hurts to watch.】 【What’s the point of being good to him? He’s not the main character. He’s bound to get written out sooner or later.】 I closed my eyes, refusing to look at the words. 2 Three years ago, the horror game merged with our reality. Back then, Ross and I were eating popsicles on Main Street. It was November in Duluth, twenty below zero. The two of us were freezing like idiots, yet we stubbornly insisted on eating them. Ross took a bite, shivering and hissing through his teeth. “Why do we even like this? I’m freezing to death.” I laughed, calling him a wimp. He glared at me playfully, shoving his popsicle toward my mouth. “Fine, tough guy. You eat it. Let’s see if you can swallow it in one bite!” Just as I opened my mouth, the sky went black. Everyone looked up. A colossal screen materialized in the heavens, towering crimson letters rolling down line by line. 【Game loading…】 【Instance generating…】 【Players logging in…】 I stood frozen, completely numb. Ross’s first instinct was to drop his popsicle and grab my hand. “What the hell is that? We need to run!” But the anomaly seemed to shroud the entire planet. The whole street erupted into chaos. People screamed, while others wailed. Once the text finished rolling, the screen began broadcasting the rules. The gist of it was simple: the real world had been retrofitted into a horror game. Everyone was automatically designated as either a player or an in-game character. Completing quests and slaying monsters yielded points, which could be exchanged for survival resources. Instances would refresh continuously, each one harder than the last. And the monsters inside those instances were once human. Those who failed to awaken as players in the first wave turned into beasts. The weaker ones became NPCs. And I was one of the weaker ones. I wasn’t even a high-tier NPC. I was a background prop, a scenario NPC. I was the kind of background character that merely triggers a single line of dialogue when a player walks past: “Lovely weather today, isn’t it?” My entire existence was meant to stand there, spout a useless line, and then be ignored by players or devoured by monsters. But Ross was different. He awakened as the ultimate Boss of this sector. In the Northern Sector, he was the apex predator. The day he carved his way through a sea of monsters to find me, he was drenched in blood. His crimson eyes had stared at me for what felt like an eternity. I had thought my lover, now turned into a monstrous Boss, had forgotten me entirely. Instead, he pulled me violently into his arms, weeping like a child. “I was so scared… Thank God you’re okay!” He brought me back to his safehouse. He used his hard-earned points to buy me the finest food, the warmest clothes. Whenever I pouted and said I wanted fresh fruit, he didn’t hesitate to spend half a month’s savings to get it. Under his protection, I lived a life more comfortable than before the world ended. But now that I thought about it, the chat feed was right. Over these past three years, Ross’s spoiling had turned me into a useless, demanding parasite. I truly didn’t deserve him. 3 From the day I saw the chat feed, I stopped throwing tantrums. Before Ross left to clear instances, I proactively organized his gear. When he returned, I made sure hot water was ready for him. Before, when he tried to teach me how to cook, I had stubbornly refused. Now, I began studying the system recipes. Though the meals I prepared tasted awful, Ross finished every single bite. He would hold his bowl, his expression a mix of bewilderment and amusement. “Babe… did you have some sort of epiphany?” I ladled some soup for him without answering. “Or did you mess up and break something?” he teased. “No.” “Then why the sudden change of heart?” I pushed the bowl in front of him. “Just drink your soup.” He chuckled, taking a sip. His brow furrowed. He took another sip, his grimace deepening. “…It’s incredibly salty.” I snatched the bowl back and tasted it myself. I nearly gagged. But Ross snatched it right back. “Salty is good. Goes well with rice.” He tipped the bowl back, gulping it down in seconds, then showed me the empty bottom. “See? All gone.” My nose stung with unshed tears. But the chat feed flared up again. 【Why are you crying? The Boss is about to meet his real partner.】 【Our precious healer entered the instance today! Get ready, girls!】 【Oh my god, really? The top-tier support on the leaderboard is coming to the Northern Sector?】 【Yeah, heard his previous team’s DPS was trash, so he wanted a change of scenery to farm some points.】 【He’s here! The true canon ship is finally sailing!】 My hand holding the bowl trembled. Ross noticed immediately. “What is it?” “Nothing.” I placed the bowl in the sink. He didn’t suspect anything. He simply walked over, wrapping his arms around me from behind and resting his chin on my shoulder. “Jesse, if there’s something on your mind, talk to me. Don’t carry it alone.” “There really isn’t.” “Then why have you been staring into space so much lately?” I turned around, looking into his crimson eyes. “Ross.” “Yeah?” “What if…” I paused, carefully choosing my words. “What if one day you meet someone, and together, you two can end this horror game? What if you could bring everyone back to their normal lives?” Before I could finish, he cut me off. “What does that have to do with me?” “How does it not? You’re the Boss. Ending the game would mean…” “It would mean they have to kill me.” I fell silent. He squeezed my arm gently. “Listen to me, Jesse. I don’t give a damn about who ends this game. I don’t care about world peace or the fate of humanity. I only care about you.” “But…” “No buts. You’re mine. I don’t care who comes knocking; no one is taking you away.” The chat feed erupted. 【Ahhhh, he’s so smooth!】 【No, I can’t be swayed! I am a die-hard canon shipper!】 【Ugh, but he’s so good to the little NPC. It’s making me soft.】 【So what? An NPC is just an NPC. He’s destined to die anyway.】 【Our healer is almost here. The canon ship is supreme!】 I closed my eyes, burying my face in his chest. I memorized every word Ross said, but I also remembered every word of the chat feed. The healer was coming. My time was running out. 4 The next day, Ross went out to clear an instance. I was alone in the safehouse, tidying up, when I heard a commotion outside. Instinctively, I shrank behind the window and peered out. Someone was limping toward our perimeter from the direction of the instance portal. He wore a blood-soaked white mage robe. He moved slowly, dragging one leg, carrying another person on his back. As he drew closer, I saw that it was an injured teammate. He carefully laid the teammate down at the edge of the safe zone, then collapsed against a nearby wall, panting heavily. His face was deathly pale. His robe was shredded at the waist, blood seeping through the fabric. Yet, ignoring his own wounds, he immediately began channeling a healing spell on his teammate. A soft white light emanated from his palms, washing over the injured player. The wounds healed at a visible rate. Meanwhile, the gash on his own side kept bleeding. The chat went wild. 【He’s here, he’s here! Henry! The number one healer on the leaderboard!】 【Why is he so hurt? Who did this to him? I’ll kill them!】 【Apparently, he had a falling out with his trash team, so he came to the Northern Sector alone.】 【Oh, it hurts to see him like this. Our poor baby traveled so far alone.】 【It’s fine. Once the Boss takes him under his wing, no one will dare touch him.】 I stood frozen. So this was Henry, the legendary support. He finished healing his teammate, but his own strength gave out. His body swayed, and he slid down the wall onto the cold ground. From behind the glass, I watched his blood drip onto the dirt, stain by stain. A dark voice whispered in my mind: Leave him. If he dies, no one will take Ross from you. But a louder, more desperate voice countered: He’s the key to ending this godforsaken game! If he dies, this world will never go back to normal! Gnashing my teeth, I pushed the door open and stepped outside. Hearing the noise, Henry snapped his head up. His palms flared with a defensive white light, ready to strike. But when his eyes fell on me, he blinked in confusion. “An NPC?” I nodded slowly. He kept his guard up, eyes tracking my every movement. “What do you want?” I pointed at his bleeding waist. “Do you need help?” He looked down at his wound, then back up at me. “Wait here.” I dashed back inside, grabbed the medical kit Ross had left behind, and ran back out to offer it to him. Henry stared at the kit, making no move to take it. His eyes remained highly suspicious. “You’re an NPC. Why are you helping me?” I thought about it. “I don’t know.” And that was the truth. I had no idea why I was doing this. Players and NPCs were natural enemies, yet, watching him bleed out alone, I couldn’t bring myself to walk away. Henry studied me for several seconds before finally taking the kit. “Thank you.” He bowed his head and began treating his wounds. His movements were practiced and efficient, the mark of someone intimately familiar with pain. I squatted beside him, watching. After a moment of hesitation, I reached out. “Let me.” Without waiting for his permission, I took the gauze and began wrapping his side. I wasn’t a professional. My hands were clumsy, and the bandage ended up a messy, tangled lump. But Henry didn’t complain. He sat there quietly, letting me fuss over him. The chat feed went quiet for a few seconds before shifting. 【Wait… this little NPC… isn’t actually that annoying?】 【He’s bandaging Henry.】 【It looks terrible, but why is this kind of sweet?】 【No, stay strong! He’s just cannon fodder, don’t go soft on him!】 I ignored the floating words. I kept my head down, wrapping the gauze round and round. Suddenly, Henry spoke. “What’s your name?” “Jesse.” “Jesse. I’m Henry.” “I know.” He paused, startled. “How do you know?” My heart skipped a beat. “The number one healer on the leaderboard. Your reputation precedes you.” Henry didn’t press further. 5 By the time Ross returned, I had already settled Henry and his teammate into an empty room. His first words upon stepping through the door were, “Someone was here.” I was heating up dinner, and my hand froze over the stove. “Yes. Two players.” “Players?” Ross’s brow furrowed. “They were hurt. One of them was in really bad shape.” Ross said nothing. He shed his blood-stained coat, walked over to the window, and peered outside. Then he turned to look at me. “Guys or girls?” “Guys.” “Both of them?” “Yes.” Ross’s frown deepened. He walked over, towering over me. “Jesse, did you forget what I am?” “No.” “I’m a Boss. They are players. Between players and Bosses, it’s kill or be killed.” “But they were dying,” I whispered. “And what does that have to do with us?” “I…” I wanted to say, He’s your destined partner. But the words died in my throat. He couldn’t see the chat feed. He would think I was losing my mind. Seeing my silence, Ross sighed. He reached out, ruffling my hair. “Fine. They can stay. But on one condition.” “What?” “You are not allowed to be alone with them. Understood?” I nodded. But as I turned away, the chat feed drifted past again. 【The little NPC has been acting so strange lately. He’s gotten so quiet.】 【The official lore says the Boss and the Healer have to be together to end the game. It’s better if he steps aside willingly.】 【Exactly. Only the combination of the top healer’s power and the ultimate Boss’s strength can break the system.】 【Hurry up and write the NPC out. Stop delaying the plot.】 My mind became a chaotic storm.

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1 Victoria was a renowned micro-expression expert who claimed no lie escaped her. To study us, she wired our home with surveillance, turning our lives into a lab. When Paige cried over a scraped knee, Victoria held her, praising her “genuine” emotion. But when I writhed in agony from cramps, she stared at her monitor, lecturing her students. “Twitching lips, shifting eyes—classic histrionic disorder. She is acting.” The day I ingested a lethal allergen, my throat sealed shut. Clawing at my neck, I crawled to her, begging. Victoria simply pushed up her glasses, opened her notepad, and wrote clinically, “Rapid respiration. Cyanosis. Gemma, your acting has improved, but your micro-expressions betray you.” As punishment, she disabled the medical alarm, locked the doors, and took Paige to a concert. “Enjoy your performance for the cameras. Let’s see how long it takes you to admit the truth.” I curled up on the freezing tiles, my vision fading as I stared at the blinking red eye of the camera above. Mom, you spent your life analyzing humanity. Yet, you never saw your own daughter. … I drifted into the air, looking down at my own body curled on the floor. My face, bloated and turned a dark, bruised purple from suffocation, looked grotesque, almost pathetic. All the agony, the burning in my lungs, the sheer despair had remained trapped in that useless vessel. It felt peaceful. Finally, the pain was gone. Lighter than a feather, my spirit slipped through the solid brick walls with a single thought, finding myself in the grand, gilded concert hall across town. Victoria sat in the front row. She took a strawberry candy from Paige’s hand, carefully peeled back the wrapper, and popped it into Paige’s mouth. Her eyes held a warmth I had never once received in life. “Eat slowly, sweetheart. Don’t choke.” Paige mumbled around the candy, her voice dripping with irritation. “Gemma is so annoying. She had to play sick today and almost made us late.” A faint, smug smile played on Victoria’s lips, filled with absolute certainty. “Don’t let her bother you. It’s just her histrionic tendencies craving attention. She needs a cold dose of reality. Once she realizes her little stunts don’t work on me, she’ll stop.” Right then, her phone buzzed inside her designer handbag. It was a notification from the home security app. Living Room Camera: Target motionless for an extended period. Potential anomaly detected. Please check immediately. Victoria casually unlocked her screen and opened the live feed. On the screen, I lay contorted on the cold floor, completely still. “Huh? Gemma looks weird,” Paige whispered, leaning over with a look of pure disgust. “She’s playing dead again. She just wants to trick you into coming home.” Victoria let out a soft huff, devoid of any real concern. Pinching her fingers to zoom in on my stiff, curled fingers, she turned my death into a teaching moment. “Look closely, Paige. This is what we call intentional rigidity. When someone actually faints or dies, their muscles go entirely limp in the initial stages. Look at her fingers. They are incredibly tense. It is a clear case of overacting. She is trying too hard to make sure the camera catches it.” She paused, pointing to my parted lips. “And see the downward pull of her lips? That is a classic masochistic-gratification expression. She is indulging in the tragedy of being misunderstood to gain psychological satisfaction.” A well-dressed woman sitting nearby overheard the explanation and leaned in, her eyes wide with admiration. “Excuse me, are you Dr. Victoria Brooks? The famous micro-expression expert from the talk shows? I’ve read all your papers. You’re brilliant.” “That analysis is absolutely incredible. Your eyes really are like X-rays. Nothing can slip past you.” “You’re too kind,” Victoria replied with a poised, graceful nod. Floating above them, I could only manage a silent, bitter smile. Mom, this time, you got it completely wrong. I remembered when I was little, before my mother became a renowned specialist. Back then, her eyes held nothing but pure affection for me. Whenever I felt hurt or upset, she would pull me tightly into her arms, kissing my forehead over and over. “Gemma’s feelings are the most precious things in the world to me. Mommy will always protect you.” But as Victoria’s fame grew, Paige was born. My sister was a naturally sweet talker, bright and endlessly cheerful, effortlessly capturing everyone’s hearts. I, on the other hand, was always stiff, my expressions awkward. Accustomed to absolute perfection and control, Victoria slowly grew to resent my existence. I used to think that if I just tried a little harder, if I strove to be better, she would love me again. But every attempt only pushed her further away. The classical music finally swelled to a close. As the crowd filed out, Victoria showed no intention of heading home. Paige tugged on her hand, looking up innocently. “Mom, aren’t we going home? Is Gemma still putting on her show?” Victoria stood up, smoothing the fabric of her elegant dress. Her eyes swept over the frozen image of my body on her phone. “No. I want to see who breaks first, her drama or my patience. If she wants to play the victim, she can do it all night. Come on, Paige. Let’s get that French dinner you’ve been craving.” At the upscale bistro, Paige kicked her legs under the table, her eyes wide. “Mom, Gemma’s been face down on that cold floor for so long. She must be starving. Should we pack some escargot for her?” The waiter pouring their lemon water smiled warmly. “Your little girl is so sweet and thoughtful.” Victoria smiled, stroking Paige’s hair. “Kindness is a virtue, Paige, but you have to choose who deserves it.” She spread her linen napkin over her lap. “For someone as full of lies as your sister, showing pity only enables her deceit. We aren’t bringing her anything. A night of hunger will teach her the true cost of honesty.” The phone on the table lit up again. Alerts from the security app flooded the lock screen, bright red exclamation marks popping up with persistent urgency. Warning: Extended immobility detected. Warning: Abrupt temperature drop in target area. Warning: Minor fluid leakage detected… Victoria glanced at the screen. My fingers remained in that stiff, frozen curl. Not a single line creased her brow. She flipped the phone face down onto the mahogany table. “Here, Paige. Try the foie gras. It’s excellent for development.” She neatly sliced a piece, blew on it gently, and fed it to her younger daughter. Meanwhile, the only variable in our heavily monitored house had finally arrived. Mrs. Gable, our housekeeper, was scheduled to visit. Since she was leaving for her hometown tomorrow, she decided to finish the cleaning a day early. She stood outside the massive glass patio doors, peering in as she reached for the doorbell. The next second, her smile shattered. Through the pristine glass, she saw my pale, bluish-purple face contorted on the living room rug. A dark patch of fluid was slowly pooling beneath my head. “Gemma! Gemma!” Panic-stricken, Mrs. Gable began banging violently on the thick glass. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Open the door!” The glass remained impenetrable, and the body inside didn’t stir. Desperate, she slammed her thumb into the red emergency button near the door, but it was dead. Looking closer, she saw the wiring had been cleanly severed at the base. Shaking violently, Mrs. Gable pulled out her phone and dialed Victoria. “Yes, Mrs. Gable? What is it?” Victoria’s voice held a note of irritation. “Dr. Brooks, something is terribly wrong! You have to come home right now! It’s Gemma. She’s on the floor, completely still, and her face is turning blue!” My spirit drifted beside Mrs. Gable. Seeing her sweat-streaked, tearful face sparked a faint ember of hope in me. She had watched me grow up. Maybe, just maybe, she could make Victoria understand. But Victoria’s next words dragged me straight back into the abyss. “Mrs. Gable, ignore her. I’ve told you before, Gemma suffers from histrionic personality traits. This is part of a cognitive behavioral therapy scenario I set up to correct her manipulative lying.” “A scenario? What scenario?!” Mrs. Gable was hysterical. “Dr. Brooks, this isn’t acting! The poor girl is blue, her lips are turning black! Please, you need to come back!” “It’s makeup,” Victoria countered smoothly. “She once smeared ketchup on her face to fake coughing up blood just to get my attention. She is highly resourceful when she wants sympathy. Don’t let her play you. She thrives on manipulating people’s pity.” “No! This isn’t makeup!” Mrs. Gable begged, tears streaming down her face. “I’ve known this child for years. I know when she’s playing around, and this isn’t it! Please, just call an ambulance!” “Enough!” Victoria’s voice rose, sharp and laced with the fury of a professional who despised being questioned. “Mrs. Gable, I am the clinical psychologist here. I understand my daughter’s behavioral patterns far better than you do!” “I am in the middle of a critical psychological intervention. Your panic is going to ruin my entire therapeutic progress! Leave the premises immediately. Do not interfere.” The line went dead. Refusing to give up, Mrs. Gable redialed, only to be met with a cold, automated operator. The number you are trying to reach is currently busy… She had been blocked. Her hand fell limp. Pressing her face against the glass, she took one last, helpless look at my silent form. With no other choice, she walked away, glancing back over her shoulder in agony as she left the gated community. I watched the only person who could have saved me walk away. The last spark of light in my chest died. Back at the restaurant, Paige licked her ice cream spoon and asked innocently, “Mom, was that Mrs. Gable? What did she want?” Victoria dabbed her mouth with a napkin, her soft, maternal smile returning instantly. “Nothing, sweetheart. Just another fool falling for your sister’s theatrics.” “Weird. Why is the door deadbolted from the inside?” Robert stood on the front porch, dragging his suitcase and pressing the doorbell repeatedly. He had just returned early from a business trip, hoping to surprise his family. When the bell elicited no response, he reached for the red emergency alarm button. The button hung loose, its raw copper wires dangling helplessly. A cold dread seized his chest. Shaking, he dug his spare key out of his wallet and jammed it into the lock. With a heavy click, the deadbolt gave way. A heavy, stagnant odor of raw decay and bodily fluids rushed out, hitting him like a physical blow. Robert froze on the threshold, his gaze locking onto the center of the living room. And then, he saw me. He saw the body on the floor, stiff, pale, with dark lividity already pooling in the skin. “Gemma…” His lips trembled, unable to form a coherent sound. His suitcase hit the floor with a loud thud as he scrambled across the room, falling to his knees. “My baby. Oh God, Gemma, what happened to you?!” He tried to pull me into his arms, but my limbs were as rigid as stone. Touching my ice-cold, lifeless skin, he realized there was no breath. A raw, guttural scream tore from his throat. My spirit hovered near the ceiling. I watched this man, who had always been a pillar of strength, break down like a helpless child. He clung to my rigid form, crying my name over and over. The veins in his neck bulged, tears streaming down his face as he shook with heavy, violent sobs. “Victoria. Victoria, pick up!” He snatched his phone, his eyes bloodshot with rage, and dialed Victoria’s number. At that very moment, Victoria was at a high-end boutique downtown, watching Paige twirl in a white lace dress. “Mommy, look. I look just like Elsa!” Paige giggled, spinning in front of the mirror. “If you love it, we’re buying it,” Victoria said softly, pulling out her phone to pay. Robert’s name flashed frantically across her screen. She glanced at it, her brow furrowing in irritation, and swiped to decline. “Your father is so exhausting. He doesn’t call once during his trip, and now he won’t stop ringing.” The call was disconnected. But a few seconds later, an unknown landline number flashed on the screen. Annoyed, she swiped to answer. “Hello?” “Victoria, where the hell are you?!” Robert’s voice roared through the receiver, using a neighbor’s phone. “Gemma is dead. You killed her!” Facing this shattered, bloody accusation, Victoria was silent for a fraction of a second before letting out a soft, mocking sigh. “Robert, did you look at the cameras too? You have to trust my professional judgment on this. Don’t enable her drama like you always do.” Her voice was perfectly level, tinged with a clinical sort of disdain. “I watched the live feed earlier and analyzed her micro-expressions. Avoidant eye contact, manufactured physical stiffness. It is a textbook stress response to lying. She is attempting to leverage self-inflicted misery to force us to come home.” “You… you monster…” Robert shook so violently he couldn’t form the words. He slammed the phone down and immediately dialed 911. Sirens soon shattered the quiet of the exclusive neighborhood. Neighbors peered out of their windows as police cruisers and ambulances lined the street, cordoning off our lawn with yellow tape. Back at the mall, Victoria was signing the receipt, a pleasant smile on her face. Looking up, she caught a breaking news broadcast flashing across the massive digital screen in the mall’s atrium. Breaking News: A young woman was found dead in an upscale residence earlier today. Authorities are currently investigating. A brief shot of our gated community’s entrance flashed on screen. Victoria’s heart skipped a beat. But within a second, her professional pride took over, silencing the dread. No. Absolutely impossible. The rigidity and posturing in the live stream were entirely manufactured. The news report was just a coincidence. It had nothing to do with her household. The brief flash of panic vanished, replaced by an irritation at being manipulated. “Typical,” she muttered, taking Paige’s hand. “Your father is still trying to play his part in her little play. He realized I wouldn’t bite, so he stopped calling. Using life and death as a prop. How pathetic.” “Come on, Paige. Look at the camera and smile.” Victoria took Paige straight to the most exclusive portrait studio in the city. She seemed determined to use social media to show Robert and me that her resolve was unbreakable. The camera flashed, capturing a picture-perfect portrait of maternal bliss. Victoria immediately uploaded it, carefully crafting her caption: A day free from emotional hostage-taking. Honesty is the only foundation for true connection. #QualityTime #Parenting Below it, she posted a beautiful grid of photos showing her and Paige laughing in their matching dresses. Within minutes, comments and likes poured in by the dozens. So true, Dr. Brooks! Your parenting is such an inspiration! Paige looks like an absolute angel! Victoria scrolled through the glowing praise, her chest swelling with pride. At that moment, the heavy glass doors of the studio slid open, and three uniformed police officers entered, their faces grim. The chatter in the studio died instantly. Every eye tracked the officers as they marched across the room. The lead officer scanned the lobby, locked onto Victoria, and walked straight toward her. “Are you Victoria Brooks?” Victoria blinked, startled. Quickly recovering her composed, academic poise, she nodded. “I am. Can I help you, officers?” “I’m Detective Briggs from Homicide,” the lead officer said, showing his badge. “We need you to come with us regarding the death of your daughter, Gemma Brooks.”

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1 At 2:00 AM, the rustling beside me woke me. I saw Marcus’s brow tightly furrowed. I couldn’t help but ask, “Why are you back? Did you have a fight with her?” He remained silent for a moment, then gave a slow nod. I sat up and offered a quiet word of comfort. “She’s young and spoiled. Just throwing a little tantrum. Buy her that bag or necklace she’s been eyeing tomorrow, and she’ll be fine.” He stared at me, a deep, unreadable look in his eyes, but ultimately didn’t say a word. I lay back down and fell asleep as peacefully as ever. Four years. It had taken four years to transform me from a hysterical, suicidal, jealous wreck into his most understanding confidante. … At 7:00 AM, Marcus walked out of the bedroom. He glanced at me. “What’s your schedule for today?” “I have plans for coffee,” I replied, sliding the bowl of oatmeal toward him. “Want some?” He didn’t sit. Instead, he pulled an envelope from his briefcase and slid it across the table. “See if you like these.” Inside were two VIP tickets to an art exhibition. I tucked them into my bag. “Thanks. What brought this on?” “Tessa likes the artist,” he paused, his voice dropping slightly. “These were extras.” I nodded. If this had been years ago, that bowl of oatmeal would have been dripping from his face by now. But now, I had learned not to waste food. I took a quiet sip. He lingered, waiting for a reaction. When none came, he turned and left. It wasn’t long before my phone rang with an unfamiliar number. I used to ignore calls like this to avoid hearing her voice, but I had outgrown that habit. I picked up and put it on speaker. “Hey, Vivienne. It’s Tessa. Marcus left some important documents at my place. Do you mind swinging by to pick them up?” I scooped up another bite of oatmeal. “He has keys. He can get them himself.” “Actually, I wanted to talk to you. There are things I’ve been keeping inside…” My expression didn’t change. “I’m busy this afternoon. Maybe another time.” I hung up. I was never actually a generous woman. Tessa had been provoking me for exactly four years and eight days. I kept count. At first, I was a tinderbox, blowing up at the slightest spark and making a fool of myself. Later, friends advised me to focus on myself and ignore her. So Tessa shifted her strategy. She stopped hiding and started pushing herself into my life. One day she’d post the designer bag Marcus bought her; the next, she’d send screenshots of their late-night texts. In the end, I couldn’t take it and went to confront her. But Marcus always believed her over me. The more I fought, the uglier it got, trapping me in a vicious, suffocating cycle. But now, no matter what cards she played, they had lost their power over me. At 3:00 PM, I had barely been at the café for half an hour when Marcus suddenly showed up. He rarely crashed my plans. This was a surprise. “I was in the neighborhood,” he said, pulling out a chair and casually flipping through the menu. My friend, taking the hint, politely excused herself. I looked at him. “Is something wrong?” “Did Tessa call you this morning?” “Yes.” “What did she say?” I looked up at him. What could she say? Nothing but her usual boasts about how he was a beast in her bed but a corpse in mine. I still remembered the first time she called me. It was our second anniversary. I had hosted a small dinner party, inviting our closest friends to celebrate our marriage. We waited for him until the party was nearly over. Then, an unknown number called, filling the line with heavy, breathless gasps. Just as I was about to apologize for a wrong number, a familiar male voice came through the speaker, breathless and feral: “Tessa, don’t bite.” Our friends froze, glasses suspended in mid-air. Before leaving, every single one of them offered the same well-meaning advice: “Vivienne, Marcus is a powerful man now. The temptations are endless. Talk to him when he gets back, but don’t do anything rash.” And I listened. That night, we sat in the living room until 3:00 AM. I didn’t scream. And he confessed. He claimed it was a momentary lapse, that he’d had too much to drink and mistook Tessa for me. Then he dropped to his knees, begging for forgiveness, swearing he would never do it again, swearing I was his only love. I believed him. I thought that by exposing Tessa’s cheap trick, Marcus would see her for what she was and keep his distance. After all, what self-respecting man wouldn’t learn his lesson after being manipulated like that? But he didn’t. Instead of backing away, he decided Tessa was “brave enough to risk everything for him,” and his heart bled for her. Behind my back, he bought her a luxury apartment downtown, nurturing her with his wealth and affection. That was when I finally understood. There was no mistaken identity. He knew exactly what he was doing. Tessa wasn’t an accident. She was his choice. And I was the one left behind, biting my tongue and pretending to be the bigger person. 2 Pulling myself out of the memory, I looked up at him and shook my head. “Nothing.” But I knew him well enough to know this question wasn’t innocent. I must have done something to hurt Tessa again. I set my cup down. “Did she tell you something?” “Did she say I hired someone to ruin her? Or that I put up banners at her apartment complex to trash her reputation?” “You can just say it, Marcus. No need to test me. I can explain.” I used to do countless stupid things when she pushed my buttons. And by some cruel stroke of luck, Marcus would always catch me in the act. The villain was cast, and I was banished to the cold. But I had learned my lesson. No more desperate explanations. No more frantic counterattacks. I lifted my cup, took a slow, deliberate sip, and waited for him to show his hand. He blinked, his face darkening slightly. “She didn’t say anything.” I nodded. “How rare.” His lips parted, and he turned his cup in a slow circle. “I came back last night because we had a fight. But that wasn’t the only reason.” “Mainly because of the fight, then. What else?” I waved the waiter over to refill my hot water. “Can you stop doing this?” He rubbed his temples, looking exhausted. “If you’re angry, just say it.” “I’m perfectly fine, Marcus. You’re overthinking things.” 3 He didn’t speak, just kept staring at me. I didn’t know how to make him believe me. Because honestly, even I found it hard to believe. I had lost everything in this marriage. How could I possibly be fine? But I couldn’t explain it to him. Suddenly, his favorite phrase felt incredibly useful: “If that’s what you want to think, I can’t stop you.” He let those words sink in, paused, then got up and walked out. I watched his retreating back, then picked up my book again. Over the past four years, countless nights of him not coming home had eroded my boundaries to dust. I had screamed, I had threatened to end it all, only to end up more broken than before. Now that I truly didn’t care, he suddenly wanted me to express my feelings. I was never meant to be a bitter wife. Before Marcus, I was always poised, logical, and entirely in control. Back when I was making waves on Wall Street, I never imagined I would lose myself to a relationship. I had become the very kind of woman I used to despise. Love makes you selfish, demanding exclusivity. And when you can’t have it, you unravel. But once the love is gone, you find your way back to who you were. … At 8:00 PM, as I was getting ready to head home, Tessa sent a voice note. I tapped it. “Hey, Viv. Marcus had too much to drink, and he’s insisting I pick him up. But I’m not his wife, am I? Maybe you should come instead?” A location pin followed. It was a bar downtown. I didn’t go. Instead, I called Albert. “Marcus is drunk. I’ll text you the address. Go pick him up.” At 11:00 PM, Albert lugged Marcus back, reeking of alcohol. When I opened the door, Marcus nearly collapsed on top of me. “Where’s Tessa?” I asked Albert. “The bartender said… Miss Tessa expected you to show up. She wanted Mr. Marcus to choose between the two of you tonight. She didn’t expect me.” “She tried to drag him away in a huff, but he wanted to keep drinking. I couldn’t watch any longer, so I just put him in the car.” I helped him onto the bed and loosened his tie. He suddenly grabbed my hand. “Do you… do you not love me anymore?” “You’re drunk.” “I’m not drunk.” His eyes were bloodshot. “You used to cry. You used to scream and throw things. Now, even when Tessa baits you, you don’t care. What is going on in your head?” I pulled my hand free. “Go to sleep.” He rolled over, muttering under his breath, “You didn’t come to get me…” I found it almost laughable. Get him? Every time I tried to rescue him in the past, I was met with a locked door. Even on his father’s memorial day, I went to his office to pick him up. But Tessa called complaining of a headache, and he rushed to her side. “Viv, it’s a matter of life and death. I have to get her to the clinic first.” The rest of us became invisible props in his life. That day, I stood there holding the memorial offerings for half an hour before heading to the cemetery alone. In their game of “choose one,” I was never the choice. They might not be tired of playing, but I was done. The next morning, before he even woke up, I went to the bank. The teller asked, “Mrs. Marcus, are you sure you want to transfer this fixed deposit to a checking account? Is there an emergency?” “I’m planning to go abroad soon. Just preparing in advance.” As I walked out, I ran into Tessa. She was standing near the entrance, a smirk playing on her lips. “What a coincidence, Viv.” After four years of dealing with her, I knew every trick in her book. I used to take the bait, shaking with rage while she watched the show. Now, I couldn’t be bothered. “Indeed.” I didn’t break my stride. She called out behind me, “Don’t you want to know what happened at the bar last night?” I didn’t turn around. She raised her voice. “You don’t love him anymore, do you?” I paused. This was one question I couldn’t ignore. “A wife naturally loves her husband. Why does an outsider care so much?” “You…” She was left speechless, her face flushed with irritation. When I got home, Marcus was awake, sitting in the living room and smoking. For all his flaws, he rarely smoked inside the house. I frowned and opened the windows to let the smoke out. “Have you been neglecting your girl lately? She’s been following me around.” I approached him, pulling a box I had prepared long ago from the cabinet under the coffee table. I slid it toward him. “This is a limited-edition bracelet. Use it to patch things up with her.” His fingers, holding the cigarette, stiffened. “By the way,” I continued, ignoring his reaction, “the peace-offering fund you kept with me has been draining fast these past two months.” “Budget wisely. Try not to upset her so often.” This was the arrangement we agreed on during our truce. Every penny he spent on Tessa had to go through my accounts. I wanted to see every transaction. I couldn’t stop him from spending money on his mistress. But instead of driving myself mad with speculation, I preferred to see the cold, hard numbers. His face darkened, and he muttered a brief response before stubbing out his cigarette. “The bank called. They said you made a major transfer.” His voice quieted. “Are you leaving the country?” 4 I hadn’t expected a man who normally ignored me to suddenly care about my finances. Our marriage had crumbled because of secrecy. And the cracks had only widened when the truth came out. So, I had no intention of lying. “Yes. I’m planning to study abroad for a while.” He was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy. “Are you getting ready for a divorce?” Divorce? This marriage gave me wealth and status. As long as I didn’t crave his affection, it was a comfortable arrangement. I had no plans to divorce him. “I just want to get away for a bit,” I answered honestly. “And what about me?” I looked at him, genuinely puzzled. “Marcus, these past four years have taught me one thing: a person must prioritize their own peace of mind. The same goes for you. Stop worrying about whether I’ll be angry, and just do what you want to do.” He stood up, his voice raspy. “I’ve told you a thousand times, Tessa is just… never mind. What if I told you I’m ready to cut things off with her?” “That’s your business. You don’t need to consult me.” If he cut off Tessa, there would only be another Tessa. A man who strays once will stray again. I understood that much. Before he could say more, the doorbell rang. Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose and went to open it. It was Tessa. It seemed she had followed me all the way home. Honestly, she didn’t need to try so hard. If anyone else had been in my position, Tessa wouldn’t have lasted four years. And the person keeping her from becoming the official wife was never me. She marched in, her stilettos clicking sharply on the floor. “Is Vivienne home? I need to speak with her.” I watched her peer into the hallway. Suddenly, I recalled the first time I met her four years ago. She had just graduated, fresh and full of life. Her youth, her vitality, and Marcus’s shameless favoritism had driven me mad back then. I had tried to compete with her in every way. Because she was young, I frequented skin clinics, getting botox, lifts, and every treatment available. Because she was active, I took up dance, yoga, and skydiving. But I could never win against his bias. During that phase, the tabloids were filled with my humiliation: “Mrs. Marcus assaults mistress on the street…” “Wealthy heir’s wife causes drunken scene late at night…” Every photo showed me looking unhinged. I turned myself into a laughingstock, and still, the man I loved never looked back at me. Those four years of fighting had drained me of everything. They made me forget that marriage and love are merely seasonings in life, not the main course. Marcus blocked her path. “Go home.” “No!” For the first time, she screamed at me right in front of him. “Vivienne, stop putting on an act!” “You don’t love him anymore! Why won’t you just divorce him? What is the point of holding onto this empty title?” 5 I stood up from the sofa. Walking over to the door, I greeted her calmly. “Hello, Tessa.” Then I looked at Marcus. “My friends just asked me to play bridge. I’ll head out.” I stepped aside to leave, as if making room for the two of them. But he grabbed my wrist, pulling me back. “You just got home. Don’t go out again.” Then he looked at Tessa, his voice flat. “Whether we get a divorce is between Vivienne and me. Stop making a scene.” I stood quietly to the side, staying out of it. Marcus used to tell me that Tessa was sweet and sensible, that she never cared about a marriage license, and that I should be more accommodating. I didn’t believe him then. I spent all my energy trying to prove she would eventually show her true colors. I still didn’t believe him, but the difference was, I no longer cared to prove anything. She could fight with Marcus all she wanted, demand a ring, demand whatever. As long as she left me out of it. Seeing my silence, Tessa pressed on. “Vivienne, what kind of game are you playing?!” I looked at her, my voice mild. “You’ve been with him for four years, and you still haven’t convinced him to marry you. What’s the point of asking me?” It was the simple truth. If Marcus truly wanted to marry her, I couldn’t have stopped him. He simply valued his own status and reputation more. When he married me, it was a grand, city-wide affair. The vows were too heavy for him to publicly tear down. Tessa’s eyes welled with tears, and she looked at Marcus. Surprisingly, Marcus didn’t comfort her this time. He just kept his eyes locked on me. I felt as if he was trying to drill a hole through me with his gaze. But even if he did, what did it matter? If I didn’t say anything, it would only be twisted into me disrespecting her again. I had learned the hard way to state my piece clearly and keep the high ground. Tessa covered her face and ran out. Marcus didn’t chase after her. He walked to the balcony to smoke a cigarette alone. I went back to the bedroom. I counted the days on my fingers, then pulled out my suitcase and began packing. I didn’t hear him come in, but he was suddenly leaning against the doorframe. “Your visa is approved?” I nodded. “Yes. I leave next Wednesday.” “When did you decide this?” “Three months ago.” He fell silent. Three months ago, our first child had slipped away from my womb. That was the day Tessa poisoned my golden retriever. In a fit of rage, I drove to her place and killed her two pet rabbits. She had called Marcus, sobbing. He rushed over and, in our frantic struggle, pushed me. The pregnancy, which had come as a surprise, ended just as quickly. Any decision made during that dark month felt entirely justified. Yet, even then, I hadn’t asked for a divorce. But ever since that day, he made sure to come home every night. He cancelled dinners and business meetings. It was as if he had finally remembered how to be a husband. Unfortunately, I no longer needed him to be. “Get some rest,” he muttered before turning and heading to his study. 6 On Wednesday morning, I carried my suitcase downstairs. Marcus was sitting in the living room, looking as though he hadn’t slept all night. Two identical sets of documents lay on the coffee table. His signature was already on them. I stared at him, confused. He pushed the divorce papers toward me. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Sign it, and you’re entirely free.” Without so much as glancing at the papers, I took hold of my suitcase and walked past him. “Stop right there.” He caught up with me at the door, his face grim. “What do you actually want?” I turned around. “I’m not signing. And I’m not divorcing you.” A flicker of hope ignited in his eyes. He assumed I was still the woman who loved him desperately, unable to let him go. “Viv, if you still love me, then we can…” “Love?” I laughed, cutting him off. “That doesn’t matter anymore. Didn’t you say it yourself? We’re adults. We don’t talk about feelings; we talk about practicality. This marriage is still useful to me.” His expression stiffened. In the past, because of Tessa, I had threatened divorce countless times. And every single time, he would say: “You rely on me for everything. If you leave me, you won’t even have a roof over your head. Think carefully before you throw a tantrum.” He couldn’t bear to let Tessa suffer the slightest slight. No matter what she did, he always blamed me for not being magnanimous enough. Whenever things escalated toward divorce, he held all the cards. Back then, it was because of love, because of resentment. So it was all empty threats. He knew better than anyone how much I adored him. But now, that cheap affection had exited the stage. All that remained was a calculated game of chess. I spelled it out for him: “Three months ago, I was negotiating an overseas venture. Do you know why that project was approved? Because of my status as your wife.” His face went pale. “Do you have any idea how many major clients my studio has landed over the past four years? They came to me because of your name, Marcus.” I offered a faint smile. “So my decision has nothing to do with love or hate. It’s simply…” “Good business.” He stood there, looking as though he had been struck. “You can do whatever you want with Tessa. I’m going to England, and I won’t be back for six months.” I opened the door. “Divorce is too much of a hassle right now. Let’s keep things convenient for both of us.” Before shutting the door, I added one last thing: “By the way, try not to make any babies. An illegitimate child is never a good look.” I dragged my suitcase behind me and walked away without looking back. In the elevator, I caught my reflection in the mirror. There were no tears, no smiles. Just absolute stillness. I had lied to him. If things went well abroad, I had no intention of ever coming back. … At the boarding gate, I had just pulled out my passport when two uniformed officers approached me. They blocked my path. “Miss Vivienne, you are a suspect in a murder investigation. Please come with us to the station.” I didn’t move. I simply let out a dry laugh. Another game. Tessa had played this trick to disrupt my life so many times that I was entirely numb to it. I tried to step around them. One of them held up a photograph of a crime scene. I took one look, and my eyes widened.

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My wife gifted me an African Grey parrot. Every single day, it screamed at me: “Die, brother, die.” I sent it to a highly specialized avian behavioral correction facility. Every day, they locked it in a mirror enclosure, looping an audio track three thousand times: “I am a good bird.” I did this because I had been reborn. In my previous life, on the very first day this bird entered our home, it only knew two phrases. “Ugly brother.” “Die, brother.” I thought it was just mimicking something it had heard. Then, my health began to fail. It started with insomnia. I suffered through night terrors, drowning in a sea of shadows where a single voice kept repeating “die, die, die.” Then came the anorexia. The mere sight of food made me violently nauseous until I was nothing but skin and bones. Finally, my organs began shutting down entirely. It was only on my deathbed that I realized it was never just a bird. It was my “dead” best friend. 1 In my last life, I died in a cold hospital room. I was hooked up to a dozen tubes, the heart monitor beside me letting out a long, piercing beep. The very last sound I heard before the darkness took me came from Opal, that African Grey parrot. It tilted its head, staring at me from the windowsill of my hospital room, and let out a soft, mocking laugh. It was the laugh of a grown man. I was already too weak to speak, but I recognized that laugh immediately. It belonged to my best friend, Declan. The same Declan who had died of a terminal illness three years ago. My soul drifted out of my ruined body, floating near the ceiling as the nurses pulled a crisp white sheet over my face. My wife, Amy, stood in the doorway. Her eyes were rimmed red, and she looked absolutely devastated. She cried beautifully for a few minutes, wiped her tears, and then turned and walked away. I followed her. I watched her drive out to a secluded, modern cabin in the suburbs. I watched her unlock the front door. Sitting inside the living room was a man. Declan. He was wearing dark, comfortable loungewear, his messy hair falling over his forehead. There was not a single trace of sickness on his face. His skin was flushed with health, and he smiled with the vibrant energy of an eighteen-year-old. Amy walked over, wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, and pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead. “He’s dead,” she whispered. “Finally.” Declan let out a low, satisfied laugh. “I spent three years trapped in the body of that damn bird. Every single day I cursed him, and every curse siphoned a little more of his life force away. Now that he’s dead, all that stolen vitality belongs entirely to me.” Amy tenderly cupped his face. “You can finally be human again.” Declan stood up from the sofa, stretching his arms high above his head and taking a deep, greedy breath of air. “I can finally use this body. Playing the pet bird for three years almost made me forget what it feels like to be a man.” Amy smiled sweetly. “When you were diagnosed with that terminal illness three years ago, I was terrified I was going to lose you.” “Thank God that occultist told us we could transfer your soul into a parrot and use someone else’s lifespan to keep you alive.” “But he specifically said we needed someone with the exact same soul resonance.” Declan pulled her flush against his chest. “Your husband’s soul resonance was a flawless match with mine. His life was practically designed to be harvested for my sake.” Amy kissed his hair. “Giving up his life to save yours was the greatest purpose he could have ever served.” I stood frozen in the center of the room, staring at the two of them. My wife. My absolute best friend. They held each other tightly, casually joking about how stealing my life was a privilege for me. I did not cry. Souls do not have tears to shed. I simply burned every single word, every twisted smile, and every sickening detail into my memory. And then, I woke up. I woke up exactly three years in the past. I woke up on the exact day Amy brought that parrot into our home. “Jeff? Jeff, what’s wrong?” Amy’s voice yanked me back to reality. She was looking at me with deep concern, resting a warm hand on my shoulder. It smelled exactly like her favorite expensive perfume. I looked down at my own body. My hands were steady, my chest broad. In my past life, this body had been hollowed out, drained drop by drop until there was nothing left. I lifted my head and looked Amy in the eyes. She wore a gentle, loving smile, but hiding deep beneath it was a flicker of eager anticipation. She was waiting for me to accept the bird. In my past life, I took it with a smile and treated it like a precious treasure. In this life. “Thank you, honey.” I smiled warmly, reaching out to take the ornate metal cage from her hands. “She’s beautiful.” 2 Amy let out a quiet sigh of relief and affectionately ruffled my hair. “I knew you’d love her. Opal, come on, say something sweet to your new dad.” The parrot tilted its grey head, opened its curved beak, and squawked. “Die, brother.” The sweet smile on Amy’s face froze for a fraction of a second. She quickly scrambled to cover it up with an awkward laugh. “The previous owner must have taught her that. Please don’t let it get to you, Jeff.” I chuckled, gently tapping the side of the metal cage. “This little thing has quite the foul mouth. Where did you even buy her, honey?” “A friend recommended the breeder. They specialize in highly intelligent, talking parrots.” Her eyes flickered to the side for the briefest moment when she said that. She was lying to my face. “Well, that’s fascinating.” I set the cage down on the glass coffee table and playfully wiggled my finger near the bird’s talons. “But honestly, work has been insanely stressful lately. Don’t you think having a loud bird in the house is going to be a bit much?” Amy didn’t miss a beat. “I actually asked my therapist about it. African Greys are perfectly fine as long as you keep their environment clean.” “Plus, you’ve been working from home so much lately. Having a little companion to talk to will do wonders for your mental health. A good mood means a healthy body.” Her argument was completely flawless. She had used the exact same lines in my previous life. Back then, I thought she was just being a loving, attentive wife. Now, I could hear the poison dripping from every syllable. Every single word was a calculated trap. “Ugly brother.” The parrot squawked again. Amy forced a light laugh. “Look, she’s already trying to bond with you.” I did not laugh. I picked up the cage by its brass ring and started walking toward the master bedroom. Amy called out from behind me. “Jeff, don’t take it personally. She’s literally just a bird.” “I’m not mad.” I glanced over my shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile. “I just want to spend some quality one-on-one time with my new pet.” The second the bedroom door clicked shut, my smile vanished entirely. I placed the cage on my mahogany desk, pulled up my leather office chair, and sat down dead center in front of it. The parrot tilted its head, staring at me. Its beady eyes were gleaming with sick amusement. I knew perfectly well that Declan was hiding behind those grey eyes. He was sitting inside that feathered shell, watching me play the clueless idiot for his entertainment. I had been an idiot in my last life. But not today. “Opal.” I called the name softly. The parrot kept its head tilted, staring at me in complete silence. “Your name is Opal, right?” I leaned closer to the metal bars, a pleasant smile plastered on my face. “It’s a beautiful name. Did my wife pick it out for you?” The bird’s grey feathers puffed up slightly. He clearly hadn’t expected me to be this terrifyingly calm. “But you know,” I leaned back in my chair, casually crossing one leg over the other, “I don’t think it’s a very lucky name. Opals are delicate. They shatter easily under pressure. Don’t you agree?” The parrot ignored me, lowering its head to aggressively preen its wing feathers. I stood up, moving some loose paperwork around on my desk to look busy. “Tell me something,” I said casually, keeping my tone light as if I were just talking to myself. “If a man is forced to listen to a bird tell him to die every single day, does that classify as psychological abuse?” I heard the frantic fluttering of wings behind me. I didn’t turn around. “Die.” The parrot suddenly spoke. It didn’t say the full phrase. Just one single word. “Die.” The tone was unnervingly soft, almost mimicking a child trying out a new vocabulary word. But the timing was far too perfect. It was a direct, chilling response to my question. My hands paused over my paperwork for a fraction of a second. Then I continued organizing my files. “You know,” I stacked the folders neatly, “you are a very conversational little bird.” “Die.” It repeated the word, even softer this time. It was a calculated test. I turned around slowly, locking eyes with the creature inside the cage. It stared right back, completely unblinking. Then, it opened its beak and unleashed a chaotic barrage of random noises. The clicking of a tongue, the bubbling of water, the sharp trill of a smartphone ringtone. All blended together in a messy symphony. It was perfectly standard parrot behavior. Mimicking the random sounds of its environment. But those two specific instances of the word “die” had been perfectly timed. Too perfect to be a coincidence. I stared at the bird for several long seconds. It stared back. Something dark and unspoken settled heavily in the air between us. It wasn’t panic. It was a terrifying mutual understanding. He knew that I suspected something. But he had no idea just how much I actually knew. And I had absolutely no intention of showing my hand. 3 I cooked dinner that night. A simple steak, mashed potatoes, and roasted asparagus. Amy ate quietly, seemingly lost in thought. Halfway through the meal, the parrot in the living room let out a sharp squawk. “Die.” Amy set her fork down and shot me a cautious look. “Please don’t be upset with her. It’s just a bird.” “I’m not upset.” She nodded slowly and went back to cutting her steak. After dinner, while I was washing the dishes, Amy walked out into the living room. I could hear her talking to the parrot. Her voice was incredibly soft, dripping with genuine affection. “Opal, be a good girl. Say something sweet for me.” The parrot ignored her. “Come on, just one nice word.” “Ugly.” Amy giggled softly. “You really have a wicked mouth, don’t you?” I stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching her tease the bird through the bars of the cage. She had done the exact same thing in my previous life. She treated that bird with more tenderness and patience than she ever showed her own husband. Back then, I thought she was just an animal lover. I thought her compassion was endearing. Now the truth was glaringly obvious. She wasn’t being tender to a bird. She was being tender to the man trapped inside it. “Honey.” I stepped out into the living room. “I’m feeling a bit exhausted tonight. I think I’m going to head to bed early.” “Okay.” She didn’t even bother looking up, too busy tracing her manicured finger against the metal bars for the bird to nip at playfully. Around ten o’clock, Amy finally came into the master bedroom. She had just taken a shower, her long hair still damp and smelling of expensive shampoo. “Jeff, I need to let you know about something.” She sat gracefully on the edge of the mattress. “I have to go out of town for a business trip next week. I’ll be gone for about four or five days.” In my past life, she used the exact same excuse. She said four or five days, but she ended up staying away for a full week. “Alright.” “I need you to take good care of Opal while I’m gone. And please, don’t lose your temper with her. She’s just an animal. If she says something nasty, just ignore it.” “I know.” She reached out and affectionately stroked my hair. “Have you been in a bad mood lately?” “No.” “Good.” She reached over and clicked off the bedside lamp. “Get some sleep.” I did not sleep. In the suffocating darkness of the bedroom, a faint rustling sound echoed from the cage on the desk. He was moving. I rolled over, turning my back to the birdcage, and quietly slipped my hand under my pillow. My fingers wrapped tightly around a small piece of parchment, inked with a heavy warding sigil. The first half of the night was dead silent. But deep into the early hours of the morning, an unnatural, biting chill crept into the room. It wasn’t a draft from the window. It was a localized, creeping frost that seemed to seep directly into the top of my skull, like someone slowly pouring a pitcher of ice water over my brain. I didn’t move a muscle. I kept my breathing perfectly steady and rhythmic. The freezing sensation grew heavier and more oppressive. My grip on the warding sigil tightened until my knuckles turned white. And then. A violent, scorching sizzle echoed through the dark room. It sounded like raw meat being thrown onto a screaming hot skillet. The unnatural cold vanished in a fraction of a second. Complete chaos erupted from the cage. The frantic, desperate flapping of wings slamming against the metal bars was deafening in the dead of night. The panic lasted for about fifteen seconds before abruptly cutting into total silence. I slowly opened my eyes. Pale moonlight filtered through the narrow gap in the curtains, illuminating the desk. The grey mass of feathers was huddled miserably in the furthest corner of the cage. It was puffed up to twice its size, its chest heaving erratically. He wouldn’t dare try to siphon my energy again tonight. I calmly rolled over, tucked the warding sigil back under my pillow, and closed my eyes. I slept beautifully. The next morning, when I walked out of the bedroom, Amy was already sitting at the dining table. She had a cup of black coffee in one hand, staring intently at her smartphone screen. The moment she saw me, she immediately locked the device and set it face down. “Sleep well?” she asked, her tone entirely casual. “Like a rock,” I replied, pouring myself a glass of room-temperature water. “What about you? I noticed the light in your study was on pretty late.” “Just had to put out some fires at work.” She took a sip of her coffee. “By the way, Jeff, Opal is acting really strange today. Did something startle her last night?” “I have no idea.” I grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge. “I was in the bedroom. I didn’t hear a thing.” “Her feathers are completely fluffed up in distress.” Amy frowned, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Did you accidentally scare her yesterday when I wasn’t looking?” I stopped pouring the milk and looked her dead in the eyes. “You think I scared the bird?” “I didn’t mean it like that,” she quickly backpedaled. “I’m just asking.” “I know you’ve been incredibly stressed with work lately, and your moods have been a bit unpredictable. You might have accidentally raised your voice. Birds are highly sensitive creatures. They get traumatized easily.” My fingers tightened around the glass. She did this constantly in my past life. No matter what went wrong, she found a way to spin the blame onto me. When my health started failing, it was because I was “overthinking things.” When I suffered from insomnia, it was because I was “too neurotic.” When the parrot verbally abused me, it was because I had “accidentally raised my voice.” “I didn’t scare the bird.” I kept my voice perfectly level. Amy studied my face for two long seconds before nodding slowly. “Alright. Maybe it was just thunder from a storm last night.” There was no storm last night. The sky had been perfectly clear. I didn’t bother calling out her lie. She finished her breakfast and retreated to her study. After washing the dishes, I walked into the living room. The parrot shifted nervously on its wooden perch. “Die.” I ignored it. “Die. Die. Die.” Three rapid-fire curses, each one sharper and more venomous than the last. I turned my head and stared at the cage. It tilted its head, its cold grey eyes reflecting my face. But I could see Declan’s shadow lurking just behind those pupils. The boy I grew up with. The man who stole my wife, and then decided to steal my life. “Say that to me one more time,” I whispered, my voice laced with pure, unadulterated malice. The bird snapped its beak shut. It didn’t make another sound. 4 Late that afternoon, Amy emerged from her study holding her phone. “Jeff, I just got off the phone with the breeder. He said Opal’s previous owner was a bitter old woman.” “She probably spent all day cursing at the television, and the bird just picked up her vocabulary.” “Oh.” I didn’t bother looking up from the novel in my lap. “He said it’s just a phase. If you spend enough time talking to her using positive words, she’ll eventually learn them and forget the bad ones.” “Okay.” Amy stood in the center of the living room for a moment before speaking again. “You need to stop ignoring her. The more you ice her out, the more she’s going to act out for attention. You need to actually interact with her.” I closed my book and looked up at her. “Amy. You want me to sit here and have a friendly chat with a bird that constantly tells me to drop dead?” “She’s just a bird!” Her voice finally cracked with a sharp edge of irritation. “She doesn’t even comprehend what the words mean! Why are you holding a grudge against an animal?” “I’m not holding a grudge.” “Then why won’t you talk to her?” I opened my mouth to argue, but snapped it shut. In my past life, every single one of our arguments ended exactly like this: in my defeated silence. Because I loved her. Because I couldn’t bear to see her upset. I honestly believed that if I just swallowed my pride and endured it, everything would magically fix itself. I endured it until the day it literally killed me. “Fine.” I stood up. “I’ll talk to her.” I walked over to the glass coffee table and crouched down, bringing myself perfectly to eye level with the cage. “Opal.” I said her name clearly. She tilted her head, watching me carefully. “Say something nice.” She opened her curved beak. “Ugly.” “Try again.” “Die.” Amy let out a soft, exasperated laugh from behind me. “See? She’s communicating with you.” I did not smile. “Teach me how to make her say something nice, then.” Amy walked over and gently nudged me out of the way. “You have to speak to her like this. ‘Opal, say hello.’” She leaned close to the metal bars, her voice melting into a sickeningly sweet coo. “Opal, hello.” The parrot tilted its head but stayed silent. “Hello,” she repeated softly. “Hello,” the parrot parroted back. Amy beamed with pride. “See? There’s absolutely nothing wrong with the bird.” The unspoken implication hung heavily in the air. The bird wasn’t the problem. I was. She didn’t say anything else, simply turning on her heel and walking back to her study. I stood in front of the coffee table, staring into the cage. The parrot was intensely focused on the closed door of the study. There was a sickeningly human emotion in its beady eyes. It looked like longing. Like desperate, devoted expectation. It was waiting for Amy to come back. Because the parasite living inside that feathered shell was madly in love with her. In my past life, the second I was put in the ground, the two of them moved in together. I crouched back down and rapped my knuckles sharply against the metal bars. The parrot snapped its head toward me. “You can stop waiting.” I lowered my voice to a lethal whisper. “She left.” It tilted its head, as if trying to dissect the exact meaning behind my words. I stood up and walked straight into the master bedroom. I locked the door behind me, leaned heavily against the wood, and pulled out my phone. I typed a specific query into the search bar. “Avian behavioral modification boarding.” I clicked the top result and dialed the number. It rang twice before a woman answered. “Hello, Avian Echo Behavioral Center.” Her voice was crisp and strictly professional. “Hi, I need a consultation. I have an African Grey that has picked up some severe negative vocabulary. Words like ‘ugly’ and ‘die’. Do you have any intensive methods to correct this?” “Yes, we do. For severe cases, we utilize a mirror enclosure paired with aggressive positive reinforcement.” “The mirror enclosure is a specialized cage lined entirely with mirrors. Being surrounded by endless reflections of itself induces a highly stressful psychological response in the parrot. While it’s in this vulnerable state, we loop high-frequency positive vocabulary recordings. It usually only takes three to five days to completely overwrite the negative programming.” “Will the mirror enclosure cause lasting psychological damage to the bird?” “It will induce genuine fear, yes. But that is a necessary component of the correction process. Rest assured, our head trainer monitors the birds 24/7. It will not suffer any physical harm.” I remained silent for two full seconds. “Perfect. I’ll drop the bird off on Monday. I want the full boarding package.” I hung up the phone and stood alone in the darkening bedroom. A cool breeze slipped through the open window, making the sheer curtains flutter like ghosts. In my past life, he spent six months draining my life away with his curses. In this life, I am going to lock him in a box of mirrors, forcing him to stare at his own pathetic reflection until he loses his mind.

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It was pouring outside when I texted my notoriously cold boss on his business trip. “It’s pouring so hard over here.” “Is it huge over there?” I didn’t realize until it was too late that bad reception caused the first message to fail. My boss hesitated for a long moment before replying. “Do you want to see?” 1 I was lounging on the sofa with my legs crossed, mindlessly watching TV when my phone buzzed. A text from my boss, Shaun, lit up the screen. “Deliver the contract to the Grandmont Hotel in Boston before three this afternoon.” I turned my head with a deadpan expression, staring at the torrential rain lashing against the window, and aggressively tossed my phone onto the coffee table. Are you kidding me? It is the weekend. It is a literal monsoon outside. And he wants me to drive to another city to drop off some paperwork? Corporate slaves really have no human rights. I scrubbed a hand through my hair in frustration, picked the phone back up, and tried to appeal to whatever tiny shred of humanity this capitalist might possess. “Mr. Boss man…” “It’s pouring so hard over here.” “Is it huge over there?” With rain this heavy, I was going to get drenched the second I stepped outside. Cut me some slack, can’t this wait until Monday? After hitting send, I stared nervously at the screen. Shaun was famously ruthless and strictly professional at the office. I had no idea if he would catch my drift. Should I have been more direct? On second thought, never mind. I didn’t want to get chewed out. I stared at my phone for a solid twenty minutes before the screen finally lit up again. “Do you want to see?” My head filled with question marks. What was that supposed to mean? Was he going to send me a picture of the storm? Was that really necessary? What a sarcastic jerk. My temper flared, and with zero regard for my job security, I shot him down. “No thanks.” “Boss, if it’s really huge, I’m not coming. I’m a terrible driver.” Shaun replied almost instantly this time. “You prefer it small?” Is this guy insane? Who prefers driving in a massive storm? Shaun was unbelievable. The wind slammed against the window, the heavy raindrops hitting the glass like a volley of arrows. Furious, I aggressively tapped on my keyboard. “Too huge is a bad idea. With my lack of experience, I’ll literally die!” Shaun: “It’s not that exaggerated. Don’t be scared.” “I’ll be very gentle.” I actually laughed out loud out of pure anger. I am the one driving the car on the highway. What good does it do if you are gentle? Is his brain broken? This evil capitalist was rotten to the core. To think I actually used to have a crush on him. 2 Hardly anyone at the firm knew that Shaun and I went to the same high school. He was the golden boy back then. Top grades, wealthy family, and devastatingly handsome. Every time he stepped onto the basketball court, a massive crowd of girls would gather just to watch him breathe. He wore a red jersey that highlighted the lean, defined lines of his arms. Whenever he flexed to shoot, you could see the faint trace of veins under his skin. The ball swished effortlessly through the net. Shaun smirked, raising a hand to high-five his teammate. The sharp smack of their hands echoed across the court. My heart did a stupid little flutter. A girl next to me squealed. “Oh my god, he looks exactly like a romance novel cover model!” I loved romance novels. So, I wrote Shaun a love letter. I picked out the most expensive pastel pink stationery and even sprayed a tiny bit of my favorite vanilla perfume on it. The next day, I intentionally took the long route past his homeroom. There, sitting in the trash can at the back of the classroom, was a massive pile of pink envelopes, overflowing the brim. All the color drained from my face. My childhood neighbor, Noah, happened to be sitting in the back row munching on an apple. Seeing me staring at the trash can, he leaned over. “Hey Sophie, what are you looking at?” “Are those…” “Oh, the letters Shaun tossed out? Yeah. Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Noah wiggled his eyebrows with an obnoxious frat boy grin. “Wait a minute. I get it. Your letter is in there too? Damn, didn’t know the little goody-two-shoes had it in her!” Noah was practically shouting. Half the classroom turned their heads to stare at me. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. I snapped at him. “Are you out of your mind? Who the hell likes Shaun? I don’t give a single crap about him!” I spun around to run away and immediately slammed face-first into a solid chest. The muscle was rock-hard, bruising the bridge of my nose. I clamped a hand over my face and looked up. A sharp jawline, thin lips, and dark, intense eyes staring down at me with an untamable arrogance. It was Shaun. My mortification peaked. I dodged around him and sprinted down the hallway as fast as my legs could carry me. 3 Shaun probably never even opened my letter before throwing it away. I was heartbroken over it for a long time, but looking back now, it was a blessing in disguise. Distance really does create the illusion of beauty. His cold, aloof vibe seemed so cool in high school, but now that he was my boss, I realized he was just completely devoid of human empathy. He did everything with a resting ice face. The king of sarcasm. When I first joined the company, the very first proposal my team handled fell short of expectations. My coworkers and I kept passing the buck. No one had the guts to hand the report to Shaun. My coworker Cici nudged me. “Sophie, you do it. Didn’t you say you guys went to the same high school?” Jenna kicked off her desk, rolling her ergonomic chair right between us. She lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper. “Friendly warning. The boss hates it when people try to play the connection card.” “When the last department head got fired, he was literally sobbing, clinging to the office door, begging for mercy because he and the boss lived in the same dorm building in college. Do you know what Mr. Boss man said?” Cici’s eyes went wide. “What did he say?” Jenna straightened her posture, mimicking Shaun’s icy glare, looking us up and down before giving a dismissive scoff. “I don’t know him.” “Furthermore, this is a corporation, not an alumni mixer.” “Security, escort him out.” Cici winced. “Yikes. That is so humiliating. Better to just keep your mouth shut.” In the end, I was the sacrificial lamb chosen to deliver the report. I braced myself, placed the folder on his massive mahogany desk, and stared intensely at the tips of my shoes, completely unwilling to make eye contact. After what felt like a literal century, Shaun’s cool baritone drifted from above. “Sophie.” I jerked my head up and forced the brightest, most painfully fake customer service smile I could muster. “Boss. About this report, I promise we really did our best…” Shaun raised a single brow. “Do you not know who I am?” Oh boy. Here we go. The legendary sarcasm had arrived! I had heard him say this exact line to the previous manager. Do you not know who I am? The manager had stammered. Boss, you are the CEO, of course I know who you are. Shaun had given him a lethal glare. If you know who I am, why would you bring me this absolute garbage? I absolutely refused to stand there and listen to Shaun call my hard work garbage. I lunged forward and snatched the folder right back off his desk. “I know! I know you have high standards and strict requirements! I will take this back and fix it right now!” 4 (Shaun’s POV) Sophie didn’t recognize me. How could she not recognize me? How was it even possible? Watching her grab the report and flee my office like she was running for her life, I let out a long sigh. The light in my eyes dimmed as a bitter taste spread through my mouth. Would a girl really fail to recognize the guy she used to be in love with? So, that love letter back in high school really was just a misunderstanding. I pulled open my bottom drawer and took out a pastel pink envelope. It was old now. The color had faded, much like those dust-covered memories. Hey Shaun, look, it’s Sophie from the other class. She’s here to watch you play again. Do you think she’s into you? I had followed my teammate’s gaze and spotted Sophie standing in the crowd, holding a bottle of water. Her skin looked porcelain in the sunlight, her eyes clear and bright like morning mist over a lake. Our eyes met. It felt like a tiny needle had pricked my heart, leaving behind an indescribable, fluttering ache. The basketball carved a perfect arc through the bright blue sky and swished through the net. I high-fived my teammate, totally unable to stop the grin spreading across my face. Does Sophie like me? What a beautiful day. 5 In this god-awful weather, I should have been curled up on my couch watching Netflix. Instead, I was white-knuckling the steering wheel, cruising down the highway in a blind panic. The rain hammered against the windshield. The wipers were thrashing back and forth at maximum speed. My phone buzzed in the cup holder. I put it on speaker, and Cici’s desperate wail immediately filled the small car. “Sophie, I have terrible news. Brace yourself.” “Spit it out.” Cici swallowed hard, her voice trembling. “That contract…” “There are a few critical data points in that contract. They are all wrong.” “What!” I screamed so loud my throat hurt. Cici panicked. “We still have time! We can fix the numbers right now. The client doesn’t need it until Monday. Please don’t yell at me!” “We don’t have time! Are you trying to get me killed? Shaun ordered me to deliver it to Boston right now. I am literally pulling up to his hotel as we speak!” I was on the verge of tears. “What am I supposed to do?” Cici gasped. “What!” “Okay, okay. Tell him you got into a car crash!” “Are you insane? Knowing Shaun, he would just order you to print a new one and drive it down here yourself. What good would that do? Plus, what if he comes to the hospital to check on me? If I get caught in a lie like that, my career is over.” Shaun was a tyrant at work, but his employee benefits were undeniably top-tier. When a manager caught a fever after working three days straight, Shaun personally visited him in the hospital and supposedly left a massive bonus check. Cici stuttered. “Oh, right, right. Then distract him! Do something to get his attention away from the contract!” “How am I supposed to do that?” “Hello? My signal is dropping. Hello? Beep. Beep. Beep.” The call went dead. I pulled into the underground parking garage, my mind going completely blank. What was I going to do? How was I going to face him? 6 (Shaun’s POV) I stared at my phone screen, my mind completely blank. I understood every single word Sophie sent me, but strung together, they made absolutely zero sense. “Is it huge over there?” What is huge? Why would she suddenly ask me a question like that? Was she messing with me? Just like back in high school. I had received her love letter and practically sprinted to her classroom in a state of pure euphoria. But when I got there, I heard her screaming at Noah. I don’t give a single crap about him! Sophie shoved past me and ran away. I felt like I had taken a bullet to the chest. I stood frozen in the hallway, the color draining from my face. Noah threw an arm around my shoulder and clicked his tongue. “Why was she trying so hard to prove she doesn’t care about you?” “She was probably terrified I would get the wrong idea.” “Man, I get it now. Sophie is into me. No wonder she’s always at our games. And here I thought she was checking you out. Looks like I was underestimating my own charm!” Noah didn’t bother keeping his voice down. A few guys in the class heard him and burst out laughing. “Let’s go, Noah! Snagging the prettiest girl in the junior class!” “Hey, they grew up together. They have that childhood sweetheart advantage.” Childhood sweethearts. I had never hated a phrase so much in my entire life. Noah and Sophie lived in the same neighborhood. They had known each other since kindergarten. Noah was my desk mate, and the name I heard come out of his mouth the most was Sophie. Sophie is such a nerd. Sophie is such a kiss-up. All the moms in the neighborhood think she’s an angel. Do you know how many kids got grounded just because their moms compared them to her? Don’t let her fool you, man. It’s all an act. Sophie is vicious. When she hits you, she goes for the kill. 7 Amidst the boys’ laughter, Noah’s face turned bright red. When the bell rang and we went back to our seats, Noah nudged my elbow and whispered. “Hey, do you think I should say yes to her? She’s gorgeous, but she’s got a crazy temper. I’m kind of scared of her.” How crazy could she be? Sophie had pale skin and the sweetest smile. I couldn’t even imagine her throwing a tantrum or acting vicious. Or maybe, that was a side of her she only showed to the person she liked? Noah opened his desk and cursed. “Damn it, more letters. Shaun, can you tape your name to your desk or something? People keep mixing ours up.” A sharp pain twisted in my chest. I grabbed my water bottle and took a massive gulp. The bitter, acidic taste spread through my mouth, and no matter how hard I swallowed, I couldn’t wash it away. Sophie’s love letter had been meant for Noah all along. I should have given it to him. But I didn’t. I was a despicable thief. I stole a piece of beautiful affection that never belonged to me, locked it away, and treated it like treasure, taking it out to savor in secret. For the thousand and first time, I pulled that letter out of my bag. Unfolding the paper, the spot where she had written the recipient’s name was stained by a drop of water. The ink had bled into a dark, illegible blur. To [Blurred], I love watching the basketball games. But whenever you are on the court, I can never focus. I never know whether to watch the ball, or watch you. The day Sophie delivered this letter, there had been a massive rainstorm. I loved the rain. I loved that the rainwater had washed away Noah’s name. It let me live in the fantasy that the dark ink smudge actually spelled Shaun. 8 “Shaun! Earth to Shaun! Why aren’t you answering me?” Noah’s obnoxious voice blasted through the phone speaker. I pulled the device away from my ear. “What is it?” “Guess?” “Just say it. I’m busy.” Noah clicked his tongue. “You are so boring, dude! Just calling to let my boy know, I’m getting married! The eighth of next month. Make sure you tell Sophie too. You guys are both in New York, right? You can carpool down here. I’ll take care of you guys, VIP treatment. Drinks on me all night!” A wave of discomfort washed over me. “You’re inviting your ex to watch you tie the knot? That’s messy.” Noah sounded genuinely confused. “What ex? Who are you talking about?” “Sophie. Didn’t you guys date in college?” I spent my four years of college overseas and rarely kept in touch with anyone back home. But one random day, I was scrolling through social media and saw Noah post a photo. It was from the back, showing him with his arm around a girl. The girl had long, flowing hair and was wearing a forest green cardigan over a white sundress. The sliver of ankle showing was strikingly pale. I had seen that exact cardigan on Sophie’s page. I had clicked on Sophie’s profile, only to see her latest status update: “Had the best weekend ever!” I stared at that sentence for a very long time. Then I closed the app and muted both her and Noah from my feed. “Who the hell dated Sophie? Man, don’t even bring that up, it still pisses me off. Did you know she completely humiliated me back in college?” “Remember when I posted that picture with my girlfriend? Sophie commented something super sarcastic, like ‘Oh look, the caveman finally figured out how to date.’ So I messaged her, trying to let her down easy. I said, ‘Look, I know you’ve always had a crush on me, but don’t be too sad. Plenty of fish in the sea.’ Dude. She ripped me a new one.” “That psycho yelled at me for ten straight minutes. Just absolutely foul language. So I fought back. I told her she was just bitter and jealous.” “And do you know what she said?” 9 My heart leaped into my throat. “What did she say?” Noah scoffed. “She said she never liked me. She said she was always into you. And that you were a thousand times hotter than me. Man, I have never been so insulted.” “Shaun, be honest with me. Am I really that much of a downgrade?” Noah kept rambling on the other end of the line, but a loud ringing filled my ears, drowning out everything else. My heart was hammering against my ribs. With trembling hands, I hung up the phone. For the first time in years, I finally gathered the courage to check Noah’s social media. I scrolled through photos of a stranger. Big eyes, thick eyebrows. Absolutely nothing like Sophie. I scrolled down frantically, jumping back to our sophomore year of college. Yes. It was the same girl. This was Noah’s girlfriend. Then what about Sophie? I unmuted Sophie and clicked on her profile. “Corporate slave life. Grind never stops.” “Why am I working so much overtime? My mom says it’s because I’m single and have no life anyway. Lol, she really hit the nail on the head.” “Another lonely, sleepless night. Good thing I have my spreadsheets to keep me company. Hehe.” The attached photo was a massive stack of files and a glowing laptop screen. Lonely? Sleepless? Is that why she asked me if it was huge? Was she trying to— I didn’t dare finish the thought. My face burned burning hot. With shaking fingers, I typed out my reply. 10 I groaned, shoving my phone into my pocket, and grabbed my umbrella before stepping out of the car. Whatever. If I die, I die. Better to just get it over with. Worst case scenario, I get fired. A four-thousand-dollar monthly paycheck isn’t the end of the world anyway. I don’t even spend that much. I’m a homebody, what do I need that much money for? Money means nothing to me. Oh god, Sophie, stop lying to yourself. That is four grand! If I drop to my knees and beg Shaun, will he forgive me? My heart was in my throat, my legs felt like jelly. Shaking, I knocked on the hotel room door. “Boss…” Three blank lines inserted here for paywall placement: The door swung inward at the speed of light. It opened so fast I genuinely wondered if Shaun had been standing directly behind it, waiting for me. I blinked. Shaun was wearing a plush white hotel bathrobe. His dark hair was dripping wet, the water trailing down his neck, making his sharp features look even more striking. He radiated the icy, unapproachable aura of a glacier. That jerk. He definitely already knew about the contract error. He was waiting by the door just to watch me suffer. My face turned the color of ash. Clinging to the document folder like a lifeline, I looked up at him. “Boss. Before you say anything, can you please show some mercy?” Shaun just stared at me. His dark eyes were swimming with intense, unreadable emotions. If I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn I saw raw desire and anticipation in his gaze. Desire? Anticipation? Shaun is a total psychopath. Was he really this excited to scream at me and fire me on the spot?

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “452533”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I had detested Steven Wilder since the moment I first laid eyes on him. I hated the way he had suddenly moved into my home, and I hated the way he stole my father’s attention. Most of all, I hated how he always acted completely unfazed, no matter how much I tried to torment him. But then, I accidentally caught him in the bathroom, holding a photograph of a girl while doing something incredibly private. Seizing the opportunity, I snapped a picture of him on my phone and threatened him with a smug grin. “If you don’t want anyone to find out about this, pack your bags and get out of my house.” Yet, there wasn’t a single trace of panic in his eyes. Instead, he looked at me and asked, “What do you want me to do to make you stop hating me?” I smiled slyly, deliberately trying to humiliate him. “How about you strip down and let me take a couple more photos?” Just when I thought I had him cornered, he looked down with a low, quiet chuckle. “Sure.” 1 I never expected him to agree so easily. The sudden shift caught me off guard, and a wave of panic washed over me. I took two hasty steps backward, staring at him with deep suspicion. “You… you’re shameless!” He didn’t bother to reply. Instead, he took two slow, deliberate steps forward with a quiet smile. Before I could react, he had trapped me in the corner of the hallway. He leaned down slightly, resting his hands on his knees, forcing me to meet his gaze. A playful, teasing glint danced in his dark eyes. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted to see?” The words died in my throat. My fingers gripped my phone so tightly that my knuckles turned white. I instinctively glanced toward his half-open bedroom door, desperate for an escape. Following my gaze, he reached out and casually shut the door with a soft click. Then, he raised his hand and lightly tapped his index finger against my forehead. “Ow!” I glared at him, my bravado returning as I tried to push him away. But he didn’t budge, standing before me like a solid wall. Steven was tall, with broad shoulders and a lean, athletic frame that was far stronger than it looked. Standing this close, his sheer presence was completely overwhelming, making me swallow hard in nervousness. Refusing to lose my edge, I took the silver necklace I was clutching and threw it right at his chest. “Take your stupid gift back!” Today was my twentieth birthday. After the party ended, I had gone upstairs to happily unwrap the gifts from my friends and relatives. My mood instantly soured when I came across Steven’s present. Initially, I wanted to toss it straight into the trash. But then I thought, no, that’s too quiet. It would be much more satisfying to march into his room, throw it at him, and sneer, Who would ever want anything from you? So, I went to find him. Seeing his door slightly ajar, I pushed it open without knocking. The moment I stepped inside, the sound of heavy, ragged breathing reached my ears, followed by a low, muffled groan. I followed the sound and froze. Steven was standing in front of the bathroom vanity. He was biting down on the hem of his t-shirt, exposing his lean, sculpted stomach. My eyes instinctively traveled downward, catching his long fingers wrapped around… himself. On the marble counter lay a small, plastic-sealed photograph. I could tell it was a girl, though I couldn’t make out her face. My face flushed crimson in an instant. “Steven, you’re disgusting!” I shrieked. Hearing my voice, he slowly turned his head. Even with me standing right outside the door, he didn’t try to cover himself. He simply knit his brows slightly. “Turn around, Lynn.” I instinctively spun around, but then my stubborn pride flared up. Why should I listen to him? I turned right back around, whipped out my phone, and snapped a photo of him. He flinched slightly at the camera’s shutter sound, looking at the lens with a calm, unbothered expression. Without a word, he turned back to the mirror and finished what he was doing. I waited outside, my heart hammering. After what felt like an eternity, he slowly cleaned up the vanity, adjusted his clothes, and walked out. Aside from a lingering flush on his neck, there wasn’t a single trace of embarrassment on his face. “What do you want?” he asked quietly. I was used to his unflappable demeanor, so I didn’t let it deter me. I raised my phone, letting a smug smile spread across my face. “I assume you don’t want anyone to see this?” He raised an eyebrow. “It’s not disgusting. Every guy does it.” I tilted my head, my eyes gleaming with mischief. “I know who’s in that photo on your counter. You wouldn’t want her to find out what you do while looking at her, would you?” He went still for a moment, then let out a soft sigh. “No, I wouldn’t. So, what’s your price?” Seeing him finally yield, my triumph was complete. “Delete the photo, pack your bags, and get out of our house.” He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze fell, a flicker of loneliness crossing his eyes. “What will it take for you to stop hating me?” he asked softly. Stop hating him? Never. But to make things as difficult as possible for him, I offered a wicked alternative. “It’s hard to stop hating you. But if you strip down and let me take a couple more photos, I might consider it.” I thought I had him backed into a corner. But he simply paused, looked down, and let out a low, quiet chuckle. “Sure.” 2 After tossing the necklace at him, my courage evaporated, and I fled back to my room. On my way down the hall, I ran into Greta, our housekeeper, who was carrying a mug of warm milk up the stairs. Seeing my flushed face and frantic breathing, she stopped in concern. “Lynn, sweetie, are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “I’m fine,” I mumbled, shaking my head. Sensing Steven stepping out of his room behind me, I bolted into my bedroom without looking back. “Lynn, you forgot your milk!” Greta called out. I slammed my door shut and locked it. Leaning against the heavy oak wood, I drew in long, ragged breaths. My mind was a chaotic blur of Steven’s calm face, the quiet intensity of his movements, and the sudden, breathless finish over the sink. My heart was beating so fast it felt like it would burst. I cupped my burning cheeks, feeling like I was about to melt. A sudden knock on the door made me jump. Assuming it was Greta, I patted my cheeks, tried to smooth down my hair, and unlocked the door. But the moment the door cracked open, Steven’s face appeared. I instantly tried to slam the door shut, but he reacted quickly, shoving his hand into the frame to block it. The heavy wood clamped down on his knuckles, and he let out a sharp grunt of pain. I panicked and immediately pulled back. “Are you crazy?!” Without a word, he slipped into my room, closing the door behind him. I looked at the angry red marks forming across the back of his hand, biting my lip. “What do you want?” He ignored the question, walking over to my vanity to set down the mug of milk. He let his eyes wander around my room, finally resting on a lace bra I had left tossed on the unmade bed. My face burned hotter. I lunged across the room, shoving the underwear beneath my duvet. “Keep your eyes to yourself!” He tapped his knuckles lightly against the wooden vanity. “Drink your milk.” I picked up the mug, taking small, nervous sips, while he casually sat down on the edge of my bed. He looked up at me. “Let’s make a deal. Delete the photo.” Hearing him ask for a favor brought back my confidence. I sat down in my vanity chair, holding my mug like a queen on her throne, looking down at him. “I already told you my terms. Pack your bags.” I had just taken a shower before this, and I was only wearing a thin, white silk slip. As I sat down, the hem rode up, exposing a pale stretch of my thighs. Steven’s gaze flicked down. His throat cleared, and he quickly looked away, reaching for a decorative throw pillow on my bed and tossing it over my lap. “Your dress is too short,” he muttered, his voice slightly rough. I stiffened, quickly pulling the pillow tight against myself. He looked back up, his eyes serious. “Choose another condition.” “Fine,” I said, thinking. “Whenever you see me, stay at least ten feet away.” “No. Try again.” “This isn’t how negotiations work!” I snapped, slamming my mug down. “You’re the one asking me for a favor, Steven!” A slow, frustrating smile touched his lips. “But taking non-consensual photos of someone for blackmail is a felony, Lynn.” My eyes widened in panic. “Fine! I’ll just delete it.” “No, you won’t.” “Then what do you want?” I cried. Wait, why was I asking for his permission? I could just delete it right now and he wouldn’t have any leverage to threaten me with. I grabbed my phone, intending to do just that. But then I hesitated. If he really decided to play dirty and call the police, my father would hate him forever. Steven respected my father too much to ever let that happen. Slowly, I lowered my phone. When people get nervous, they tend to drink water. I reached for the warm milk, but as I looked at the creamy, white liquid, my mind instantly flashed back to what I had witnessed in the bathroom. I shuddered, slamming the mug back down with a dull thud. “Just promise me one thing,” his voice drifted over, soft and quiet. “Why should I?” I scoffed. He looked at me, a lazy, dangerous glint in his eyes. “What do you think Thomas would say if he found out you snuck into my room and watched me do… that?” I stood up, clenching my teeth. “You are completely shameless!” “Yes,” he replied softly. “I am.” In the end, I kicked him out of my room. As I slammed the door on his face, I threw out one last desperate threat. “If you tell my dad a single word, I’ll tell him I’m madly in love with you! I’ll force him to make you marry into our family as a charity-case husband, and I’ll keep you under my thumb and torture you for the rest of your life!” Steven only let out a low, amused laugh at my childish outburst. 3 Steven was sixteen when he first arrived at our house, only two years older than me. At the time, my parents had just gone through a bitter divorce. I immediately assumed he was my father’s secret love child from an affair, and that he was the reason my family had fallen apart. I had a screaming match with my father, demanding that Steven be kicked out. When my dad refused, telling me to grow up, I ran away from home in a fit of rage. The security guards, the housekeeper, and the local police searched for me all night. In the end, it was Steven who found me curled up in the old doghouse in the far corner of our backyard. He sat on the grass outside the kennel and said quietly, “I’m not Thomas’s son, Lynn. My mother passed away, and I have no one else left in the world. Your father was just kind enough to take me in.” Later, I found out he was telling the truth. But his mother had been my father’s high school sweetheart. Even knowing he wasn’t my half-brother, I couldn’t stop myself from detesting him, wishing every single day that he would leave. During his first few months, I did everything I could to make his life miserable. I poured milk all over his mattress, waiting gleefully for him to lose his temper. But he merely stripped the sheets in silence and washed them himself. Sometimes, after school, I would tell the driver to pull away quickly, leaving him stranded. I hoped he would complain to my dad, giving me an excuse to start another fight. But he never said a word. He just rode his bicycle on sunny days and took the bus when it rained, acting as if my petty cruelties were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Eventually, I grew tired of the games and stopped bothering him. But the resentment lingered. Yet, despite how awful I was, he was the one who carried me to the nurse’s office when I scraped my knee during track and field. He was the one who draped his school blazer around my waist when my period stained my skirt, getting himself a week of detention for violating the dress code. He was the one who secretly left a small mango cupcake on my desk when my father was too busy with work to celebrate my birthday. And during the stressful months of senior year, he was the one who quietly wrote out step-by-step calculus solutions on the margins of my scratch paper. He wasn’t a bad person. I couldn’t even force myself to believe he was. For a long time, I felt incredibly conflicted, unable to find a logical reason to keep hating him. I rolled around in my bed, hugging my pillow tight. “Curse you, Steven!” I groaned into the fabric. Across the hall, Steven was having an equally restless night. He lay staring at the ceiling, the air conditioning running at a cool sixty-eight degrees, yet he felt entirely too hot. His mind kept drifting back to a dream he had woken up from. In the dream, Lynn was wearing that thin white slip. One of the straps had fallen down, resting against her pale shoulder. Her lips were red and slightly swollen from his kisses, and her eyes were bright with tears as she lunged forward to bite his shoulder. Steven couldn’t quite remember when his thoughts about her had turned so dark. Perhaps it was during their junior year, right after they moved to the private academy in the city. Because of his striking looks and perfect grades, he was popular with the girls, but the boys from old-money families resented the middle-class transfer student. They whispered rumors behind his back, calling him the Mercer family’s charity case. He didn’t know how to defend himself, but Lynn had overheard them. She had marched straight up to the group, pointing a finger at their chests. “We don’t keep charity cases in our house. Steven’s mother was my dad’s dearest friend. Keep your filthy mouths shut, or I’ll make sure you regret it.” After lecturing them, she had dragged him away, her nose in the air. “You’re embarrassing me,” she had complained. “Don’t let them walk over you like that.” She wasn’t cruel; she was just a spoiled, fiercely loyal girl who wore her heart on her sleeve. He loved watching her twirl around the living room in a new dress, asking the golden retriever if she was the most beautiful princess in the world. He loved the way she would look up at him on the stairs, offering a haughty huff before marching past. He was entirely, utterly captivated by her. Sighing, Steven sat up and opened his desk drawer, pulling out the plastic-sealed Polaroid he had hidden away. It was a photo from her eighteenth birthday. She was wearing a soft yellow gown with a massive bow on the back, exposing a beautiful stretch of her spine. She had dropped it on the coffee table, and he had quietly pocketed it, keeping it close for two long years. 4 The next morning, I waited until I saw Steven leave for his morning run before sneaking back into his room. I had spent the entire night staring at the photo on my phone, trying to figure out who the girl in his photograph was. I needed to find that physical print. I had lost the upper hand last night, and I was determined to win it back. His curtains were drawn, letting in only a thin sliver of morning light. The room smelled faintly of cedarwood and laundry detergent. I began searching through his drawers, eventually sliding my hand beneath his pillow. My fingers brushed against the smooth edge of a plastic sleeve. Gleefully pulling the Polaroid out, I turned around to slip out of the room, only to crash straight into a broad, solid chest. Steven reached over and flicked on the light. He looked down at me, his eyes dark, his expression completely unreadable. Caught red-handed, a cold sweat broke out across my back. I quickly hid my hands behind my back, trying to act natural. But he had already seen it. Steven closed the door behind him. He took a slow step forward, trapping me against his computer desk. He reached out his hand. “Give it back, Lynn.” “No,” I stubborned, shaking my head. He let out a quiet sigh. He was much taller than me, his arms long and powerful. He reached behind my back, his fingers wrapping firmly around my wrist. With a gentle but unyielding tug, he retrieved the photo. A playful, dangerous smile touched his lips as he looked down at me. “Do you really want to know who she is?” I tilted my chin up, trying to look indifferent. “I don’t care.” Suddenly, his fingers turned the plastic-sealed print around, holding it right in front of my eyes. “The girl in this picture,” he whispered, his voice dangerously low, “is you.”

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1 The day my husband, Brian, brought his depressed first love, Kelly, into our home to take care of her, I let out a long, quiet sigh of relief. He looked at my perfectly calm face and spoke in a freezing tone. “Kelly’s health is fragile. She needs the master bedroom. It gets the most natural sunlight.” I nodded immediately and hauled all my belongings into the guest room. Seeing my compliance, he added, “Her stomach is extremely sensitive. She can only stomach bland, home-cooked meals.” I immediately fired our private chef, who specialized in spicy Cajun cuisine, and personally went to the kitchen to cook a table full of plain porridge and light, organic vegetables. When Kelly clutched her chest in pain, I ran out to buy her medication faster than Brian ever could. I was not doing this because I was a desperate pushover trying to win my husband back. I was doing this because, just yesterday, I had secretly moved a completely blind Aaron Harrington into our house. Aaron was the untouchable fantasy of my youth, the secret crush I had buried deep in my heart for a decade. But the moment Brian laid eyes on him, my normally cold and composed husband completely lost his mind. With bloodshot eyes, he practically begged me, “Harper, I am the one you love the most. I forbid you from looking at him!” … On the day of our belated wedding ceremony, Kelly staged a highly publicized medical emergency, intentionally overdosing on a dangerous cocktail of prescription pills. Without a second thought, Brian abandoned me at the altar, sprinting to Kelly’s apartment and carrying her to the hospital. I was left completely alone at the venue. I had to swallow my absolute humiliation, entertain our friends and family, deal with the aggressive media, and finish the reception by myself. After finally sending the last guest home, I received a phone call from Brian. “Kelly needs to be admitted. I cannot leave her side right now. Come to the hospital and pay the bill.” I couldn’t even describe what I was feeling. I felt like I should be furious, screaming, entirely hysterical. But in reality, I just calmly replied, “Okay.” Because this exact scenario had played out far too many times. Kelly came back into the picture the exact day after Brian and I signed our marriage certificate. The moment she saw our bright red legal documents, she had a total psychological breakdown and collapsed in her bathroom. Brian rushed her to the ER and stayed by her bedside all night. The next morning, with dark, exhausted circles under his eyes, he looked at me and said, “Harper, we are canceling the wedding ceremony. Kelly cannot handle the stimulation right now.” “But…” Before the words could even leave my mouth, Brian cut me off. “Harper, this is a human life we are talking about. Stop being so selfish.” His voice was terrifyingly heavy, instantly suffocating every single ounce of anticipation I had for our wedding. We had picked out the dress together. We toured the venues. We chose the rings. We had everything ready. And because of one woman, it all evaporated into thin air. I wasn’t even allowed to argue. I wasn’t allowed to feel wronged. I could only give a dry, hollow response. “Okay.” Because nothing was more important than a human life, right? From that day forward, our marriage became a crowded room of three. She was there on our honeymoon. She was there on Valentine’s Day. She was there on our anniversary. And by now, I was completely numb to it. I took off my wedding dress, drove to the hospital in complete silence, and paid her medical bills. As I was walking out of the hospital entrance, a white mobility cane suddenly struck the back of my calf. “I am so sorry,” a panicked, entirely lost voice stammered. I turned around in surprise. “Aaron? What are you doing here?” 2 Hearing my voice, Aaron froze entirely. His first instinct was to hide, but he completely forgot he could not see. His foot missed the edge of the step, and he tumbled violently down the concrete stairs. My heart leaped into my throat. I sprinted down the steps. “Aaron! Are you okay?” I tried to help him up, but he thrashed against my grip desperately. I couldn’t help but lose my temper. “Aaron Harrington, why are you throwing a billionaire temper tantrum right now? Do you have any idea that you are bleeding?” I don’t know which word triggered him, but Aaron suddenly went rigid, his broad shoulders trembling violently. I leaned in to check his injuries. But the second I got close, his hoarse, tear-choked voice cracked through the air. “Don’t look at me!” It was only then that I realized how drastically different this Aaron was from the boy I remembered. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, groomed from birth to inherit the massive Harrington Industries empire. Whatever he wanted, he got the absolute best. Every move he made used to radiate the effortless arrogance of the ultra-wealthy. Now, he was wearing a cheap, faded t-shirt, clutching a dented white cane, his clothes covered in dirt and his flawlessly sculpted face smeared with grime. I pressed my lips together and swallowed my questions. I practically carried him to a doctor, got his cuts bandaged, picked up his eye medication, and shoved him into the passenger seat of my car. “Where do you live now?” I asked. Aaron did not answer. After an agonizing silence, he finally muttered, “The Southside Projects.” The Southside Projects was the most dangerous, run-down slum in the city. It was a place the old Aaron Harrington wouldn’t have even glanced at from a helicopter. I paused for a second before slowly putting the car in drive. When I finally stepped into the place he called home, I couldn’t believe my eyes. A rotting wooden door, walls stained black with cooking grease, and a bathroom that smelled violently of raw sewage. There was almost zero furniture in the entire unit. Just a brutal wooden slab for a bed, covered by a paper-thin sheet. Aaron tapped his way inside with his cane. He was being incredibly careful, yet his shin still slammed brutally into the corner of the bed frame. He let out a muffled groan. I couldn’t take it a second longer. I stepped forward, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him toward the door. “Aaron, you are not staying in this dump. You are coming home with me.” Taking Aaron home was an act of pure impulse. I didn’t regret it, but it definitely created a massive logistical nightmare. I had no idea how I was going to explain him to Brian. Maybe my moral compass was just a bit too rigid, but I firmly believed that while I was still legally married, I shouldn’t be moving another man into the house I shared with my husband. But throwing Aaron back into that slum was absolutely out of the question. After racking my brain, I decided to hide Aaron in our spacious attic. He sat on the freshly made bed, clutching his white cane tightly. His jaw was set in a stubborn line, but the corners of his eyes were flushed red. He turned his sightless eyes toward me and whispered, “Harper, am I completely pathetic to look at right now?” I had no idea how to comfort a fallen billionaire. I just abruptly changed the subject. “I am going to grab you some food!” Aaron did not say a word. He just sat in silence, listening to my fading footsteps. I did not sleep a single wink that night. The next morning, when Brian finally returned, I was ready to lay all my cards on the table. But before I could even open my mouth, I saw Kelly standing right behind him. 3 “Harper, Kelly is moving in with us starting today.” Brian offered zero explanation. It was a cold, emotionless command. Instead of fighting, I let out a massive sigh of relief. A genuine smile even touched my lips as I nodded. “Okay.” Seeing my total lack of resistance, Brian furrowed his brows. After all, just last month, I had torn the house apart screaming at him over Kelly. Before that fight, I hadn’t stayed quiet out of the goodness of my heart. I stayed quiet because Brian constantly gaslit me, swearing up and down that Kelly was just like a little sister to him and he couldn’t just abandon her. That was until last month, when I went to help his mother pack for a move and accidentally stumbled across his old high school diary. That was when I learned the truth. Kelly was his untouchable fantasy, his perfect white moonlight. When her family went bankrupt and she came crawling back from overseas, his fantasy suddenly became attainable. The only thing standing in their way was me. Three years of suffocating resentment violently erupted. I took the diary and confronted Brian, demanding answers. But he just looked at me with cold, absolute disgust. “Harper, why do you get such a sick thrill out of invading other people’s privacy?” All the blood drained from my face. I don’t remember what happened after that. When I finally woke up, I was lying in a sterile hospital bed, the sharp stench of bleach burning my nose. A nurse noticed my blank stare and offered a pitying smile. “You are still young. You can always have another baby. Please try not to grieve too hard.” That was the exact moment I realized a tiny, quiet life inside of me had slipped away. And my husband was nowhere to be found. By the time he finally finished consoling Kelly and returned to the hospital, I had already checked myself out and gone home alone. Brian stormed into our bedroom, looking at my packed suitcase with intense irritation. “Harper, what kind of tantrum is this? Checking out of the hospital when you haven’t even recovered? Do you think you’re invincible just because you’re young?” He didn’t even get to finish his sentence before I cut him off. “Brian, I want a divorce.” Brian’s face went totally blank for a second. Then a flash of sheer panic crossed his eyes, before twisting into an ugly sneer. “Harper, Kelly was having a mental crisis. I was just following the doctor’s orders to stay by her side. Can you stop being so insanely petty? Look at the bigger picture. You look like a bitter, hysterical housewife right now!” I was far too exhausted to argue with him. I dropped the signed divorce papers onto the coffee table, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out the front door without granting him a single backward glance. That was when Brian truly panicked. For the next entire month, he completely abandoned Kelly. He chased me relentlessly, doing everything in his power to drag me back. He treated me like a queen during those weeks. It was exactly like how he treated me when we first started dating. But I truly, deeply wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Three nights ago, he knocked on my hotel room door again. I was fully prepared to say the most ruthless things imaginable to get him out of my life forever. But when I yanked the door open, I found Brian down on one knee. He was holding a massive bouquet of flowers and the exact diamond ring I had begged for three years ago. With red, tear-filled eyes, he pleaded, “Harper, let me give you the wedding you deserve.” My mind instantly flashed back to the very first time he proposed. He was on one knee back then too, his eyes overflowing with total devotion, swearing to protect my happiness forever. I figured I could give him one last chance. I let him slide the ring onto my finger, and he held me, crying tears of actual joy. He promised me, “Harper, I am going to throw you the most romantic wedding this city has ever seen.” Brian did not lie. He dropped over a million dollars transforming a luxury hotel ballroom into a breathtaking sea of lavender. The entire venue looked like a dream. But my heart felt absolutely nothing. I hated lavender. I loved the most cliché, blood-red roses. The person who loved lavender was Kelly. So when Brian sprinted out of the venue because Kelly had a “crisis,” my expression didn’t even flinch. It made perfect sense. If he had actually ignored Kelly to marry me, that would have been out of character. So now, moving Kelly into our house was entirely expected. Seeing how happily I agreed, a bizarre, suffocating frustration twisted in Brian’s chest. His expression turned icy, and he snapped like he was trying to provoke me. “Her health is fragile. She needs the master bedroom with the natural sunlight.” 4 A flash of absolute triumph crossed the face of the woman standing behind him, but Kelly expertly masked it a second later, replacing it with a fragile, weeping expression. “Brian, we can’t do that. I could never take Harper’s room. A tiny maid’s quarters or the basement is more than enough for me…” As she spoke, she peeked at Brian through her eyelashes, waiting for his reaction. Normally, whenever she pulled this routine, Brian would viciously scold me for being unaccommodating and literally force my belongings into her hands. But this time, she didn’t get to hear Brian’s defense. I beat him to the punch and nodded brightly. “Okay.” Without missing a beat, I marched into the master bedroom and hauled every last piece of my existence into the guest room down the hall. Brian’s face looked like a brewing thunderstorm. Once I finished moving, I needed to talk to Brian about Aaron. I politely knocked on the master bedroom door. “Can I come in?” I waited in silence for a long time. No answer. Just as I turned to leave, the door violently swung open. Brian stood there, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with fury. Normally, seeing him this angry would make me drop everything to coddle his ego. But this time, I just hesitated and said, “Brian, there is something I need to tell you…” I didn’t get to finish. “Harper, Kelly is starving. Her stomach is sensitive, so she can only eat bland, organic home-cooked meals.” He slammed the door right in my face. I rubbed my nose, sighed, and went downstairs to find our live-in chef. I wired her a massive bonus and told her to take a paid month off. Brian was the one who hired her because he loved her spicy Southern cooking, but now the house had Kelly and Aaron, two patients who couldn’t handle a single drop of hot sauce. After sending the chef away, I tied on an apron and cooked an entire spread of food myself. When we finally sat down at the dining table, Brian’s face was still pitch black. He didn’t say a word and barely touched his food. Clearly, it wasn’t up to his standard. I didn’t want to trigger another fight, but the Aaron situation could not stay hidden forever. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Brian, I have a friend who recently ran into some serious trouble, and right now…” Denied again. Kelly suddenly began gasping for air, her face turning a sickly white as she collapsed against Brian’s chest. “Brian, my heart hurts so much… I think I’m having a severe allergic reaction…” Before Kelly even finished her performance, I shot out of my chair and sprinted out the front door. A torrential downpour was raging outside. I didn’t even grab an umbrella. I ran full speed to the pharmacy outside our gated community and bought every anti-allergy and emergency heart medication they had. I used to think Kelly was just faking it, but yesterday the doctor told me Aaron’s blindness was entirely induced by severe psychological trauma. Mental illness could manifest in terrifying physical ways. They really were that sick! By the time I ran back into the house, I was drenched to the bone, shivering violently. Brian looked at my pathetic, soaking wet state, and his rage finally boiled over. “Harper, what the hell is wrong with you?!” “How many times do I have to explain this?! Kelly and I are completely innocent! There is nothing going on between us!” “She is sick! I can’t just leave her to die!” I opened my mouth, desperate to explain why I actually ran out, but the words caught in my throat. I just stood there in silence. Brian grew even more furious. He gripped Kelly’s hand tightly, his voice dropping to absolute zero. “Harper, pack your things and get out of this house.” The second those words left his mouth, a rhythmic tapping echoed from the top of the stairs. Tap. Tap. Tap. A white cane hitting the hardwood floors. Slow. Hesitant. Then, Aaron’s voice drifted down. “Harper… you haven’t come up to the attic all day. Did you decide to throw me away too?” Brian whipped his head up. The moment he recognized Aaron, his pupils shrank to the size of pinpricks.

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Three years ago, at our engagement party, his childhood bestie threw down a ridiculous bet. She dared Jeffrey to walk out on our wedding. To let her win, Jeffrey abandoned me at the altar. He tossed a careless smirk at his groomsmen. “She caves easily. Give her the cold shoulder for a few days and she’ll come crawling back.” His boys cheered, calling me a desperate gold digger, absolutely certain I could never survive without him. His bestie, June, even had the nerve to snatch the veil right off my head, giggling and shoving Jeffrey playfully. With hundreds of eyes burning into my skin, I stood there, my expression completely blank. Jeffrey looked back at me with a proud, approving nod. “Now that is the grace a Goodwin wife should have. Be a good girl and wait for me at home.” Hearing those words, I only felt a bitter urge to laugh. Grace? It was nothing but the absolute death of my love for him. Three years later, Jeffrey blocked the main entrance of my office building with a fleet of luxury cars and a massive diamond ring. “Madness over? I’m here to keep my promise.” I did not even spare him a second glance. I just protectively cradled my heavily pregnant belly. “Excuse me. My husband is picking me up for my ultrasound.” 1 “Is playing dress up with a silicone belly really that fun?” Jeffrey stood with one hand shoved casually into his tailored slacks. His eyes lazily swept over my rounded stomach. His tone was drenched in that same arrogant certainty he always carried. I met his gaze without flinching. “Mr. Goodwin, move.” The front doors of my firm were completely blocked by nine black Maybachs. Drones buzzed in the crisp afternoon air, dragging a massive banner with my name printed in bold letters. A crowd of my coworkers had already formed on the sidewalk, their breathless whispers drifting into my ears. Jeffrey did not look embarrassed in the slightest. Instead, he took a confident step forward and offered me a massive bouquet of red roses. “It has been three years. You have thrown your little tantrum. It is time to come home.” He looked at me with what he probably thought was indulgent affection. “You know how much I hate it when women act hysterical. But for you, I made an exception. I gave you three whole years.” I stared at those blood red petals. Three years ago, when I was in the ER hooked up to an IV because of a severe pollen allergy, he had his assistant send me the exact same type of flowers. He told me June had picked them out and warned me not to be ungrateful. I kept my hands firmly on my belly and took a half step back. “Jeffrey, I am not throwing a tantrum.” I looked directly into his eyes, my voice quiet but steady. “I am married. And I am five months pregnant.” Jeffrey let out a low chuckle. He casually tossed the expensive bouquet onto the lid of a nearby trash can. “You are spinning lies like this just to get a reaction out of me?” He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a velvet box. It popped open with a soft click, revealing a massive pink diamond that caught the sunlight. “I owed you a ceremony three years ago. I am making up for it today.” He did not even bother to drop to one knee. He just held the box out to me, looking like a king bestowing a rare favor upon a peasant. “Put it on. We will pick out a wedding dress tomorrow. I promise I won’t walk out this time.” He said it with such casual entitlement. I looked at the glittering stone, feeling absolutely nothing. At our engagement party, he turned his back on me and walked out in front of my entire family, all because June wanted to test her power over him. Her sharp stiletto had stomped right onto the hem of my gown, leaving an ugly smear of black mud on the pristine white silk. She ripped my veil away to humiliate me. And what did he say? He praised my grace. He told me to wait at home. That night, I peeled off the ruined dress all by myself. I took a pair of scissors, cut out the muddy footprint, and threw it into the trash along with my engagement ring. From that exact second, the man named Jeffrey Goodwin died in my heart. “I don’t need it.” I sidestepped him and headed straight for the curb. Jeffrey finally frowned. He reached out to grab my wrist. I twisted away, letting his hand grasp empty air. “Monica, enough.” His voice dropped an octave, laced with a heavy warning. “My patience has limits. Who exactly is this little performance for?” Right on cue, his phone chimed. It was a custom text tone. June’s sickly sweet voice spilled from the speaker. “Tristy, did you pick Monica up? I feel a little sick. My head is spinning.” Jeffrey’s icy expression melted instantly. He pressed the audio button to reply. “Be a good girl and take your meds. I will bring her back to see you soon.” He slipped the phone away and looked back at me. “June is sick, and she is still worrying about you. Stop being so hostile toward her.” A note of sharp reprimand entered his voice. “What happened three years ago was just a joke. She is young and does not know any better. You were practically supposed to be her family. Why are you holding such a petty grudge?” Watching his righteous indignation, a wave of intense nausea hit me. Morning sickness was normal, but standing in front of this man made my stomach violently churn. I took a deep breath, forcing the bile down. “Jeffrey, do you lack basic comprehension skills?” I pointed toward the taxi stand. “My husband is waiting for me at the hospital. Get out of my way.” His face turned ice cold. He stared intensely at my stomach. “You really won’t drop this, will you? You are actually using these cheap tricks to force an apology out of me?” “Cheap tricks?” I chewed on the words, finding them hilarious. “Think whatever helps you sleep at night.” I was done wasting oxygen on him. I walked straight to a yellow cab that had just pulled up, opened the door, and slid into the back seat, shielding my bump. Jeffrey moved with lightning speed, slamming his hand against the door frame before I could close it. “Which hospital? I will take you.” He looked down at me, a dark sneer twisting his lips. “I really want to see which random loser you hired to play this little game with you.” I glared at his hand gripping the metal frame. “Let go.” “Don’t push your luck, Monica.” His patience seemed to completely evaporate. He yanked the front passenger door open and threw himself into the seat. Defeated by his stubbornness, I told the driver the name of the private maternity hospital downtown. The driver glanced nervously between us. Jeffrey pulled out a thick stack of hundred dollar bills and threw them onto the dashboard. “Drive.” The cab merged into the bustling city traffic. The silence inside the car was suffocating. Jeffrey leaned back, turning his head to study me. “You used to cry over a simple blood draw. Now you are strapping a fake belly to yourself just to make me mad?” His gaze lingered on my midsection, highly critical. “Take it off. Aren’t you sweating under there?” I pulled the zipper of my coat all the way up to my chin, closed my eyes, and ignored him. Half an hour later, the car pulled up to the hospital entrance. I got out. Jeffrey followed like a dark shadow. The lobby of the private clinic was quiet, smelling of expensive sanitizer and fresh linen. I walked to the kiosk to print my appointment ticket. Jeffrey stood right behind me, reading the screen that clearly displayed ‘Obstetrics Follow Up’. His eye twitched, but he recovered his smug composure a second later. “You are really committed to the bit.” He let out a dry laugh. I took my ticket and headed for the elevator. He stayed glued to my side. When we reached the third floor waiting area, I found an empty seat. The moment I sat down, the elevator doors chimed open again. June stepped out, teetering on designer heels and clutching a massive bundle of white roses. She spotted us instantly and trotted over. “Tristy! Monica!” She shoved the white roses right into my face, wearing a mask of flawless, innocent joy. “I heard you were pregnant! I just had to come say congratulations!” The heavy, powdery scent of pollen flooded my lungs. I violently turned my head and sneezed. Jeffrey immediately frowned at June. “She is allergic to pollen. Move them away.” June bit her bottom lip, her eyes shining with instant, manufactured tears. “Oh no, I am so sorry Monica. I completely forgot. I was just so excited for you.” She dropped the flowers onto the empty chair next to her and naturally slid into the seat right beside Jeffrey. “But Monica, didn’t you get married a little too fast?” June’s gaze dragged over my belly, a malicious glint hidden in her smile. “The baby is already so big. Did you just grab the first guy you saw to get back at Tristy?” She covered her mouth, giggling softly. “It is such an important checkup today. Where is this mysterious husband of yours?” “Did he ditch you here all by yourself? Sounds like a deadbeat to me.” Jeffrey listened to every venomous word and did absolutely nothing to stop her. Instead, he watched me closely, waiting to see me crack. “Her husband is too busy to care about her,” Jeffrey answered for me, his voice dripping with mockery. “How dedicated can a hired actor really be?” I watched them bounce off each other, feeling an eerie sense of total peace. This was the man I had loved for seven years. He was sitting here, watching another woman insult me, and deciding to join in. “Is Monica here?” A nurse stepped out of the examination room, holding a medical chart. “Here,” I said, standing up. The nurse looked at me, then glanced at Jeffrey and June. “The doctor needs a family member to sign the ultrasound consent forms. Which one of you is the spouse?” Jeffrey instinctively took a step forward. “I am.” I turned around, cutting him off with a voice made of ice. “No, he isn’t.” The nurse froze, her eyes darting between Jeffrey and me. Jeffrey’s outstretched hand hung awkwardly in the air. His face darkened dangerously. “Monica, stop acting like a child.” He lowered his voice, packing it with a fierce warning. “This is a hospital. Not a stage for your temper tantrums.” I did not even look at him. I turned back to the nurse. “I do not know them. They are just strangers who followed me here. My husband is parking the car. He will be right up.” The nurse nodded slowly and pulled the clipboard back to her chest. “Understood. Please wait for him out here. We need the actual spouse on record for these documents.” She turned and disappeared back into the room. Jeffrey slowly pulled his hand back and shoved it into his pocket. His eyes narrowed, glowing with a dangerous, volatile heat. “Strangers?” He let out a sharp, breathless laugh. “You have grown some spine in three years. Denying I am family now?” Seeing his anger, June immediately stood up and wrapped her hands around Jeffrey’s arm. “Tristy, don’t be mad.” She looked at me, her eyes brimming with fresh, practiced tears. “Monica, are you seriously still mad about that little joke we played three years ago?” She sniffled, sounding like the ultimate victim. “I just made a tiny bet with Tristy to lighten the mood at the party.” “How was I supposed to know you couldn’t take a joke? You literally ran away from home over nothing.” She framed my ruined wedding as a joke, and my shattered heart as being overly sensitive. Staring at her pathetic, trembling face, I felt a wave of pure disgust. “Turning my wedding into a betting pool was a joke?” I shifted my gaze to Jeffrey.

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Fred Harrington was the quiet light I had spent four years secretly loving. If we had not ended up tangled together in that bed, perhaps we would have remained best friends for a lifetime. Five years after we parted, we met again at my younger brother Jude’s wedding. While everyone else was offering their blessings to the newlyweds, Fred leaned in close, his breath brushing against my ear. His voice was low, heavy with mockery. “I heard you spent three years pining after me, Silas. Doesn’t that make you sick?” 1 “Hey, what took you so long?” Jude stood in his sharp, white tuxedo, the bright, familiar smile still lighting up his face. The kid I used to look after was finally getting married. Time really did fly. “Flight was delayed,” I said, offering a quiet apology. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” “You’re not late. The ceremony hasn’t even started yet.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a little girl walking over, having finally finished staring at the goldfish in the lobby fountain. I waved her over and introduced her to Jude with a smile. “This is my daughter, Elia.” “I know, I know! We’re already best friends,” Jude said, dropping to one knee to perform their secret handshake. Watching them mimic each other’s goofy gestures, I couldn’t help but laugh. They had video called a few times before we flew in. Elia was a social butterfly who could strike up a conversation with absolutely anyone. “I’ll take her to see Dad,” Jude said, taking her hand. I nodded and watched them walk hand-in-hand toward the reception room. Finding a quiet corner, I sat down and opened my laptop to reply to some work emails. After moving to London, I had taken up photography, finding a job there right after graduation. My inbox was flooded with inquiries and booking requests. Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I drafted polite rejections one by one. Elia had never been to the States before, and I wanted to spend some quality time with her during this trip. The freelance gigs would have to wait until we returned to the UK. As my fingers flew across the keyboard, a familiar, rich scent of cedarwood and amber suddenly drifted into my space. My hands froze over the keys. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood up as if a warm breath had just brushed past them. In my peripheral vision, a hand appeared. It moved closer, slowly, until a set of pale, perfect knuckles rested firmly on the table. The woody fragrance deepened, wrapping around me. Two soft taps echoed against the wood. It felt as if those taps landed directly on my ribcage, sending a sharp tremor straight to my heart. “Long time no see, Silas.” Hearing that familiar voice after five long years made my chest tighten instantly. 2 Fred Harrington. The boy who used to be my best friend. And the one I had loved in silence for as long as I could remember. The chair beside me was pulled back, and a pair of long legs entered my field of vision. He crossed them with a quiet, effortless elegance. The high-end fabric of his tailored suit didn’t even crease. A flash of the signature red soles of his designer shoes caught the light, disappearing into the shadow of the desk like a passing spark. My throat went dry. Forcing my eyes back to the glowing laptop screen, I tried to resume typing. But within seconds, his voice stopped me again. “Five years in London, Silas, and you’ve already forgotten how to speak to me?” The tone was lazy, almost casual, yet it carried that familiar, demanding edge. “No,” I murmured, my voice barely audible. I let my shoulders slump slightly, feeling a quiet wave of defeat. I hadn’t expected to run into him here. Fred was never the type to attend family gatherings like this. “Then answer me.” “Long time no see,” I whispered. But it wasn’t true. For me, there had been no long separation. I had fallen asleep almost every night looking at his pictures, and his face was still the lock screen on every device I owned. Fred let out a short, quiet scoff, though his voice softened when he spoke next. “Finally decided to come back?” The lack of anger in his voice caught me off guard. I stared at the screen, stunned. It was as if the painful event that tore us apart had left no mark on him at all. Then again, why would it? I was the only one who had been drowning in the aftermath. Taking a slow, quiet breath to suppress the ache in my chest, I tried to stay calm. After all, I was the one who had cut off all contact. I was the one who had slept with the sole heir of the Harrington family, got caught by his powerful grandfather, and ended up banished across the Atlantic. Honestly, being sent away was the gentlest punishment they could have given me. I cursed myself silently. How could I have been so reckless back then? Fred was different from me. He was normal, destined for a bright, conventional future. He shouldn’t have been dragged into the dark, complicated mess of my life. I pressed my fingernails into my palms, letting the sharp pain anchor me. “Just here for Jude’s wedding,” I replied, keeping my voice as flat and emotionless as possible. “We’ll be heading back right after.” It was a lie, but it didn’t matter. As long as I didn’t actively seek him out, the chances of us crossing paths in a city this size were practically zero. He would never know when I left, and he likely wouldn’t care. Five years was a long time. It was more than enough to rewrite the history between two people. “You’re cold, Silas,” Fred said, a trace of bitter humor in his voice. “First you vanish without a single word, and now you can’t wait to draw a line between us. Tell me, do you really despise me that much?” It sounded like a joke, but I knew him too well. Having spent three years as his shadow, I could read the subtle shifts in his voice like a familiar book. My wrists felt stiff, hovering over the keyboard. When I finally let my arms drop to the table, they made a dull thud. I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. When it came to Fred, I had never possessed an ounce of strength. “I don’t despise you,” I said softly, the weight of the confession heavy in my throat. The only person I despised was myself. “Then why did you…” Fred’s voice grew thick with sudden emotion, and his hand shot out, gripping my forearm tightly. The heat of his palm burned right through the thin sleeve of my shirt, making me shiver. “Daddy!” 3 I turned quickly. Jude was walking back toward us, holding Elia’s hand. The little girl broke free and ran, throwing herself into my arms. I spun around to catch her, shielding her as the heavy warmth on my arm vanished. Pulling a small comb from my bag, I knelt down to smooth the wild curls around her face. “Daddy, Grandpa gave me so many chocolates! I don’t want to eat them now. Can we put them in your bag?” “No sweets before dinner, okay?” I reminded her, opening my satchel so she could drop the colorful foil-wrapped candies inside. Like a little hurricane, Elia was gone as fast as she had arrived, dragging Jude toward the dessert table. “Is she… your daughter?” Fred’s voice drifted down from behind me, much lower and rougher than before. My hands froze as I sat back down. A sudden, cold panic gripped my chest. I silently prayed he hadn’t looked closely enough to see the familiar shape of her eyes, the familiar curve of her jaw. Feeling his heavy, searching gaze on me, I forced myself to nod. “You’re married?” he asked, his voice strained. I nodded again, my fingers returning to the keyboard, though I couldn’t see the screen through the haze of my anxiety. Elia had to remain my daughter alone. She had nothing to do with the Harrington family. “Does your wife know you’re gay?” The raw malice and mockery in his voice made me flinch. It was a tone I had never heard from him before. My fingers began to tremble. “I heard you spent three years pining after me, Silas,” Fred sneered, leaning closer. “Doesn’t that make you sick?” It felt as if a physical blow had landed on my chest, leaving a hollow, aching void. I hid my shaking hands beneath the long tablecloth, forcing myself to look up and meet his gaze. I managed to pull my lips into a fragile, hollow smile. “I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I don’t feel that way anymore. And I won’t bother you again.” He looked thinner than he used to, his cheekbones sharper, his dark eyes like endless wells of shadow. But right now, his face held nothing but deep, burning resentment. It was a look that shattered the last of my resolve. I could barely draw breath under the weight of it. This was truly the end. We would never see each other again. A sudden rush of air brushed past me as he turned and walked away. 4 The wedding ceremony began, but as I glanced around the beautifully decorated hall, Fred was nowhere to be seen. He had left. I leaned back against my chair, staring down at the deep, red crescent marks my nails had carved into my palm. I had driven him away. No one wanted to share a room, let alone a meal, with the guy who had harbored a pathetic, secret obsession with them for years. It was bound to leave a bad taste in his mouth. The reception was flawless, like something out of a classic movie. “Silas, you should stay at the house while you’re in town,” Jude said afterward, his eyes slightly red from the emotional day. “I had your old room cleaned up and everything.” “It’s alright,” I said, offering a small smile as I squeezed Elia’s hand. “We’d only be in the way. The hotel is closer to the venues anyway. It’s easier.” “Are you still angry with Dad?” Jude asked softly. “The past is the past, Jude,” I murmured, reaching up to ruffle his hair gently. “Look at me. I’m doing just fine.” We were a blended family. My mother had passed away from complications during my birth, and due to my frail health, I spent my childhood living with my grandparents in a quiet coastal town. I was only brought back to the Kingsley estate when I started high school. Someone called Jude’s name from the crowd. I patted his shoulder, urging him to go tend to his guests. Using a ride-sharing app, I booked a car and took Elia to the lobby to wait. “Daddy, a nice mister gave me two candies earlier. One for you, one for me!” “A mister?” I asked, adjusting the hem of her lace dress. “Who was he?” It was probably one of Jude’s friends. “Remember, too much sugar will ruin your teeth. A princess can’t have a ruined smile.” “But these are really good! Better than the chocolates Grandpa gave me.” She opened her small hand, revealing a round candy wrapped in pale blue foil. A sea salt mint. My heart skipped a beat. The first time I had ever tasted that exact flavor, Fred had shoved it into my mouth after a grueling basketball practice. “Do you like them?” I whispered. “I love them!” she beamed. Children usually disliked the sharp, bracing taste of mint, but Elia’s tastes had always been uniquely her own. I took the candy from her hand, slowly peeling back the foil, and let the cool, sharp sweetness melt on my tongue. 5 The sharp ring of my phone woke me the next morning. I quickly hit the mute button, checking on Elia, who was still fast asleep under the heavy hotel comforter. Slipping out of bed, I walked barefoot out onto the balcony, closing the glass door behind me before answering. It was Lance, my mentor and closest friend in London. I pulled the phone away from my ear for a moment, waiting for his usual burst of high-energy chatter to quiet down before speaking. “Silas! Tell me you didn’t just ignore my brilliant greeting,” Lance’s accented English filled the line. A genuine smile touched my lips. “Of course not.” “How long are you staying in the States?” Lance asked. “I need a massive favor. The local agency I’m partnering with for a campaign needs a temporary photographer. One of their lead shooters went down with the flu.” “I’ll be here for about two months,” I replied. “If the schedule isn’t too crazy, I can help out.” I owed Lance a lot. He had taken me under his wing when I arrived in London with nothing but a camera and a broken heart. “You’re a lifesaver! Are you free tomorrow afternoon?” “Sure. Send me the details.” After hanging up, I went back inside. Elia was awake, sitting cross-legged on the bed and quietly flipping through her picture book. She never woke up grumpy, which was a blessing since I was useless before my morning coffee.

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1 After our third reconciliation, Garrison became unusually generous. He replaced my wardrobe with custom designer pieces, set my monthly allowance at twenty thousand dollars, and opened a flower shop in my name. He said he wanted me to have a career of my own. I accepted everything with a polite smile, a stark contrast to our past fights. He put an arm around me, clearly pleased. This is how it should be, he said. Let us focus on building a good life together. Three days before, I had seen his messages to his first love, Summer. The shop was registered under her name so it would count as her asset in the divorce. The expensive clothes and large allowance were meant to inflate my lifestyle. In court, I would look greedy and materialistic when demanding alimony. Six months at most, he wrote. Wait for me. I closed his phone and got to work. I ran the flower shop well, deposited every cent of the allowance into a hidden account, and never wore the designer clothes. Their tags stayed intact. Six months later, when Garrison finally asked for a divorce, I handed him a far more detailed agreement. He froze in shock. I smiled calmly. You spent six months planning this, Garrison. Did you really think I did not spend six months preparing too? … “Are you trying to threaten me with this?” Garrison threw the thick stack of divorce papers onto the marble coffee table, a patronizing smile playing on his lips. “The signature is lovely,” he said, picking up his cup of hot tea and gently blowing on the leaves. “But there’s a limit to how long you can throw a tantrum.” I sat across from him, watching him slowly sip his tea. “I’m not throwing a tantrum,” I replied, pushing the papers back toward him. “The terms are perfectly clear. The flower shop remains mine, the properties under your name stay yours, and our liquid assets will be split proportionally.” Garrison set his cup down, the porcelain clinking sharply against the glass table. He leaned back into the sofa, resting his hands on his knees. “Naomi, do you honestly believe that saving twenty thousand dollars a month for half a year makes you independent?” “I’ve spent the last six months pampering you, buying you designer clothes, and giving you a flower shop so you could play the successful business owner.” “Do you seriously think you can survive out there without my support?” I looked at his arrogant posture, choosing to remain silent. Three months ago, in this very office, he had wrapped his arm around my shoulder in front of his wealthy friends, boasting that the shop was a gift to help me find my own passion. Suddenly, his phone on the table began to vibrate. The name Summer flashed across the screen. Garrison glanced at me, making no effort to hide the call as he pressed answer. “Garrison, the bridal boutique just called to confirm,” Summer’s sweet, delicate voice echoed through the quiet office. “When are you coming over?” Garrison’s voice softened instantly, filled with a tenderness he had never shown me. “Hey, sweetheart. I have a minor issue to handle here. I’ll pick you up shortly to try on that reception dress you liked.” “Is she throwing another tantrum?” Summer sighed on the other end. “Don’t be too hard on her. Since you two are parting ways anyway, at least let her keep some dignity.” “Don’t worry, I know how to handle it.” Garrison hung up and turned his cold gaze back to me. “You heard that? Summer is still trying to protect your feelings.” He reached into his leather briefcase, pulling out a document and sliding it across the table. “Since you insist on counting every penny, let’s look at the math.” I looked down at the paper. It was a loan agreement. “The flower shop’s legal representative is you,” Garrison said, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “Last month, the shop took out a loan of five million dollars from one of my construction subsidiaries, supposedly for renovations and inventory.” “It’s not a massive sum, just five million.” He tapped his finger against the signature line at the bottom. “Black and white. Your personal signature and seal are right there.” I stared at the familiar signature stamp. It was a custom-made piece he had gifted me on the shop’s grand opening, telling me it would symbolize my independent career. It didn’t symbolize independence. It was a trap designed to drown me in debt. “And?” I looked up, meeting his eyes. “So, if you sign this clean-break agreement,” Garrison said, sliding his version of the divorce papers back to me, “I will personally clear this five-million-dollar debt for you. You can keep the monthly allowance as your severance package.” He adjusted his cuffs and stood up, looking down at me. “But if you insist on taking this to court, that five million will remain your personal liability. You won’t get a single dime from me, and you’ll spend the rest of your life working to pay off that debt.” He stood tall, entirely confident that I would break down, cry, and beg for his mercy just as I had done so many times before. I took a slow sip of my cold tea. “Garrison, your planning over the last six months was truly brilliant.” I opened my bag and pulled out a thick manila envelope, sliding a set of stamped documents onto the table, placing them right where his loan agreement sat. They were official audit reports from the tax bureau, accompanied by a copy of a criminal case filing from the financial fraud division. “The flower shop did indeed process a transaction of five million dollars,” I said, locking my eyes onto his. “But the recipient account belongs to the shell company you’ve been using to launder your personal assets.” Garrison’s eyes locked onto the red official stamps on the documents. The smug confidence on his face slowly, painfully began to fracture. 2 Garrison stared at the documents, the silence in the office turning heavy and suffocating. He didn’t scream, and he didn’t throw a fit. But the vein on his temple throbbed violently. “Where did you get these?” his voice dropped, laced with a freezing edge. “That doesn’t matter,” I said, leaning back comfortably. “What matters is that the tax authorities have already accepted the case. All those hidden accounts you kept in the dark are now exposed to the light.” Garrison suddenly let out a sharp laugh. He grabbed the photocopies, ripping them to shreds right in front of me, scattering the white pieces across the dark carpet. “Naomi, do you honestly believe some forged documents can put me behind bars?” He took a slow step toward me, leaning over the table to bring his face inches from mine. “For the past six months, you’ve eaten my food, worn the clothes I bought, and even the rent for this shop was paid out of my pocket.” “And you used my money to investigate me?” His voice was steady, but the naked malice in his eyes was no longer concealed. “Exactly,” I replied, holding his gaze. “Didn’t you say you wanted me to have a career? I’ve learned a lot, including how to run an audit.” Garrison straightened up, scanning the room. On the walls hung expensive paintings he had gifted me, and in the corner sat a rare, prized white orchid I had tended to for months. He walked over to the wooden plant stand, idly stroking the delicate leaves of the orchid. “This orchid was quite expensive, wasn’t it?” he asked. “You had it imported. It cost sixty thousand dollars,” I answered calmly. Garrison nodded. Then, with a sudden, violent sweep of his arm, he knocked the heavy ceramic pot off the stand. The sound of shattering clay echoed through the room. Soil and the rare, delicate roots of the orchid scattered across the floor. He stepped over the debris, walked to the wall, ripped down the expensive painting, and tossed it into the trash can. “I gave you all of this, and I can take it all back in an instant.” He turned around to face me. “Do you really think a little leverage is enough to negotiate with me?” “Naomi, you are incredibly naive. The game of high finance is not something a housewife who spent three years doing laundry can understand.” He walked back, his fingers gripping my chin tightly. “Yes, I set you up so Summer could take your place. I have no problem admitting that.” He showed no trace of remorse. “What else is a useless woman like you good for, if not to be a stepping stone?” “I offered you money and a graceful exit. If you had just taken the fall quietly, we could have parted ways like adults. Why must you make this so ugly?” Forced to look up at him, I stared at the face I had loved for five years. I used to think he was a gentleman. Now, he simply made my skin crawl. “Do you really think you’ve won?” I asked softly. Garrison released his grip, pulling a silk handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his fingers. “Tomorrow morning, my lawyers will take legal control of this shop. As for your so-called evidence…” He tossed the handkerchief onto the desk. “Feel free to try your luck. Let’s see if the authorities believe a heavily indebted business owner, or my elite legal team.” He adjusted his tie and turned toward the door. “Pack your things tonight and get out of my house.” As his hand touched the doorknob, he paused. “And don’t even think about taking those designer clothes with you. You didn’t even dare to remove the tags. You’re cheap to the bone, Naomi. A servant girl in a silk dress is still a servant.” The door slammed shut behind him. I stared at the ruins of my shop. I didn’t cry. Instead, I reached under a large piece of the shattered ceramic pot and retrieved a tiny, black voice recorder. I pressed the button to save the file. Garrison, the audit files were only the beginning. Tomorrow morning, you are going to receive a much larger surprise. 3 The next morning. I woke up on the thin mattress of a cheap motel, my phone buzzing with a dozen text notifications. Every single one was a notice that my credit cards had been deactivated. Moments later, the flower shop’s main supplier called. “Naomi, I am incredibly sorry, but Garrison’s representatives called us. We can no longer supply flowers to your shop.” “Please don’t make this difficult for us. We’re just trying to run a business.” “I understand,” I replied calmly, and hung up. Garrison’s methods were always so predictable. Cut off my finances, ruin my business, and leave me with nothing. He truly believed this would force me to crawl back, begging for his forgiveness. I opened social media, and the very first post on my feed was an update from Summer. The location tag was the sales office of the city’s most luxurious waterfront penthouse development. The photo showed a property purchase contract, with a man’s hand resting on the corner, a classic Cartier wedding band visible on his ring finger. I knew that hand all too well. The caption read: Finally, a home of our own. Thank you for always choosing me, my love. I zoomed in on the image. Under the guarantor section of the purchase contract, the business license number of my flower shop was clearly written. No wonder he was so desperate to force me out yesterday. He needed to use my business as leverage to pay the multi-million-dollar down payment on his mistress’s dream home. I leaned against the headboard, staring at the photo. I remembered how he had looked every time he transferred that twenty-thousand-dollar allowance to my account over the last six months, his expression full of condescending charity. “Spend it. Don’t be stingy with your wardrobe. The wife of Garrison needs to look presentable.” He had counted every penny when it came to me, terrified I would take a single dollar of his assets in a divorce. Yet, he threw millions at Summer without a second thought. I felt no pain, only a deep sense of irony. I exited the app, opened a contact with no name saved, and sent a quick text. “Is the joint lawsuit filed?” The reply came instantly. “Submitted to the court. Every minority shareholder signed off on it. The financial crimes division has also received the complete asset flow chart.” “Where is Garrison right now?” “At the penthouse sales office, preparing to make the payment.” I put my phone down, walked over to the window, and pulled back the curtains. Garrison, you truly believed you were outsmarting a simple housewife. You had no idea that the wealthy women I hosted at my shop over the last six months were the wives of your company’s minority shareholders. And you had no idea that I used that twenty-thousand-dollar monthly allowance to hire the best private investigators to map out every single one of your hidden accounts. My phone vibrated again. It was a video file from the same unsaved number. In the video, Garrison was sitting in the VIP lounge of the sales office. Summer was leaning against his shoulder, looking over the floor plans. Garrison handed a sleek black card to the sales manager. The manager took it respectfully and swiped it through the terminal. The machine let out a series of sharp, error beeps. The manager blinked, trying again. Another failure. “Mr. Garrison… your card appears to have been frozen,” the manager said awkwardly, handing it back. The smile on Garrison’s face vanished. He stood up abruptly, pulling out his phone to make a call. But before he could dial, the glass doors of the VIP lounge were pushed open. Several federal agents in windbreakers walked in. “Garrison? You are under investigation for embezzlement and money laundering. All accounts under your name have been frozen by federal order.” “Please come with us.” The video cut off. Staring at the screen, I watched the look of sheer, helpless disbelief on Garrison’s face. I tossed the phone onto the bed and went to get ready. At the exact moment he tried to buy his mistress a luxury penthouse, his empire collapsed. 4 By the time Garrison was released on bail, it was already late afternoon. I was standing outside the ruins of my flower shop, sorting through the remaining inventory. Yes, ruins. Two hours prior, a bulldozer had driven onto the commercial street. The driver claimed he was acting on orders from Garrison’s estate management company. The lease had supposedly expired, and the premises had to be cleared immediately. I hadn’t stopped them. I had only secured the physical ledgers. A sleek black Maybach pulled up to the curb. Garrison stepped out, his suit wrinkled, dark circles framing his bloodshot eyes. The elegant composure he usually wore was entirely gone. He marched over to me, his voice low and dangerous. “You did this?” he asked, pointing a finger at the pile of brick and splintered wood. “You’re the one who ran the fake accounts, Garrison. How is that my fault?” I replied, dusting off my hands. Garrison took a deep breath, loosening his tie. “Naomi, you really are something else. Banding together with those old shareholders to ruin me?” He stared at me as if looking at a monster. “Do you have any idea what a frozen account and a broken supply chain mean for me?” “Bankruptcy. Or prison,” I supplied calmly. That was the breaking point. He lunged forward, grabbing my arm with a crushing grip, dragging me toward the dark alley behind the shop. “What are you doing? Let go of me!” I struggled, but his grip was like iron, and I couldn’t break free. At the end of the alley lay the heavy metal door of the cold storage unit we used to preserve imported flowers. Because of the demolition, the power to the block had been cut, but the thick insulation kept the interior freezing. Garrison shoved me inside. I stumbled, falling hard onto the icy concrete floor, a sharp pain shooting through my knees. “You like auditing accounts so much? You like acting so pure and righteous?” Garrison stood in the doorway, looking down at me in the dim light. His voice had returned to that terrifyingly polite, cruel tone. “The moment you sign the papers to drop the lawsuit, and the moment you change your statement to the fraud division, I’ll let you out.” “Garrison, you’re insane! This is kidnapping!” I yelled, pulling myself up by the cold wall. “Go ahead and sue me,” he sneered. “Let’s see if any lawyer in this city dares to take your case.” He slammed the heavy insulated door shut. The lock clicked into place from the outside. I was plunged into absolute, freezing darkness. The biting cold wrapped around me instantly. I pulled out my phone. No service. The temperature in the unit was well below freezing, and I was only wearing a light trench coat. Even worse, the sudden physical struggle and the freezing air began to constrict my chest. My throat felt tight, and my breath came in ragged, wheezing gasps. My asthma was flaring up. I threw my weight against the heavy iron door, pounding on it with all my strength. “Garrison… open the door…” “My inhaler… it’s in my bag… outside…” Garrison’s voice came through the thick metal, muffled and completely uncaring. “Stop acting, Naomi. You’ve used that trick a thousand times.” “Do you really think throwing a tantrum will make me soft?” “Even if you die in there, I don’t care.” His voice was dripping with arrogance and absolute certainty. I slid down the cold iron door, collapsing onto the frozen floor. Breathing became an agonizing struggle, each gasp feeling like I was inhaling crushed glass. The freezing air crept up my fingers, numbing my joints. I tried to reach into my pockets, but my hands were stiff, covered in a thin layer of frost, completely devoid of sensation. In the silent, freezing dark, my grip on consciousness slipped away, and I finally closed my eyes.

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