Category: English

Liam Thorne chased me for three years. He proposed sixty-six times. The day I finally said yes, he sank to his knees and wept with joy. Everyone said I was the jewel he treasured above all else. Until I saw him holding an umbrella for his pretty underclassman in a downpour. They were kissing in the rain, lost to the world. I filmed it all, quietly, and sent it to the entire campus. Then I deleted my accounts and left the country. He searched for me like a man possessed, kneeling outside my family’s home for three days and three nights. “Forgive me,” he begged. “I just made a mistake any guy could make.” Later, I returned with a new man on my arm. He asked me, his eyes red-rimmed, “Then why did you accept my engagement ring?” I smiled, twisting the new diamond on my finger. “Oh, that?” “I threw it away.” Turns out, my mother was right all along. 1 My mother once told me that for a boy like Liam Thorne, love wasn’t about affection. It was about conquest and the thrill of the new. For a family like ours, for a girl with a face like mine, I was nothing more than a respectable, easily controlled stepping stone. The story of Ava Reed and Liam Thorne was the stuff of campus legend at King’s University. He was a Thorne heir, born with a silver spoon so firmly in his mouth it was a wonder he could speak. He was campus royalty, worshiped and feared, a reckless star no one dared to cross. I was Ava Reed. From an ordinary family, with little to my name besides a decent face and a permanent spot at the top of the Dean’s List. He pursued me with the subtlety of a flash flood. It was a campus-wide spectacle. Breakfast delivered to my door every morning, seats saved for me in crowded lecture halls, gifts piling up in my dorm room until it looked like a high-end department store. Every time I rejected him, he came back twice as hard the next day. “Come on, Ava. Just say yes,” he’d plead, blocking my path after class with that infuriating, wolfish grin. Three years. Over a thousand days. He got into fights for me. He pulled all-nighters to catch up on the coursework he’d blown off, just to impress me. For my birthday, he hijacked the campus bell tower’s digital display to scroll “Ava Reed, Marry Me” in glittering lights. Sixty-six proposals in total. For the sixty-sixth, he knelt by the fountain in Centennial Plaza, drenched to the bone, clutching a diamond ring custom-made by a Parisian master. His eyes were as red as a rabbit’s. “Ava,” he choked out. “I’ll die without you.” The crowd around us was a roaring sea of voices. “Say yes! Say yes!” In that moment, the plaza lights shattered in his eyes, reflecting a galaxy of desperation. Maybe, I thought, this is what love looks like. I finally nodded. He spun me around, laughing and crying like a child, asking again and again, “You really said yes? Ava, you’re going to be my wife!” He was genuinely happy then. And he truly did, for a time, treasure me above all else. Which is why, when our mutual friends saw the post I dropped on my private Instagram story—the high-definition video, filmed from a damningly perfect angle that captured every raindrop clinging to Liam’s eyelashes as he kissed her, followed by a series of crystal-clear screenshots—our entire world exploded. 2 It took less than a minute. My phone began to vibrate like a disturbed hornet’s nest, threatening to leap from my hand. The screen vanished under a tidal wave of notifications. “HOLY SHIT, AVA! IS THIS REAL?! Is Liam insane?! I thought he was obsessed with you!” “Ava, where are you? Pick up the phone! I need the tea, NOW!” “I always knew there was something weird with him and that Sienna girl. At every party, his eyes were glued to her!” “Ava, are you okay? Don’t cry over a scumbag like him!” “LMAO, Liam Thorne is FINISHED! This is gonna be the King’s University story of the year!” … The messages flooded in. An avalanche. The digital equivalent of sharks smelling blood in the water. I could picture them on the other end of the screen—shocked, gossiping, reveling in the drama, or draping themselves in flimsy cloaks of feigned sympathy. What a spectacle. The sincerity of their past congratulations now felt like a prelude to the biting mockery and pity of the present. I didn’t reply to a single one. I just opened my contacts, found Liam’s name, and blocked him. WhatsApp. Blocked. Every social media connection we shared, severed with a single tap. Then, I began to cleanse the space that had been built on lies. My photo gallery held thousands of pictures of us, from awkward beginnings to intimate moments. Delete all. Our chat history, filled with the goodnights and sweet nothings that once made my heart race. Clear. Every trace of him on my social media profiles. Erase. It felt like excising a tumor, one digital snapshot at a time. Cool, precise, surgical. Outside, the sky began to pale. The night’s rain had stopped, leaving the air with a clean, crisp, and utterly false scent of renewal. I zipped up my last suitcase and took one final look around the apartment, a place that had once been the backdrop for so many of my hopes and dreams. Everything in it—the furniture, the decor, even the lingering scent of his signature cedarwood cologne—was suffocating me. The phone was still buzzing relentlessly. A new, unknown number flashed on the screen. I knew who it was without having to guess. I powered the phone down, popped out the SIM card, snapped it in two, and dropped it into the trash. My eyes fell on the gaudy diamond ring sitting on the table. It felt cold to the touch. I picked it up, weighed it in my palm for a second, then tossed it into a box of scrap paper. Then, I dragged my suitcases to the door, opened it, and walked out. I didn’t look back. The elevator descended, the numbers dropping away. On the ground floor, the lobby TV was playing the morning news. The anchor’s polished voice was a world away from the silent chaos in my head. At the airport, I made my way to the international departures terminal. I handed my passport and boarding pass to the customs officer. “Ma’am, are you traveling to Berlin for tourism or…” “I’m moving there.” He stamped my passport. I was through. As I walked down the jet bridge, the city I had lived in for over twenty years—and the man I thought I would spend my life with—receded behind me. The plane ascended, and a familiar sense of weightlessness pressed down on me. I stared out the window at the city shrinking below, a miniature model in a life that was no longer mine. The storm-ravaged landscape of my heart had, strangely, fallen silent. You see, Liam. What you treasured, another could throw away like trash. And me? I no longer wanted it. 3 Life in Berlin felt like it was on fast-forward, set to an entirely different rhythm. I rented an apartment with a small balcony that caught the sun until three in the afternoon. My days were a blur of German language classes, prep courses for my master’s program, and navigating a foreign city’s streets and transit systems. I filled every waking moment, leaving no room for memories to seep in. Occasionally, during sleepless nights, I’d open a secondary, almost-abandoned social media account known only to a handful of my closest friends back home. I had blocked everyone connected to Liam. But ghosts from the past still flickered across my feed. The social circle we once shared, a pot of hot oil that had been doused with cold water, was now sizzling more violently than ever in my absence. At first, it was an overwhelming chorus of support for me and condemnation for Liam. “Where the hell did Ava go? Liam, you bastard, you drove her away!” “Sienna is such a snake. I always knew she was trouble, with that pathetic damsel-in-distress act!” “Liam Thorne is officially the biggest disgrace on campus!” … Then, the tide began to subtly turn. About two weeks after I “vanished,” a new post appeared, written by a girl from one of my classes who thrived on stirring up drama. “Unpopular opinion, but wasn’t Ava a little too harsh? Didn’t even give him a chance to explain, just nuked his reputation with a video and then skipped off to Europe to live her best life? Yeah, Liam screwed up, but it’s not like he killed someone. He’s been a complete wreck, looks like he hasn’t eaten in days.” A few comments below echoed her sentiment. “Yeah, relationships are complicated. Maybe it was just a spur-of-the-moment thing.” “The Thornes are a powerful family. Liam’s never been humiliated like this. I almost feel bad for him.” … I scrolled, my fingertips cold against the screen, a bitter laugh caught in my throat. There it was. The fickle nature of public opinion, the instinct to side with power and punch down. The same people who had put me on a pedestal were now eager to find a new angle, to showcase their own “rational” and “unbiased” perspective. A few days later, Liam seemed to have recovered from the initial shock and chaos. He began his counter-offensive. First, he used his family’s influence to scrub the video and photos from the King’s University online forum and most social media platforms. Then, he made an appearance at a mutual friend’s birthday party. Someone snapped a candid photo of him in profile: sitting in a shadowy corner, a drink in his hand, his expression dark, his jaw clenched. The caption read: “Liam Thorne is not in the mood. Approach with caution.” A brave soul commented below: “Still thinking about Ava?” He, who rarely engaged, replied personally. Three words. “She lied to me.” Even through the screen, I could feel the venom, the raw, wounded fury of a man betrayed. I lied to him? I lied through three years of his pursuit, through sixty-six proposals, through his grand declarations of love? What a fucking joke. 4 A month later, Sienna started appearing by his side. Or rather, she started appearing in photos, strategically placed by his side. At a charity gala, she wore a revealing evening gown, her arm looped possessively through his, a practiced smile on her face. At the polo club, he was pictured teaching her how to ride, his arms wrapped around her from behind in an intimate embrace. Someone even photographed them entering his downtown penthouse together late at night. The gossip blogs ran wild with sensational headlines: “Liam Thorne Heals Broken Heart with Underclassman Rebound? Ex-Fiancée Ava Reed is Yesterday’s News!” The comments section was a battlefield. “Of course. A man can’t stand to be alone for five minutes.” “This Sienna girl knows how to play the game way better than Ava. Look how she dotes on him.” “Family status matters. Ava was never going to fit into the Thorne family anyway.” “I’ll bet a hundred bucks this one doesn’t last either.” … I stared at the photos—at Liam’s blank, emotionless profile and Sienna’s triumphant smirk that practically screamed from the screen. The dead lake of my heart couldn’t even be bothered to produce a single ripple. It was all just… noise. The incessant, irritating buzz of flies. I closed the browser, shut my laptop, and picked up my German textbook. I had a three-thousand-word essay to write and a presentation to prepare for next week. I was busy. Too busy to care about the cheap drama unfolding an ocean away. 5 The call came on a new number, an international one. It was Liam’s best friend, Ethan. His voice on the other end was heavy with exhaustion and anxiety. “Ava… I finally found you. Are you… are you doing okay?” “I’m fine,” I said, my voice flat. “Listen… Liam… he’s…” He paused, searching for the right words. “He’s in a bad place. He’s drinking every day, and when he’s drunk, all he does is say your name. He’s ignoring his work at the company, his family is freaking out…” “Oh,” I cut him off. “And how is that my problem?” Ethan was taken aback. His tone shifted to one of pleading. “Ava, I know he was an asshole. I know what he did was unforgivable. But… you two were together for three years. He knows he was wrong. Can’t you just… give him a chance? Even just to meet, to talk things through?” I looked out my window at the gray-blue Berlin sky, where a few pigeons were landing on my balcony railing. “Ethan,” I said slowly. “Do me a favor and give him a message for me.” “What is it?” “Tell him to stay the hell away from me.” I hung up and blocked the number. The world was quiet again. 6 I thought the drama would eventually fade with time and distance. Then, one weekend, I was coming home from the library and saw a figure at the entrance to my apartment building. A ghost who had no business being there. Liam. He was leaning against the wall, wearing a wrinkled trench coat that was completely wrong for the weather. A few cigarette butts lay scattered at his feet. His hair was a mess, his eyes were sunken, and a dark stubble shadowed his jaw. He was so haggard and broken, he looked like a different person. His eyes lit up the moment he saw me, like a dying man spotting a lifeline. He stumbled forward, reaching for my arm. “Ava!” I took a step back, avoiding his touch, my gaze calm and steady. His hand froze in mid-air. The hope on his face shattered, replaced by a raw, painful vulnerability. “Ava… I… I finally found you…” His voice was a harsh rasp, thick with emotion. “I’m sorry. I know I was wrong, I really, really know… Forgive me. Please, just forgive me this one time, okay?” I said nothing. He seemed to take my silence as encouragement, or perhaps it pushed him further into desperation. He continued, his words tumbling out in a frantic rush. “I was an asshole! I’m not human! I was drunk that day… I wasn’t thinking straight! The only one I love is you, Ava. It’s only ever been you!” He tried to step closer, but my icy stare pinned him in place. “Ava, don’t be like this… Look at me. Please, just look at me,” he begged. “Hit me, scream at me, do whatever you want! Just don’t ignore me… I can’t live without you…” “Are you done?” I finally spoke, my voice devoid of any warmth. He froze. “If you’re done, you can leave.” The color drained from his face, as if I’d siphoned the life right out of him. His lips trembled, and after a long moment, he managed to force out the words. “Ava… I just… I just made a mistake any guy could make…” I almost laughed out loud. The classic, shameless excuse. “So?” I raised an eyebrow. “Am I supposed to applaud you for this… universal male achievement?” “No… that’s not what I meant…” he stammered, shaking his head, a look of profound, desperate confusion in his eyes. “Ava, you were never like this… You were always so kind, so forgiving… Why have you become so… so cold?” Yes, I used to be kind. I used to be forgiving. That’s why I let him fool me for three years, like an idiot. Believing his sweet words while he was off kissing another woman in the rain. “Liam,” I said, looking straight at him, my voice clear and sharp. “Your love is filthy.” “And it disgusts me.” He recoiled as if struck by lightning, stumbling back a step, his body swaying. His eyes were wide with utter disbelief and a crushing despair. “No… that’s not true…” he muttered, then his head snapped up, his gaze turning wild as he clung to one last thread of hope. “Then why did you accept my ring?! You said yes to my proposal! Ava! You loved me, you know you did!” Ah, yes. The ring. The one I had casually tossed into a box of trash. I looked at his bloodshot, obsessive eyes and suddenly felt an immense wave of exhaustion, followed by a sharp, satisfying clarity. I slowly raised my hand. In the pale afternoon light, my fingers were long and bare. I met his gaze, and a faint, cold smile touched my lips. “Oh, that?” I paused, watching his pupils constrict in anticipation, and then I let the two words fall between us, soft and final. “I threw it away.”

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During the hardest, poorest year of my life, I intentionally crushed two of my fingers in a factory machine to pay for my grandmother’s $30,000 surgery. The factory owner frowned, his face etched with genuine pain, and offered me $80,000 in compensation. Guilt-ridden, I only accepted the $30,000 I needed. Years passed. Grandma has long since left this world. Then I saw the news trending on X (Twitter). That factory had burned to the ground. The owner died of a “heart attack.” His wife vanished without a trace. Their twelve-year-old son was sent to foster care. Looking at the helpless, terrified eyes on my screen, I poured the pills I was about to swallow down the drain. Fine… let’s live one more time. For the sake of that thirty grand. 1 Even after all these years, whenever I look at my severed fingers, a wave of guilt washes over me. But if I went back, I know I’d do it again. Because back then, I truly had nowhere else to turn. Grandma found me by a dumpster in a snowstorm. If not for her, I would have frozen to death on that bitter night. She got stomach cancer. The doctor said surgery and follow-up treatment would cost at least $80,000. We sold everything—our dilapidated studio apartment, the worthless furniture—everything we had. It only amounted to $50,000. We were still short $30,000. “Don’t treat it, Tara. I’ve lived long enough. I can’t let you sleep on the streets for me,” she said. I shook my head. “I’d rather sleep on the streets than live without you, Grandma. We… we have to treat it.” Grandma held me in her arms, her sighs mixed with sobs. We cried together. It was a desperate, freezing night. We both knew that $30,000 was an astronomical figure for us. Where could we possibly scrape that together? Grandma had no family. She only had me. But I… I didn’t have the money to save her. However, at nineteen, I had infinite guts and courage to face any difficulty! When I shoved my fingers into the rapidly spinning gears, the pain nearly made me black out. But in the panicked eyes of my coworkers, I saw hope. Grandma could be saved! It was the only door I could open for her. 2 The factory owner, Mr. Miller, was a good man. By the time he rushed to the hospital, my hand was already bandaged. He squatted down, wanting to touch my hand but looking helpless, not knowing where to start. Finally, all he could say was a heavy sigh full of heartache: “Child, you’re so young. What will you do now…?” I turned my head away, not daring to meet his eyes. I wasn’t a good kid. I didn’t deserve his sincere pity. His wife, Mrs. Miller, came to take care of me personally. She handled everything. She gently combed my messy hair. She cut fruit into small pieces, warmed them up, and fed me bit by bit. It was the first time I felt that kind of delicate, maternal tenderness. It was completely different from how Grandma cared for me. A coworker who came to visit whispered a warning: “Be careful. This is a honey trap. They’re being nice so they can pay you less later.” I was instantly on guard. I tried to reject their kindness. But they continued to care for me, both physically and emotionally, ignoring my deliberate coldness. After I was discharged, Mr. and Mrs. Miller drove me home. Grandma held my hand, missing two fingers, and wept silently. For a long time, she couldn’t say a word, her whole body trembling with sobs. In that moment, I started to regret using this method to get money. The Millers were wiping tears too. Our home was bare walls. Grandma looked jaundiced, clearly very ill. They took out $80,000 in cash and stacked it neatly on the table. Grandma stood up in a panic, waving her hands, terrified and unsure of what to say. She could only look at me in silent distress. “This is the factory’s compensation for Tara. Please take it. The factory will cover future medical bills too,” Mr. Miller said. I lowered my head in shame. This compensation far exceeded my expectations. I had consulted a lawyer, and the amount he quoted was far less than what Mr. Miller offered. And this was just a small factory. The kind where the boss had to go out and make sales calls himself every day. Every penny was hard-earned. I needed money, but… I couldn’t be conscienceless enough to take the extra. Even though I wasn’t sure if the current me had a conscience left. “It’s too much. I can’t take this much.” Mrs. Miller patted my head and said softly, “Child, don’t be shy. The road ahead is long. Take this money and learn a trade to support yourself.” I looked down, unable to wipe away my tears or speak, just stubbornly shaking my head. I only took $30,000. I resolutely pushed the rest back to them. Grandma looked at the $30,000 I kept in shock. Thirty! It was thirty thousand! A number so painfully familiar to her. The old lady looked confused, shocked, and then… a flash of heartbroken realization crossed her eyes. No one else knew why Grandma suddenly burst into loud wails. Only I kept my head down, afraid to look into their eyes. I was afraid to see my own despicable, shameful, ugly reflection in their pupils. In the end, the Millers couldn’t beat my stubbornness. I practically kicked them out with a cold face. I threw the $50,000 back at them. I knew I was being rude, but I really didn’t know how else to refuse such warm kindness. Grandma cried all night. No one was sadder than her. I just regretted not hiding my intentions better; Grandma figured it out instantly. The next day, we packed up and moved out of that dilapidated apartment and into the hospital. We said goodbye to that home forever. My only home with Grandma. I had no home left, but I still had Grandma. With Grandma, I still had a home. 3 Grandma’s surgery went smoothly. But after being discharged, we had nowhere to go. We set up a tent under a bridge. Renting an apartment or staying in a motel cost too much. Every penny had to be spent wisely. I had no idea how much follow-up treatment would cost. I could only cut expenses as much as possible. Many times, I regretted not taking that $50,000. But I knew clearly that if I went back in time, I still wouldn’t take it. If I took it, the weight on my spine would keep me bent forever. After two rounds of chemo, Grandma’s body clearly couldn’t take the drafty bridge anymore. We moved into a cheap basement room in an alley. Winter arrived. It was freezing. I found a job delivering food via DoorDash. I took care of Grandma while working like a tireless machine. In between, I picked up odd jobs at nightclubs—promoting drinks, being an atmosphere girl. I tried everything. As long as it paid. That was the closest I ever came to falling into the abyss. I saw countless ways to make quick, dirty money. Reason pulled me back in the end. If I truly fell, Grandma would rather die than accept treatment bought with that money. The Millers visited us once during that time. I didn’t even know how he went to the trouble of finding our address. He said, “Tara, actually, you can come back to work at the factory. We’ll move you to an easier position.” My nails dug deep into my palms. Stubborn and hostile, I said, “Easier positions definitely don’t pay well. Are you going to charitably inflate my wages?” He nodded without hesitation. I didn’t appreciate it. “But I don’t need it. Are you pitying us? I can take care of Grandma just fine on my own.” The couple opened and closed their mouths, looking heartbroken, but said nothing more. Grandma seemed afraid of something, clumsily waving her hands to refuse: “Our Tara isn’t going back to work. Thank you, really, thank you.” She rubbed my frostbitten, stubby fingers, terror in her eyes. The Millers left with heavy sighs, looking back three times with every step. I whispered at their backs, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” Forgive my rudeness, forgive my ugly, dark heart. All my strong disguises were supported by despicableness. I wasn’t a good person. At least, I didn’t feel like one then. Grandma cried too. “Grandma is dragging you down, Tara. I’m an old useless thing, how can I burden a child like this?” I turned around fearfully and hugged her tight. “Don’t say that! I only have you, Grandma. You get better, and we will be okay. We will get better.” But would we? Looking at Grandma’s sallow face, a seed of helpless despair was planted in my heart. Grandma didn’t speak. The tears soaking my sleeve silently told a story. Drop after drop, endless tears. She suffered too much. How could I let her leave without enjoying a single day of happiness? Absolutely not. But that night, a plastic bag inexplicably appeared at our door. On top were two cans of nutritional milk powder for seniors. Underneath was a neat stack of $50,000. Fifty. Another sensitive number. I knew who it was immediately. I called Mr. Miller, but no one answered. Grandma touched my rough, frozen hands. “Tara, stop calling. Take it. Later… we’ll find a way to pay them back.” I stared at Grandma. Her cloudy eyes were filled with heartbreaking pain. I nodded, turning my head to let the tears flow into the shadows. That was the last bit of endurance and stubbornness of my youth. 4 That winter was the fullest and most exhausting year of my life. Delivering food by day, working at the club by night. I was so tired I could fall asleep sitting anywhere. It was exhausting, but the decent monthly income still left me worried sick. Grandma’s chemo every three weeks. Medical bills, nutrition costs—these were expenses I couldn’t skimp on. The doctor said if she ate well and kept her nutrition up, the side effects would be less severe. During that time, every extra bite of rice or sip of soup Grandma took made me happy for a long time. As if she wasn’t eating food, but life points. Four rounds of chemo ended. Time for a routine checkup. I was on a delivery run when the oncologist called. “Your grandmother’s response to chemo isn’t good. The scans show the tumor… has metastasized to the liver and lungs.” Crowds streamed past me. I squatted on the street corner and wailed helplessly. Why? Why did I try so hard only to face this result? Could the god of luck not spare a single glance for us? I got off work early that day. I secretly went to see the doctor first. The follow-up treatment plan was just heavy sighs of unbearable helplessness. The doctor was a young man. He said, “Take Grandma home, Tara. Don’t spend any more money in the hospital. Let her eat whatever she wants.” I knew he meant well, but I didn’t want to hear a word of it. It felt like the Grim Reaper reading a death sentence. I couldn’t accept it. I still believed in miracles. “If we just go home like this, what will happen to Grandma?” “It will be very painful. She might get fevers, lose mobility, lose appetite, or develop ascites,” the doctor’s voice got quieter. He didn’t want to look me in the eye anymore, looking down at his screen pretending to be busy. “What if I insist on treatment?” I wasn’t giving up. The doctor looked up at me steadily, lowering his voice. “Even if you insist… your grandmother will still go through all of that.” Hearing this, my tears burst forth uncontrollably. I tried to dry my eyes in the stairwell before seeing Grandma, but my small eyes couldn’t hold that many tears. I wiped for half an hour, and they still wouldn’t stop. A middle-aged man smoking nearby looked equally worried. Seeing me cry, he numbly handed me a crumpled tissue. “Eyes hurt if you cry too long. Wipe them.” His exhaustion made me wonder if he also had family in treatment. Everyone suffers. Each has their own suffering. So… let’s try to make the last leg of Grandma’s journey a little sweeter. Maybe because I came back early today, I saw Mrs. Miller. A thermos was on Grandma’s bedside table. I walked in, and the room smelled of chicken soup. A very familiar smell. I said thickly through my congestion, “Thank you, Mrs. Miller. You don’t need to come tomorrow. Thank you for visiting Grandma all this time.” This time, it was sincere gratitude. I wasn’t an idiot. I should have known those exquisite, delicious meals weren’t takeout. Takeout wouldn’t make Grandma dodge my eyes. Takeout didn’t come in high-end thermal lunch boxes.

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Four years. That was the tally of our long-distance marathon. I never once worried that Holden would betray me. Why would I? My best friend, Sienna, attended the same university as him. She was my eyes and ears, my proxy on the ground. She kept me synced to his life, beat for beat. Over those four years, Holden came to see me more than two hundred times. Between the flights and the hotels, he must have burned through thirty thousand dollars. I remember how he used to smile, his hand warm and heavy as he ruffled my hair. “You get air-sick, and cars make you nauseous,” he’d say, his voice a soft rumble. “So let me come to you. I never want you to look at other girls and envy their boyfriends. Not for a second.” “I can make money tutoring,” he’d insist. “If I’m not spending it coming to see my high-maintenance girl, what’s the point?” On the day of his graduation, I told him a lie. I said my advisor was chaining me to the lab for three days. In reality, I endured a twenty-hour trip from hell—three layovers and a Greyhound bus—just to make it to his ceremony. I had a ring in my pocket. I was going to propose to him. When I arrived at the university, the air was electric. A crowd had gathered on the main quad, the cheering deafening. It was the sound of a spectacle. I tilted my head, curious. Through the gaps in the crowd, I saw a man down on one knee. It was my boyfriend. It was Holden. And the girl standing before him, hands over her mouth? That was my best friend. Sienna. 1 I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. My vision blurred, static filling the edges of my sight. Rub your eyes, Avery, I told myself. It’s the travel fatigue. The stale air. You’re hallucinating. But when I focused again, the image sharpened, and the tears came before I could even process the pain. I saw Holden’s hand trembling as he held the velvet box. “Sienna,” he said, his voice projecting clearly over the hush of the crowd, “I have never imagined spending the rest of my life with anyone else.” “To me, there is only you, and then there is everyone else. Will you marry me?” My head turned mechanically, locking onto Sienna. She was weeping, that beautiful, delicate cry she had perfected. She looked stunning today. She was wearing a white, tiered chiffon dress paired with little leather loafers. In the sunlight, it looked almost like a wedding gown. Sienna, who hated makeup, was flawless today. The kind of beauty that makes your heart ache. A memory, sharp as glass, sliced through my mind. Two weeks ago. Her voice on the phone. “Babe, which dress should I get?” I had told her to pick the white tiered one. “But it’s three hundred dollars over my budget,” she had hesitated. “Is it worth it?” “It’s gorgeous,” I had insisted. “It’s perfect for you. If you love yourself, buy it. I’ll Venmo you the difference.” At the time, I thought she was wearing it to a dinner with her roommates. Now I realized: She was wearing the dress I paid for, to accept a proposal from my boyfriend. The shock was physical. It froze my blood, locking my limbs in place. Part of me wanted to scream, to sprint into the center of that circle, snatch the ring, and crush it under my heel. Instead, I watched Sienna smile through her tears. “I couldn’t imagine loving anyone but you,” she sobbed. “I’d rather die.” “Holden… yes! I will! I will marry you!” I watched, paralyzed, as Holden slid the ring onto her finger. They embraced, their lips meeting in a kiss that looked like it belonged on a movie poster. The crowd erupted, a tidal wave of applause and cheers. Beside me, two girls sighed in admiration, their words twisting the knife deeper. “Holden and Sienna are literally perfect. From freshman year sweethearts to marriage… I’ve been shipping them since they got together first semester!” “Right? He’s the Student Body President, she’s the brilliant Lit major. You couldn’t write a better romance novel. Three years together and straight to a proposal? I’m dying. It’s too romantic.” The bouquet of flowers in my hand slipped. The ring box I had been clutching tumbled onto the pavement. Three years. Only now, amidst the confetti of my shattered reality, did I learn the truth. My best friend and my boyfriend had been the campus power couple for three years. Everyone knew. Except me. A metallic taste—blood—surged in my throat. My body began to convulse, a violent rejection of what I was seeing. The world tilted, and I hit the ground. Strangers, kind students, rushed to help me, carrying me toward the campus health center. In the distance, Holden and Sienna were still lost in their kiss, oblivious to the universe outside of their deceit. When I woke up in the clinic, the nurse looked relieved. “Honey, your blood sugar bottomed out,” she said gently. “You need to take better care of yourself.” I sat up, hands shaking, and dialed Holden. No answer. I messaged Sienna on every platform. Called her. Nothing. Tears dripped onto my phone screen, blurring the keypad. The nurse handed me a candy wrapped in gold foil. “Why the tears? Here, have a chocolate. Some students dropped these off. Party favors from the big proposal.” “That Sienna girl and Holden… they’re a sweet couple. Big scene on the quad today. Very exciting.” I walked out of the clinic like a ghost haunting the campus. The nurse’s words echoed in my ears, a loop of torture. “Freshman year, Sienna fainted during physical fitness tests. Holden carried her all the way here. You should have seen how panicked he was.” “After that, they were inseparable. Wanted to be together twenty-five hours a day. People even wrote stories about them on the campus forum. Totally codependent. And now, look at them. Happily ever after.” Every sentence was a razor blade, carving fresh wounds into my heart. Freshman year. I had fainted during my fitness test, too. My roommates had helped me. I never imagined Holden and Sienna were lying to me. They were building a romance in the very clinic where I imagined him worrying about me. My phone buzzed. A voice message from Holden. I played it. His voice was thick, slightly slurred. “Baby… graduation was crazy. Went out drinking with the guys, sorry I missed your call.” “Don’t be mad, okay? Can we FaceTime? Actually… no, I smell like a brewery. I’ll FaceTime you tomorrow.” “I ordered breakfast for you, it’ll be at your door in the morning. Remember to eat. Love you.” My heart plummeted into the abyss. A message from Sienna followed seconds later. “Avery! Is the thesis stressing you out? I was so busy taking grad photos with my roommates I totally missed your texts. My bad!” “Your boy Holden is behaving, by the way. Some girls tried to get photos with him, but he shut them down. He only wants to take photos with you.” They were so coordinated. They had built a fortress of lies, timing their messages to cover the cracks. If I hadn’t seen the proposal with my own eyes, I would have believed them. I would have been the fool who thanked them for their loyalty. I sank into a crouch right there on the sidewalk, burying my face in my knees, and wept until I couldn’t breathe. Then, I heard them. I looked up. Under the streetlights by the campus lake, Holden had his arm around Sienna. They were laughing, that intimate, secret laughter of lovers. They were feeding a stray orange tabby cat. Sienna’s voice was wistful. “Mittens… we’ve been feeding you for three years. You’re like the witness to our happiness.” Holden looked at her, and the love in his eyes was so potent it was terrifying. “I love you, Sienna.” The words shook my very soul. Sienna bit her lip, looking tragic and beautiful as she buried her face in his chest. “You’ve done enough for me. After today… we can’t love each other out loud anymore.” “You have to go live with Avery. Build your little home. And I’m going to France for grad school. We might never see each other again.” Holden held her tighter. “Sienna, no matter how far you go, you are the one in my heart. I proposed to you.” She nodded, a sad, accepting smile on her face. “I have enough memories. At least you asked me first. Even if you marry Avery later, I won’t be jealous.” “Don’t feel guilty. Even if we don’t get the marriage license… maybe you’ll remember me longer because of it.” My fingernails dug into my palms until the skin broke. I watched them kiss again, desperate and passionate. Holden’s voice was ragged. “I’m sorry, Sienna. I’ll find ways to come to France. I’ll see you.” The wet, intimate sounds of their kissing drifted through the night air. Holden was a master at partitioning his heart. He would secretly propose to Sienna, the love of his life, and then settle for marrying me. Sienna was his ‘one that got away.’ His golden ghost. My face felt like it was burning. Tears plastered my hair to my cheeks. I looked at the chocolate in my hand—the “party favor”—crushed it into a shapeless lump, and threw it into the nearest trash can. Then, I turned around. I went straight to the airport and boarded the first flight back. I had arrived full of hope. I left with a heart that had turned to ash. Exhaustion pulled me into a feverish sleep on the plane. Dreams flickered like a horror movie reel. Holden and Sienna holding hands on the quad. Feeding the kitten until it grew into a fat cat. Eating in the cafeteria, picking out the vegetables the other didn’t like. Walking through the first snow, sharing a scarf. I woke up gasping, sweat chilling my forehead, tears soaking my pillow. I was back in my dorm. My roommates were hovering, looking worried. “Avery? You’re back? We thought you were proposing! Why do you look like a wreck?” “Yeah, did Sienna get a video? Show us! It must have been so brave. Seriously, you’re a legend for doing that.” I had kept the trip a secret to surprise Holden. Surprise. The word tasted like bile. I looked at their curious, kind faces and couldn’t even force a smile. “Holden… he had to go collect data with his advisor suddenly. I missed him. So I came back.” They glanced at each other, sensing the lie but kind enough not to press. I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t say that the “World’s Best Boyfriend” I had bragged about for four years had been sleeping with my best friend the entire time. My head was splitting. I went to the balcony to brush my teeth, needing air. That’s when I saw him. Downstairs. Holden. Standing there, looking windblown and desperate. He was holding a bouquet of Cappuccino roses—my favorite. And a box of that expensive pistachio cake from the bakery I loved. He looked up, his eyes full of that familiar, deceptive warmth. Last night he was making love to Sienna. Today, he was playing the perfect boyfriend for me. “Avery!” he shouted. “Let’s take graduation photos!” My roommate poked my shoulder, swooning. “God, he’s romantic. Go down there!” I moved like a robot. I didn’t even put on shoes. I walked out of the dorm barefoot. When Holden saw me, he frowned, running over to scoop me up and deposit me on a nearby bench. “Are you happy-shocked? Why no shoes?” “We’re going to live together soon,” he scolded gently. “I have to break you of this bad habit.” Soon? The word made me want to laugh hysterically. He paused, noticing my expression. “Avery, do you feel sick?” “Are you still mad? I know, I know. Not texting back last night was terrible. That’s why I caught the first flight out. Flowers and cake as a peace offering.” The rage hit me all at once, a physical blow. I grabbed the cake box and smashed it into his face. Before he could react, I took the roses—thorns and all—and hurled them at his chest. “Holden! Do you think I’m an idiot? Do you think you can just play me like a fiddle?” My voice was a scream, raw and terrifying. I didn’t recognize myself. The ring was still on his finger. The one he gave Sienna. How much did he love her that he couldn’t even take it off to see me? Holden’s temper was terrifyingly good. It made my skin crawl. He wiped frosting from his eye, forcing a smile. “Babe, is the lab work going badly?” “It’s okay. I handled everything at my school. I’m here to help you prep for graduation. I’m here. Don’t stress.” “We have our trip coming up. Smile for me.” “And hey, didn’t you want to buy a going-away gift for Sienna? I’ll pick up some extra shifts. You can buy her something expensive.” He started cleaning up the mess, cautioning me, “Watch out for the thorns.” I didn’t feel the thorns. I walked up to him and slapped him across the face. Hard. “Holden. You are absolutely disgusting.” But the grief was a vacuum, sucking the energy out of my cells. The world went black, and I collapsed. The last thing I saw was Holden’s face crumbling into panic as he lunged to catch me. When Holden heard the doctor say I had fainted from acute gastroenteritis and stress, guilt washed over his features. He gripped my hand. “Avery, this is my fault. I made you feel like you couldn’t even tell me you were sick.” “Don’t be scared. I’m staying right here. I already emailed your professor.” He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A perfect mask over a rotting soul. I couldn’t even muster the energy to be angry anymore. I watched him bustle around—wiping my face, buying food, dealing with the insurance forms. Since high school, he had taken care of me. Peeling fruit, remembering anniversaries, the grand gestures. After finals senior year of high school, he had confessed to me with a bouquet he arranged himself. I fell into that sweet, first-love dream. Sienna, interestingly, hadn’t liked him. “Babe, I don’t think Holden is good enough for you,” she’d said. They were like oil and water. I was always the mediator. When we got into different colleges, I cried for days. Sienna stayed by my side, volunteering to keep an eye on him. “Babe, I’ll watch him. If Holden so much as talks to another girl, I’ll report back instantly.” I remembered leaning on her shoulder, looking at Holden with arrogant pride. “See? Don’t think about cheating. Sienna is my CCTV.” He had promised, hand over his heart. “Don’t worry. She won’t have anything to report.” I thought I had the world’s most thoughtful boyfriend and the world’s most loyal best friend. I didn’t know they were using my trust—and my lack of social media stalking—to build a life together. They were the campus sweethearts, living a romance everyone else envied. Holden’s phone rang on the bedside table while he was getting water. It was his mom. Mrs. Warner. I remembered how she always held my hand, bringing me homemade dishes. I picked up. Her voice froze me solid. “Son! When are you bringing Sienna home for dinner? Your dad and I miss her.” “Don’t bring Avery this time. Every time she comes, I have to fake a smile and cater to her. She’s such a princess. High maintenance. I like Sienna so much better.” “Tell Sienna I miss her. I have that vintage pearl necklace for her—grandmother’s pearls. I couldn’t bear to give them to Avery.” My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. The woman who smiled at me… behind my back, she had already chosen her daughter-in-law. My voice rasped. “Mrs. Warner. If you hate me that much, why do you call my parents ‘family’ every time you see them?” She recognized my voice. The line went dead instantly. I let out a bitter, hollow laugh. Driven by instinct, I reached into Holden’s jacket pocket. There it was. The second phone. I typed in Sienna’s birthday. It unlocked. The photo gallery. Thousands of them. Intimate, domestic, happy. Every wallpaper was Sienna. Every app was organized by her. No wonder Holden always let me check his phone with such confidence. He had a burner life. A message popped up from the pinned contact: My Sienna. “Honey, I’m coming to see Avery now. She won’t suspect anything, right?” “I need to see you. Plus, with her princess temper, if I don’t show up, she’ll blame me for not caring.” The words were poison. I typed back: “Come over.” “On my way! Wait for me, my love!” I put the phone back. I sat in the silence, waiting for the curtain to rise on their little play.

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After the truth about the switched daughters came out, my only purpose left in the Preston family was to be married off to some degenerate heir from a second-rate family. My older brother, Alex, still cared for me. He arranged a meeting with Todd Rhoads. We had grown up together, and after we came of age, we’d been secretly dating for three years. But that day, Todd just leaned against the doorframe, not even bothering to step inside the private room. “I can’t marry you, Molly. It wasn’t possible when you were the true heiress, and it’s even less possible now.” Three impossibilities, severing every last hope I had. But three years later, he called me late at night, drunk. “Molly, I’m willing to marry you now. Will you still have me?” For the past three years, he’d been tearing up the world, a different party every night. He had no idea that two years ago, I had moved south and married a young master of the Norton family. … After asking if I would still marry him, Todd seemed to sober up from the shock of his own words. He mumbled, trying to backtrack, “Sorry, Molly. I’ve had too much to drink.” “It’s fine. Go to sleep.” With that, he hung up. I clutched the darkened phone, sleep now a distant memory. The mattress beside me dipped slightly, and a hand, warm and familiar, settled on my waist. “Who was that, so late…?” I snapped back to reality, put the phone down, and slid back under the covers. The arm behind me tightened instinctively, pulling me into a secure embrace. “No one,” I whispered. “Just a wrong number.” In the dark, every sense is magnified. Closing my eyes, the chaos of three years ago felt terrifyingly close again. I had just returned home after graduation, my luggage filled with gifts for everyone in the family. When I opened the door, I was ready to complain that no one had bothered to pick me up from the airport. But that door was like opening Pandora’s box. My family was gathered around the dining table, laughing and baking Christmas cookies together. My father, a man who lived in a perpetual string of meetings and was rarely home, wore a ridiculous Christmas-themed apron. My mother, always the picture of elegance in her jewels, was holding a perfectly shaped sugar cookie. Even my brother, Alex, perpetually in a suit, had a smear of flour on his cheek. And in the center of their adoring circle was a radiant young woman. I’d never seen her before, but her face was an uncanny echo of my mother’s. They all turned to look at me, their expressions freezing, as if I were a stranger who’d wandered in uninvited. Alex was the first to recover. He gently guided the girl, whose name I would learn was Ella, upstairs, shielding her as if I were some kind of monster. My father didn’t follow. He looked at me, his eyes assessing me like a piece of merchandise. “It’s good you’re back.” To this day, I can’t bear to think about that period. I was paraded around by my mother at an endless series of luncheons and high-society gatherings, then subjected to a dizzying array of arranged dates. My phone was taken away, under the guise of helping me “find peace.” The breaking point came at the third meeting, when I was sat across from a man old enough to be my father. The despair I had been bottling up finally erupted. Under the cover of darkness, I snuck into Alex’s study. With trembling fingers, I dialed the number that was seared into my memory. “Hello?” “Todd…” my voice cracked. “It’s me, I—” Before I could say another word, a hand pressed down on the disconnect button. It was Alex. He pinched the bridge of his nose, not looking at me. “Molly, the phones in this house are monitored.” “If you want to see him, I’ll arrange it.” “But only this once.” And so, I found myself face to face with Todd, looking utterly broken. But before the tears could even fall, he looked at me with a chilling calm, analyzing my situation as if it were a business merger. “Molly, you should trust your parents.” “I’m sure they’ll make the best arrangement for you.” He paused, a faint smirk on his lips. “What? Did you think I would marry you?” “That’s impossible, Molly. Don’t be naive.” 2 Loving Todd Rhoads was a special kind of pain. I grew up with him, filling three thick journals with entries about him. From the time he climbed a tree to rescue my kite when I was seven, to the time he rejected the most popular girl in school right in front of me when we were seventeen. He would affectionately ruffle my hair, take the blame for my mistakes, show up for every single one of my birthdays, and be the first to defend me if anyone dared to bully me. He was, in every way, perfect to me. But he always said he just saw me as a little sister. Later, when he went to college abroad, I studied relentlessly, all for the chance to get into the same university. The day I landed, the California sun was blinding. So bright that I immediately spotted him waving at me. And the girl on his arm. Todd was his usual lazy, charming self, an eyebrow cocked in my direction. “Well, look who’s finally all grown up.” “Molly, say hi to your new sister.” For the next few days, I was a ghost, trailing behind them. I watched him open her car door, watched the way his eyes crinkled and his lips curved into a smile when he bent down to listen to her. Todd’s apartment had a beautiful terrace. One evening, he and his friends threw me a welcome party there. I must have looked miserable, because his girlfriend put a concerned hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay? Feeling homesick?” Todd, propping his chin on one hand, idly toyed with her long hair. “Of course she is. Our Molly is such a homebody. I remember in elementary school, she’d have a bad dream during nap time and wake up crying for her mommy.” A wave of laughter spread through the group. My face flushed hot with embarrassment. All I could do was shrink in my seat and force a smile. His girlfriend playfully slapped his arm. “You’re terrible!” she said, then turned to me. “Hey, do you want me to sleep in your room with you for a few nights?” Before I could even process the offer, Todd shot up. “No way. I object.” Someone next to me nudged my shoulder, their voice full of playful teasing. “Careful, Molly. You can’t say yes to that. These two are in the honeymoon phase.” I just stared blankly up at Todd. He was acting like a giant puppy, burying his head in his girlfriend’s neck and nuzzling her. “My girlfriend sleeps with me, and only me. Molly, if you’re scared, just sleep with the lights on.” I heard my own voice, dry and hollow. “It’s fine. I’m just jet-lagged.” I don’t remember how that party ended. All I remember is the image of Todd and his girlfriend, fingers intertwined, standing at the door to see their friends off. They looked so perfect together. So perfect I couldn’t bear to look back. We were in different departments, and Todd was busy with his love life, cycling through girlfriends. Combined with my deliberate avoidance, I barely saw him for the entire semester. When winter break came, he sent me a rare message asking when I was flying home. By then, my parents had likely found their biological daughter, Ella, and were busy bonding with her. They made up an excuse and told me to visit my aunt who lived in France. Conveniently, I didn’t want to see Todd anyway. The moment my classes ended, I was on a plane to France. Todd wasn’t the type to chase someone who wasn’t interested. Our communication simply faded away. It wasn’t until my second summer in France that my aunt, complaining that a young woman like me shouldn’t be so listless, dragged me to a beach in the South of France. As I was sunbathing, the hat covering my face was suddenly snatched away. I opened my eyes, and there he was. Todd. 3 His features were as sharp as ever, his lips curled into a cold smirk. “Well, look at you, Molly. All grown up. If I don’t come looking for you, you’re just never going to talk to me again, are you? Do you have any idea how long it’s been since we last saw each other?” I dropped my gaze, unwilling to meet his. “You’re not my brother, Todd. You don’t get to boss me around.” For a split second, a strange expression crossed his face. But I was too lost in my own pain to decipher it. I snatched my hat back and stalked away. Todd grabbed my hand from behind. “Molly, what are you so angry about? It feels like you’ve been mad at me ever since you got to California. If you don’t tell me what’s wrong, how am I supposed to know?” It felt hard to breathe. A rush of rage shot through me. I spun around, my eyes burning with tears I couldn’t control, and screamed at him. “Yes! I’m angry! I’m angry that you were so good to me when you didn’t love me! I’m angry that you gave me hope just to smash it to pieces! And I’m even angrier at myself… because even after all this, I still can’t bring myself to hate you!” I stood there, defeated, wiping at the endless stream of tears. It was over. All my feelings were laid bare before him. I had no escape route left. But it didn’t matter. Keeping it in would have haunted me for a lifetime. Saying it out loud would only hurt for a few years. I took a deep breath and turned to leave. But a sudden warmth pressed against my back. Todd’s voice was a low murmur against my ear. “Then let’s give it a try, Molly.” And we did, for three years. We did everything couples do. He clumsily reined in his careless nature. He would drive across the city just because I offhandedly mentioned a craving for Chinese food. He would stay up all night with me when I was breaking down from academic pressure. Those three years were a dream. I never imagined that when he said “let’s give it a try,” he meant it literally. The man who had kissed me goodbye at the airport before I flew home was now looking at me with such chilling calm, saying: “I can’t marry you, Molly.” “Let’s just end it here.” The private room Alex had booked was soundproof. The only things I could hear were my own frantic heartbeat and my own hollow voice. “Oh. Okay.” “Then let’s end it here.” Todd’s unexpected call dredged up a night full of nightmares. I woke up with a throbbing headache. I had just sat down for breakfast when our butler approached with the phone. “Mrs. Norton, a call from the madam.” My hand, holding a spoon, paused. I took the phone. “Mom, good morning.” A warm voice came from the other end. “Molly, darling. An old friend of mine is visiting next week. She was ill and couldn’t make it to your and Ben’s wedding, which she’s always regretted. This time, she specifically asked to meet my daughter-in-law.” I smiled, my voice soft. “I understand, Mom. I’ll be there.” A few days later, at the Norton family estate, my mother-in-law’s friend was delayed, so she sat with me on the sofa, telling me embarrassing stories about Ben’s childhood. The friend was her dearest companion from her youth. One had married into a family in the north, the other in the south. They had both had sons in the same year and had made a pact for the boys to become sworn brothers. But the first time the two children met, they immediately started fighting, leaving each other with black eyes and bruised egos. After that, the would-be brothers, one in the north and one in the south, never saw each other again. Ben, who had been listening, had heard enough. He clicked his tongue and pulled me to my feet. “Come on, that’s all ancient history. Let’s go for a walk in the garden.” Watching his uncharacteristically flustered retreat, I saw the tips of his ears turn a tell-tale red. A rare mischievous mood struck me. I poked him in the small of his back. “Hey, was Mom telling the truth? You actually got into fights? Did you win?” Ben was incredibly ticklish there. He dodged and weaved, but his ears were now completely crimson, even though his face remained stoic. Finally, he’d had enough of my teasing. He spun around, capturing both my wrists in one hand and pinning them above my head. His voice was a low rasp. “What if I won? And what if I lost?” His sudden move made my heart skip a beat, but I wouldn’t back down. “If you won, it means you’re tough. If you lost… well, it just means you need to try harder.” He leaned in closer. “And does my wife think I need to try harder?” My face instantly caught fire. I aimed a playful kick at his shin. “Get lost, you shameless man.” When we first married, he would knock three times before even entering my room. Now, half of my walk-in closet was filled with his suits. Ben gently pressed his forehead against mine. “Being married to me is good, isn’t it, Molly? You’re my wife now.” I didn’t understand the sudden change in topic, but I nodded along. “Yes, yes, I’m your wife.” His eyes immediately filled with a triumphant light, as if he’d just won a great victory. Before I could ask what that was about, he released me and walked off to answer his phone. I watched his back disappear around the corner and shook my head with a smile. “Molly?” My body froze. I turned around slowly. “Molly, what are you doing at the Norton’s?” It was Todd. 4 He stood in the garden, a look of utter shock on his face. Three years, and he looked almost the same, except for a shadow of weariness that clung to his usually impeccable features. I never would have guessed that the little boy who had fought with Ben was Todd. Thinking of the man with the red ears just moments ago, I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. Todd smiled too, seeming to relax. The tension in his shoulders eased as he idly plucked a petal from a blooming rose. “Oh, right. Your brother, Alex, does business with the Nortons. It’s strange, though. I didn’t think he’d bring you to a business meeting. Where is he? I don’t see him.” Todd and his mother were my mother-in-law’s guests. It wouldn’t do to be rude. I forced down my annoyance and gave him a polite smile and nod. “Long time no see, Mr. Rhoads.” The smile on his face faded slightly. He frowned. “Molly, do you have to talk to me like that?” “Mr. Rhoads, is there a more appropriate way for us to address each other?” He was speechless, his eyes searching my face with a complex emotion. Finally, he ran a hand through his hair and gave a wry smile, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, you win, Molly. But I’ve sent you gifts and postcards every single month for the past three years. Surely you can find it in your heart to forgive me, for the sake of all those miles I traveled for you?” He said it so casually, so flippantly, just like he used to when we’d argue and he was trying to charm his way out of it. But those outdated words, like his ill-timed gifts, belonged in the trash. I looked at the brilliant smile on his face and just shook my head. His smile vanished. Just then, one of Todd’s friends who had moved south walked over. I remembered seeing him at my wedding to Ben. That day, he had stared at our wedding portrait for a long time before asking me, “If I sent Todd a picture of you right now, do you think he’d fly back from the Serengeti on the spot?” I had just smiled and raised my glass to him. “No. Didn’t he just go public with that supermodel girlfriend? Their lovey-dovey posts are all over my feed.” The friend had looked at me strangely then, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he just downed his drink, clapped my shoulder, and said nothing. Now, his eyes darted between Todd and me, a look of pure mischief on his face. “Well, if it isn’t little Molly! Long time no see! Catching up with our boy Todd?” Todd’s face darkened. He shot his friend a glare. “If you don’t have anything smart to say, shut up.” From a distance, a housemaid gestured to me. Something had happened. I had no interest in reminiscing about a past that was eight hundred years old. I gave them a nod and turned to leave. Behind me, the friend’s voice was still loud. “Hey, Todd, you haven’t been in touch for so long. For all you know, little Molly could be married by now!” Todd scoffed. “Pigs will fly before Molly gets married.” “Aren’t you a little overconfident? The situation she was in back then… even I felt sorry for her.” “The Prestons might be ruthless, but they wouldn’t stoop to pimping out the daughter they raised. If Molly didn’t want to marry someone, no one could truly force her.” “And most importantly,” Todd’s voice was filled with a smug certainty, “she’s been in love with me for years. There’s no way she’s over me.” His friend seemed taken aback. “So, you just walked away like that? And spent the next three years gallivanting around the world?” Todd’s shamelessness was breathtaking. “I was young. You expected me to get married? Besides, I’m back now, aren’t I?” “Molly, married?” “No. Impossible.” “She loves me.”

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After the car accident, my boyfriend and I both lost our memories. We had no choice but to void our relationship. He couldn’t wait to chase after his newly single “White Moonlight” – the girl who got away. I started dating my old deskmate who had just returned from abroad. I thought we both had bright futures ahead of us. Until I sincerely wished him luck in pursuing his true love. He went crazy, screaming at me: “Who gave you permission to actually lose your memories and forget me?!” I didn’t understand. Was he faking his amnesia all along? 1 I broke up with Liam. On our two-year anniversary, we got into a car accident and both ended up with amnesia. Close friends came to the hospital and told us we were a couple. Liam looked me up and down, raised an eyebrow, and made a quick decision: “Since neither of us remembers, I guess we aren’t a couple anymore.” I understood what he meant, but I hesitated. “But we might remember eventually. What if we regret it? Everyone knows we were together.” He chuckled lightly, sounding completely sure of himself. “If you truly like someone, even if you forget the details, the feeling remains. Besides, who can say if we’ll ever get our memories back?” True. Even the doctor couldn’t guarantee when or if our memories would return. He just suggested we interact with people and things from our past to jog our memories. The doctor explained that there are many types of amnesia. Ours seemed to be selective amnesia. We only forgot specific people and events—like our relationship and each other. Everything else, we remembered clearly. This usually happens when the brain or heart suffers severe trauma. It’s a self-defense mechanism to lock away bad memories. Unless the patient is willing to unlock them from within, external intervention doesn’t do much. A friend visiting us had an epiphany after hearing this: “So, basically, you can’t wake a person who’s pretending to be asleep.” I lowered my head and breathed slowly, then glanced at Liam, who was pursing his lips in silence. He turned his face away and scoffed: “If we’re both willing to forget, it means it wasn’t important.” Fair point. One person forgetting might be a coincidence. Two people forgetting means it didn’t matter. When I first woke up in the hospital and learned he was my boyfriend but I had no memory of him, I was nervous. I met his scrutinizing gaze and apologized weakly: “Sorry, I don’t remember you.” Unexpectedly, he smiled as if a heavy burden had been lifted: “It’s okay. I forgot you too.” And so, our two-year relationship was officially voided in that moment. Liam couldn’t wait to post on social media: [The End.] Letting everyone know we broke up. The first comment was from Sophie. She teased: “Liam, copying me again?” Copying what? She dated, he dated. She broke up, he broke up. Sophie and Liam were high school classmates. In college, she became my roommate. She was the one who introduced Liam to me, saying: “Why let an outsider have him? Keep the good stuff in the circle. What do you think? Is my high school buddy handsome?” He was handsome. Tall, long legs, sharp features. Especially when he smiled—cool but boyish. I wanted to be with him the moment I saw him. Later, because of Sophie, we got closer. On the night Sophie announced her new relationship, Liam confessed to me. Now, coincidentally, we were both single again. 2 Everything went back to square one. But Liam still showed up downstairs at our dorm every day. He was there for Sophie. Unlike us, whose relationship ended due to amnesia, she remembered her relationship and was having a hard time moving on. Liam tried every trick to cheer her up. I saw them when I was coming back from the library. Liam handed Sophie a bag of roasted chestnuts and some artisanal pastries that supposedly required a three-hour wait. He comforted her gently: “Don’t be sad. Tomorrow I’ll take you to the arcade.” “We’ll win as many Cinnamoroll plushies as you want.” The next second, he looked up and saw me walking toward them. The hallway lights were bright. I couldn’t see his expression clearly against the backlight, but I felt him stiffen. Probably because we just broke up. Even though we were now strangers, less than friends. Sophie, on the other hand, walked over with red eyes. She must have been crying, but she still forced a brave smile for me: “Sarah, don’t misunderstand. There’s nothing going on between me and Liam. Once he gets his memory back, everything will be fine. He’s just helping me distract myself from the breakup.” This wasn’t the first time she’d said this to me. Even though I always replied calmly: “It’s fine. I don’t remember anyway, and we broke up.” Next time we met, she’d say it again, as if convinced we would definitely regain our memories and get back together. She would even sigh enviously: “I wish I had amnesia like you guys. Then I wouldn’t be so heartbroken.” She was heartbroken. So much so that she went out drinking right after the breakup. Once, at a bar, she saw her ex celebrating a friend’s birthday and mistook the friend for a new girlfriend. She caused a scene. When the guy yelled at her, Liam rushed in and started a fight. Bottles smashed, cake flew everywhere. Liam ruined someone’s birthday party and got his face cut by a shard of glass. Seeing the wound on his face, I was horrified and lost control, blurting out: “Liam, can you stop being so impulsive?!” He wiped the blood off his face, not caring at all: “If I’m not impulsive, they’ll bully Sophie. That scumbag deserved it. Sophie is so sad, why does he get to celebrate happily?” I thought he was unreasonable, but I still softened my voice and begged: “Next time, be careful not to hurt your face, okay?” These were events I read about in my diary. I’ve always kept a diary. It also recorded how, shortly after we started dating, we walked past a row of claw machines after a movie. I excitedly wanted to win a Butter Puppy plushie. Liam kept his hands in his pockets, looking bored, and said: “Too childish. Claw machines are for kids.” But now, he was telling Sophie he’d take her to the arcade and win her tons of Cinnamorolls. I guess amnesia changed his perspective. Just like my diary mentioned him saying that waiting three hours for overly sweet pastries wasn’t worth it. I never got that Butter Puppy, and I never tasted those pastries. I didn’t know if he meant the pastries weren’t worth it. Or the person. 3 Liam didn’t like these conversations between Sophie and me. She said there was nothing between them. I said we were long broken up. Every time, Liam would interrupt unhappily: “A love that can be forgotten isn’t much of a love. Even if I remember, we won’t be together again.” Yeah. Forgotten means forgotten. Not liked enough. The past is smoke; one breath and it’s gone. Nothing to hold onto. I had no interest in their developing relationship, but I bumped into them almost every day. Junior year course load was heavy. Liam wasn’t even in our department, but he skipped his own classes every day to sit with Sophie in hers. I’m sure Liam never did that for me, because soon girls were asking Sophie: “Wow, is that your boyfriend? He’s so hot!” Sophie would wave her hands, smiling, explaining while the light in Liam’s eyes dimmed: “No, no, we’re just friends.” The girls would say “Oh~” suggestively, looking back and forth between them. “Friends…” They didn’t say the rest, but everyone was imagining it. What kind of friend skips class every day to sit with you? Buys your favorite bubble tea every time? Eats with you after class? Specifically sits between you and other guys? Even when it rained, he got soaked protecting her from the water. Which led directly to a fever and a cold. So the next day, when he accompanied Sophie to class, he was lying on the desk, groggy and sick. During the break, he suddenly groaned hoarsely: “Sarah, I feel terrible…” The voice wasn’t loud, but it was abrupt. People around us turned to look at me, sitting in the back row. Even Sophie asked him nervously: “Liam, did… did you remember?” My pen stopped. I looked up, then down. A long time later, I heard him whisper: “Dizzy. My head is foggy.” Maybe he really was foggy. Because when I went to the infirmary at noon to buy Vitamin C and saw him getting an IV drip, the first thing he said when he saw me through his exhaustion was: “Shrimp and vegetable porridge again?” We both froze. I knew why he said that. My diary recorded that whenever he was sick, I brought him shrimp and vegetable porridge and ate with him. He had frowned once and asked helplessly: “Change the flavor next time.” I smiled and agreed softly, but next time, I still bought shrimp and vegetable. Eventually, he got used to it. But now, he blurted it out while having amnesia. In the silence, his gaze moved to my empty hands. He seemed to wake up, realizing his mistake. Under my slightly surprised gaze, he said stiffly: “Don’t misunderstand. I didn’t get my memory back. I just… habit of thought. Yeah, maybe it happened before.” I didn’t care about his stumbling explanation. I smiled indifferently, said “No misunderstanding,” and left the infirmary with my vitamins. His gaze lingered on my back for a long time. I didn’t look back. My phone buzzed in my pocket. Reminder for my tutoring gig. Math, physics, chem for a high schooler. I rushed over with my lesson plans. As soon as I walked in, the student ran out of the study to greet me: “Miss Sarah!” A second later, another figure walked out of the study. Elegant, tall, holding a test paper. His gaze landed on my face without hesitation. Our eyes met, and my smile froze. The student excitedly told me: “Miss Sarah, this is the cousin I told you about with the terrible grades, Chen. He just got back from abroad today.” She turned to him proudly: “This is the teacher I told you about, Sarah. She’s amazing. She goes to the university I dream of getting into.” Chen stood by the door, one hand in his pocket, looking relaxed. After hearing the intro, he looked at me with a half-smile: “Teacher Sarah…” “Long time no see.” 4 It had been a long time since we parted before college entrance exams. Long enough that I thought I’d never see him again. My high school deskmate—Chen. The impression was too deep. Back then, his terrible grades stuck out like a sore thumb in the advanced class at City High. His personality was cold and jerky. For a long time, I thought he was useless except for his face. Until one day after PE class, I accidentally got locked in the equipment room. As Friday evening approached, the school emptied out. I tried climbing the high windows repeatedly but failed. Just as I was curling up in a darkening corner, hopeless, the door was kicked open. Light poured in. Slowly revealing Chen’s silhouette. I had to admit, in that moment, backlit and glowing, he looked like a god descending from heaven. I stood up and thanked him earnestly. He walked closer, smiling down at me: “Verbal thanks aren’t enough, Student Sarah. I plan to demand repayment for my kindness.” It wasn’t an unacceptable demand. Just tutoring. When we first started school, I saw him frustrated over a test score of 15/100 and kindly offered to explain the questions. Back then, he just looked at me coldly and said: “Mind your business. Who wants to listen to you?” But the next time he encountered the same type of question, he remembered to use the method I mentioned. However, his defensiveness was strong. No matter how kind and enthusiastic I was, I eventually retreated. I didn’t expect him to ask for help now. At least he had ambition. We got closer through tutoring. In those youthful days of burying our heads in books, my life seemed to consist only of schoolwork and Chen. Once, I got sick and was hospitalized. My parents were busy with work and couldn’t come. The person who showed up in my ward was Chen. I lay in bed, looking at him with his backpack slung over one shoulder, surprised: “Did you skip class?” He raised an eyebrow at me: “Is that weird?” True. Skipping class used to be his daily routine. He stopped because of the tutoring, so I had forgotten. Seeing I was silent, he took off his bag and said leisurely: “I’m not here for a lecture, Teacher Sarah.” I was shocked and accused him: “Chen, are you an evil capitalist? I’m sick and you want me to work? This is exploitation!” He chuckled and pulled a takeout box from his bag. Suddenly serious, his voice softened: “Yeah. Compensation for exploitation.” It was shrimp and vegetable porridge. The ward was quiet. Soft sunset light filtered through the window. He ate porridge with me, slowly. I held my spoon and tilted my head, smiling at him: “Thank you, Chen.” The only person who came to visit me. The taste of quiet days makes you think the future is long. But change always comes suddenly. Before the college entrance exams, a criminal my dad had arrested was released. Seeking revenge, he deliberately tried to hit me with a car. At the critical moment, Chen pushed me away. In the chaos, I threw myself next to his bloodied body, afraid to touch him. I only remember through my blurred vision, he seemed to use his last bit of strength to twitch his lips: “Don’t cry. Wait for me to wake up and demand repayment!” I didn’t wait. Because he completely disappeared from my life. The medical staff told me his family took him away. I knew it. Entering the advanced class with bottom-tier grades, the respectful attitude of the homeroom teacher… the distance between us was so vast I could never cross it. It was fine. He would have better medical resources. I just had some regrets. I hadn’t properly said thank you yet. A life debt. How did he want me to repay him back then?

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Chapter 1 At our high school reunion, our former class beauty was basking in the limelight when someone popped the question: “Sophie, we’re all pushing thirty, and most of us are hitched. Why are you still single?” Sophie smiled faintly. “People get stuck on the ones they couldn’t have in their youth and waste their lives. I’m just… not willing to settle.” Her gaze drifted toward Julian, who was sitting right next to me. Her eyes were heavy with meaning. The table instantly erupted in teasing: “You’re talking about Julian, aren’t you?” “You two were my favorite couple back then! I was so bummed when Chloe snatched him up.” “Chloe just took advantage of the situation. You met Julian first.” Amidst the noise, I nudged the man beside me and whispered: “Hubby, they’re saying I stole you. What’s your take?” “Chloe, you and Julian are married?!” Gasps echoed around the table. Sophie jerked her head up, her eyes locking onto Julian with disbelief. A few classmates laughed awkwardly. “Why didn’t you tell anyone? We’re old friends, that’s cold!” “Yeah… unless Julian didn’t want to?” “When Sophie went abroad, he was heartbroken for ages. Heard he almost spiraled into depression.” “So it makes sense he settled for Chloe.” “Why are you defending Chloe? Everyone knows Sophie was just too poor back then, and Chloe took advantage…” I ignored the gossip and put some of Julian’s favorite dishes onto his plate. After all, we dated for three years and have been married for two. Not every high school sweetheart story gets a sequel just because the ex comes back. Besides, Julian and I grew up together. I made him come tonight; otherwise, Sophie wouldn’t even have had the chance to see him. But Julian, sitting beside me, remained silent. I glanced at him. He was staring intensely at Sophie, not touching the food I gave him. The atmosphere cooled. I put down my chopsticks. He couldn’t… still be hung up on her, right? I almost forgot. In high school, Julian’s love for Sophie was legendary. Back then, Sophie was so poor she sometimes couldn’t afford lunch. Julian tried to help, but she pushed him away coldly, pointing at his nose and shouting: “You’re just like them, looking down on people from your high horse!” Eventually, she was moved by his persistence, and they got together. But in our sophomore year of college, Sophie left a breakup letter and went abroad. The letter said: “I don’t deserve you. I don’t want to hold you back.” Julian chased her to the airport, only to see her plane taking off. He cried his heart out and fell into a deep depression. It’s true. I took advantage of his lowest point. I opened the door he had locked and pulled him back from the edge. “She doesn’t want you, but I do. What do you like about her? Being poor? I can change that.” From that day on, I lived as a shadow of Sophie. My family’s business survived only because of the Jiang family’s support. When the Jiang family arranged our marriage, I was ready to step aside. But he hugged me tight. That night, he cried and begged me to love him, not to abandon him too. “If you leave too, I’ll die.” I sighed and touched his face. “Julian, no one dies from a breakup.” “But I love you.” “What about Sophie?” He tightened his grip on my waist and kissed me. “I hate her. From now on, I only want Chloe.” The next morning, the Jiang family accepted me as their daughter-in-law. People whispered behind my back. They called me shameless, a schemer. They said the Wen family was bankrupt and I seduced Julian to save it. They were all waiting for me to get divorced, waiting to laugh at me. But for five years, Julian and I only got better. More in love. Until now—seeing the way he looked at Sophie. My heart clenched. “Hilarious. I don’t dumpster dive.” Julian’s words froze the smile on Sophie’s face. “I married Chloe because I love her. Who hasn’t met a few trashy people in their youth? Don’t throw dirt on my wife.” His tone shifted to mockery: “And Miss Xia, you went abroad and this is it? You opened a company? Do you even have a million in assets? Do you have ten employees?” Sophie’s smile vanished completely. Julian grabbed my hand, his voice softening: “Babe, I told you I didn’t want to come. Why bother with these people?” “You’re right,” I whispered back. “Whoever you scold deserves it.” The room was dead silent. The reunion ended shortly after. The classmates who were gossiping came over to apologize, wishing us a long life together. Sophie sat there, head down, unmoving. But as Julian walked out the door, he looked back. Regret and sadness made that woman look years older in just a few hours. I felt Julian’s hand on my waist tighten. Then he looked forward, smiling as if nothing happened, and got into the car with me. But back home, the incident gnawed at me. I put down my bag, my voice dry. “Julian, if you want to get back with Sophie, we can divorce…” Before I could finish, he pushed me onto the sofa, his hand on my neck. He silenced me with a finger, tracing down my collarbone. His cold, handsome face made my breath hitch. “Stop talking nonsense…” He leaned in, his breath warm. “Let me carry you to the bedroom, okay? I want you.” Chapter 2 He kissed me. We tangled all the way to the bedroom. For a moment, I almost forgot the unhappiness. Just as I smiled, Julian’s phone rang. I answered instinctively. Soft breathing came from the other end. Sophie’s voice was drunk and broken: “Julian… couldn’t you have waited a little longer? It’s only been five years…” “You call me trash, but you don’t know… I’ve always loved only you.” I was silent for a moment. “Sophie, it’s 3 AM.” “My husband just fell asleep from exhaustion. Do you need me to wake him up?” Silence on the other end, then the call cut off. I looked at Julian, sleeping beside me, frowning. His lashes trembled, lips pressed into a thin line, like he was having a nightmare. I lay down in his arms, closed my eyes, and tried not to think. I woke up less than two hours later. The bed beside me was empty. Where did Julian go in the middle of the night? Hearing voices outside, I worried about intruders. I ran to the door barefoot and cracked it open. Seeing the living room, I felt cold, like I was standing on ice. Sophie was sitting on the sofa, looking pitiful, pulling at Julian’s sleeve. “I’m sorry, Julian. I regret it. Can’t you give me another chance?” Julian pulled his sleeve back coldly, calling someone on Sophie’s phone. “Come get your girlfriend. Don’t let her drunkenly harass people at their homes in the middle of the night!” Soon, footsteps approached. I opened the crack wider and recognized the man. It was Ethan Fu—he lived in the same villa district. The only son of Shanghai’s biggest tourism developer. His family was even wealthier than the Jiangs. Seeing his red-rimmed eyes, I sighed. Sophie must have saved a country in her past life. Poor as a teenager, but a rich heir paved her way in high school. Now, a little gilding abroad, and the “Prince of Shanghai” is frantic over her. People really are different. I didn’t go out to witness the drama. I closed the door. My phone buzzed with a message from my best friend: [That bitch Sophie got drunk at a bar and cried about loving Julian to the camera! The video is online!] [Disgusting woman. She’s pushing thirty, her career is failing, and seeing you and Julian happy made her regret it!] I interrupted her rage and sent a photo of my living room: [Sophie seems to have a boyfriend. It’s Ethan Fu.] [WTF! Does that woman have a stupid-ray or something? Is Ethan blind?!] Hearing the noise outside fade, I snuck back into bed. But the next morning, arguing woke me up. I opened the door to find Julian’s parents sitting on the sofa, faces grim. They must have seen the trending topic. “Get Sophie out of Shanghai!” Julian’s father demanded. “That video of her crying in the bar is a disgrace! Shareholders are asking questions!” “She abandoned you to go abroad! Julian, don’t be stupid. She’s using these dirty tricks to ruin your marriage!” “If you don’t handle this cleanly, don’t blame the Jiang Group for blacklisting her officially!” His father stormed out. Julian stood there, fists clenched, eyes red. He turned and saw me. “Wifey?” Panic flashed in his eyes. “The trending topic has nothing to do with me. And Sophie is engaged to Ethan. I don’t know why she’s doing this.” “I’ll handle it.” Julian had gradually taken over the Jiang Group. This incident seemed to spark a rivalry with the Fu family. He dragged me into couple endorsements to boost the company’s image and quietly stole business from the Fu family to force Ethan to send Sophie away. Until a month later. We were leaving a club after a gathering. Julian and I opened the door, and Sophie stumbled out from the end of the hallway. She wore a white dress, disheveled, scratches on her face. “Julian, save me! Help me…” It was déjà vu. It took me back five years. Sophie in high school was like a wild begonia in barren soil, stubborn and proud. That’s why Julian fell for her. She grabbed Julian’s sleeve with all her strength. Seeing me, she stiffened, lowered her head, and backed away. “Ms… Ms. Wen, I didn’t mean to. I’ll leave Shanghai immediately. I’ll never…” A tear fell from her eye. She clenched her fist. “I’ll never appear in front of Julian again.” Then she turned and limped toward the exit. Watching her lonely figure, I was confused. I didn’t expect Sophie to be manipulative enough to stage this scene to frame me. Her acting was so real, as if I really had sent people to teach her a lesson. She seemed to be asking Julian for help, but she was painting me as a vicious villain. But she was Ethan’s fiancée. The Wen family couldn’t afford to offend the Fu family. I forced a sarcastic smile and looked at Julian. He was expressionless. I couldn’t read him. “I heard the Jiang Group blacklisted her. Her company is going bankrupt. She’s been begging everywhere.” Julian held my hand, smiling coldly. “None of my business.” Chapter 3 In the car, I probed again. “Julian, about what just happened… do you think I did it?” He pulled me into his arms. “I believe you. It wasn’t you.” I nodded. The Fu family was too powerful. I wasn’t that stupid. And Julian witnessed how hard I worked to save the Wen family from bankruptcy. He should know how much I cherish our life now. But the next day, 500 million was transferred out of my account! Wen Corp was about to go public. That 500 million was life or death! I called Julian. No answer. Frantic, I drove to his office. Pushing open the door, I saw Sophie sitting there crying, her wounds freshly bandaged. Julian sat next to her, looking up at me. “500 million was taken from my account. Was it…” Even though I guessed, I wanted him to admit it. “It was me.” “Why?” Julian’s eyes were cold. “Sophie’s company owed 500 million. I paid it for her.” Sophie looked up in shock, checking her phone for the repayment notification. The assistants looked at each other. I stared at Julian, confused. He tightened his grip on Sophie’s hand, protecting her. “Chloe, you owe her this!” He threw a stack of documents on the table. Photos scattered. First photo: Sophie being stepped on in the club, her white dress dirty, eyes unfocused. Second photo: Someone pulling her hair, forcing her mouth open, seemingly feeding her something. Third photo: Pure terror on her face, collar torn, revealing her collarbone and bra. There were also two signed confessions. Two thugs admitted I hired them to “teach Sophie a lesson.” And a check with my signature. “Chloe, didn’t I tell you?! I said I’d listen to Mom and Dad and negotiate with the Fu family to send her away! Why did you use such dirty methods to humiliate her?!” Julian’s voice roared with anger. “Luckily she escaped! She suffered such humiliation and only asked for 500 million in compensation. It’s cheap for an ungrateful, vicious woman like you!” I looked up at Julian, my blood freezing. “So last night you hugged me and said you believed me, then turned around and collected evidence to convict me?” Julian stood up. “Chloe, this time, you went too far!” I almost lost it. I laughed sarcastically, stepping back and pointing at Sophie. “Her fiancée is Ethan Fu! Touch her? Who in Shanghai dares to touch her? Julian, do you really think I’m that stupid? She obviously set me up!” “Julian…” Sophie tugged his sleeve, eyes red. “Ethan… never planned to marry me. I was just a pawn for him to rebel against his family…” Julian swayed. Then he grabbed her hand and looked at me with disgust. “Chloe, you probably knew Ethan wouldn’t stand up for her, right? So you dared to use such vicious means! You make me sick!” The absurdity made me laugh in anger. “Julian! We’ve known each other twenty years, married for five! Someone frames me, and you don’t even give me a chance to explain? You just sentence me to death?!” “The evidence is solid! How can you deny it!” Julian raised his hand to slap me. Slap! My head turned from the force. The commotion drew employees. The door was crowded. Whispers became audible. [Omg, Ms. Wen hired thugs… playing dirty?] [Couldn’t tell. Ruthless social climber!] [But they’re married. Mr. Jiang is entangled with his ex. Any woman would be jealous. Just had her beaten up a bit.] The comments got nastier. Someone reminded them: Julian and I were the married couple! Suddenly, Sophie struggled to stand up. She grabbed Julian and shouted at the door: “My business with Julian has nothing to do with anyone else! I was wrong! It’s all my fault! Blame me!” Julian froze. Slowly, he held her hand, eyes reddening. That look… like he had recovered a lost treasure. In that moment, I understood. His insults at the reunion, his defense of me—it was all to spite Sophie. He wanted to make her regret, make her jealous, make her chase him. He was always smart. He got what he wanted. I laughed at myself. “Julian, you could have just told me.” “I said long ago, if you choose her, we can divor—” “Divorce?!” A man’s surprised, excited voice interrupted from the doorway. We all turned. Chapter 4 Ethan stood in the doorway. He glanced at me, then quickly looked away. His fiancée was holding hands with my husband, yet he was suppressing a smile. “You’re really divorcing?” He realized his reaction was too eager and awkwardly clenched his lighter. “Cough… sorry. Just surprised.” I looked away and addressed Julian. “Since Mr. Fu is here, let’s clear the air. Julian, return the 500 million, and I’ll sign the divorce papers immediately.” “As for Mr. Fu, even though Sophie says she’s just a pawn, given the situation, do you have any objections?” Ethan walked to my side. He hesitated, then said: “Chloe, if I give you 500 million, can I watch you sign the divorce papers?” Silence. “Ethan, are you sick?” Julian frowned. Employees whispered: [What’s with Mr. Fu? Likes watching divorces? Rich people are weird.] [No way. Fiancée stolen by a rival. This must be revenge. You steal my girl, I steal your wife…] [That works?] It made sense. I turned around. Ethan was sneaking glances at Sophie. He wanted to use Julian’s tactic. Since I helped Julian, I didn’t mind helping him. “Thank you, Mr. Fu. I can go to your office to sign the contract later. Once Wen Corp survives this, I will repay this favor.” Ethan nodded and walked away. I: “…” “Congratulations, Mr. Jiang, Miss Xia. The unreachable love of your youth is finally fulfilled. You both won.” For years, Julian hid this deep love. He almost fooled me. But now, it was time to end it completely.

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At the celebration for his company going public, Julian Conrad drank from the glass his secretary handed him, a smudge of her lipstick still on the rim. When he came home that night, I asked for a divorce. He rubbed his temples, cutting me off with a wave of his hand. “It was just for show, Isabelle. Is this really necessary?” He scoffed. “And where would you go without me?” I hadn’t expected that. I stood there, frozen. In that moment, he seemed to realize his mistake. He fought through his drunken haze, trying to take it back. But before he could, I asked softly, “The woman living in the Harborview apartment—is she just for show, too?” … My voice was quiet, but it hit Julian like a thunderclap. His breathing hitched. He dropped the playful act, his body tensing as he took a step back. “How did you know?” How did I know? Because his little darling couldn’t wait to introduce herself. Before I could answer, Julian’s demeanor shifted. The calm was gone. “Mona is… different from the others,” he admitted. “But Isabelle, you don’t need to go to her.” I knew what he was worried about. He was afraid I’d do what I always did—hear a whisper of a rumor and show up on the woman’s doorstep, ready to ruin her life, just like all the others before her. But not this time. This time, I genuinely wanted out. Seeing how desperate he was to protect her, I realized this Mona must be special. In the past, he’d let me deal with the other women, real or imagined, however I saw fit. And as for her being “well-behaved”? If she were truly so well-behaved, she wouldn’t have shown up in front of me in the first place. But I wouldn’t expose her. Julian would find out the truth on his own soon enough. “If she’s so wonderful,” I said, my voice flat, “wouldn’t it be better for you to divorce me and marry her?” He shook his head, his refusal firm. “You’re different, Isabelle. I’ll never divorce you.” For a fleeting second, his words sparked a familiar anger in me, but it was quickly extinguished by his next, arrogant statement. “So, you don’t need to bother Mona. She will never be a threat to your interests.” His mercenary tone made my stomach turn. I don’t know when it happened, but he had started to measure everything, even love, in terms of profit and loss. He’d forgotten that when we first got married, it was in his grandfather’s old house in the countryside, surrounded by nothing but muddy fields. “Julian,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, “if it was all about your ‘interests,’ if it was all about money… why would I have married you in the first place?” He froze, just for a moment, then looked me up and down and let out a laugh. A cold, mocking laugh. “Isabelle, before you say something like that, you should take a look in the mirror. Look at what you’re wearing, what you own.” “Without me, could you afford clothes that cost thousands of dollars? Jewelry with six-figure price tags?” He stepped closer, wrapping an arm around my waist without waiting for an invitation. He pressed his body against mine, his voice a low, intimate murmur. “Isabelle, my money is yours. My heart is yours.” “So don’t worry about where my body is, okay?” His warm, alcohol-scented breath ghosted across my neck. I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened on my shoulder. He saw my struggle and chuckled, then released me. He leaned in, his dark eyes cold and piercing as they met mine. “Don’t be too greedy,” he warned. “You’ll end up with nothing.” A phone call saved me from the suffocating moment. It was Mona. Julian was right. On my own, I could never afford this life. Without him, I had nowhere to go. After my mother died and my father remarried, I had no family, no home. I twisted the ring on my finger, the diamond catching the light. I remembered its price tag clearly: seventy thousand dollars. The matching necklace was two hundred and twenty thousand. The dress I was wearing was nearly six. It was more money than I could ever earn in a lifetime. But so what? Jewelry wasn’t a necessity. I could wear a fifty-dollar dress and be just fine. His words didn’t sway me. They only strengthened my resolve. The next few days were a blur of law firms. Each one ended in failure. I’d exhausted nearly every option in the city. When I finally dragged myself home, exhausted and defeated, Julian was waiting for me in the living room. He set down his newspaper, a look of calm satisfaction on his face. “Find a lawyer, Isabelle?” I knew then why I had failed. He’d known what I was going to do. He’d gotten to them all first. “I told you,” he said, his voice soft. “We’re not getting a divorce.” He held out a handkerchief. “You’re sweating.” I slapped it away. He just smiled, unfazed by my anger. “Don’t look at me like that, Isabelle.” “You’ve been a housewife for too long. You’ve forgotten that the world isn’t black and white.” I scoffed, turning away. No, I was learning that lesson very quickly. “Mona had a lapse in judgment,” he said, his tone placating. “She bothered you. I promise, she won’t dare come near you again.” “Can you end it with her?” I asked, looking him in the eye. He sighed. “Isabelle, don’t be so idealistic.” “If it’s not Mona, it will be…” I dropped my gaze, tuning out the rest of his words. I stared at the intricate pattern of the carpet, my mind already packing a suitcase for a teaching trip. That morning, I’d seen an ad for a volunteer teaching program. During the thirty-minute cab ride to the first law firm, I’d put together my application and sent it in. On the way home, I saw I’d been accepted. Things with Julian were at a stalemate. Leaving the city seemed like the best option. When the program was over, I’d find a lawyer from out of state. Seeing that I wasn’t arguing, Julian fell silent. After a moment, he spoke again. “I won’t end things with Mona, but I promise, she will never be seen in public with me. She will never threaten your position. And all my money is in your name. Can’t you just stop being so dramatic about love and affection?” He reached for my hand, but I stepped away. He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “What more do you want?” “Look at the men I know. They’re all like this. Most of them are worse.” I knew he was right. His business partner, for example, had a string of mistresses. But just because other people did it, did that make it right for us? Seeing the irritation on his face, I swallowed my words. “I’m tired,” I said. “I’m going to bed.” It wasn’t a lie. Days of rejection and condescension had worn me down. I fell asleep almost instantly. When I woke, the sun was setting. My phone buzzed. It was a message from the volunteer program coordinator. I accepted her friend request, and a message immediately popped up. [Ms. Ross, we’ll be meeting at the city airport in one week to fly out together.] I replied, and she sent over a list of necessary documents and things to keep in mind. It had been so long since I’d dealt with paperwork. I was exhausted, but for the first time in a long time, my heart felt light. I saw Julian at the hospital and finally understood why he’d been gone for the past two days. He was with Mona. They were walking into the obstetrics and gynecology department together. I glanced at the appointment board. It would be a while until my turn. I found a seat not too far from them. After a long wait, Mona came out of the office, a barely concealed joy on her face. A cold premonition washed over me. Mona was pregnant. But Julian… he had a low sperm count. We’d been married for ten years and never had a child. If Mona was really pregnant, would he finally agree to a divorce? I decided to stop hiding. I walked up behind them. A flicker of hope, the thought of freedom, brought a smile to my face. But it died just as quickly. “Get rid of it.” I was standing two steps behind them when I heard Julian’s cold, merciless words. Mona looked stunned. The joy vanished from her face, replaced by a ghastly pallor. She swayed on her feet. She pleaded with him with her eyes, but he was unmoved. In fact, a flicker of annoyance crossed his face at her disobedience. “I won’t acknowledge this child,” he said, his voice hard. “You can’t have it. I won’t have a bastard.” Mona seemed to misunderstand. She saw me, and rushed forward, dropping to her knees at my feet. “Mrs. Conrad,” she sobbed, “I know I’m shameless. I know I’m immoral. But please, I’m begging you, let me have this baby.” She clung to my legs, trapping me. I was afraid of falling, so I stood perfectly still, shooting a look at Julian that said, This is what you call not bothering me? “Please, Mrs. Conrad, it’s a life,” she wailed. “Please, I’m begging you.” A crowd was gathering. People were starting to whisper, piecing together the drama unfolding before them. As the murmurs grew, Julian’s face darkened with anger. But Mona was shamelessly committed to her performance. Out of the three of us, I was the only one who felt the humiliation. “Mona.” Julian’s voice was a low growl from behind me. The woman at my feet flinched. She looked back at him, her eyes brimming with tears, a desperate plea for pity. It wouldn’t work. This was Julian Conrad, a self-made man who had clawed his way to the top of the city’s business world in just eight years. His heart was harder than anyone’s. But I was wrong. He looked at Mona, let out an almost imperceptible sigh, and stepped forward to help her up. “Stop crying,” he said, his voice softening. “We’ll talk about this at home.” He gently wiped away her tears, his arm around her shoulders, supporting her. Was this really Julian? It felt like a dream. By the time I came to my senses, they were gone. Leaving me standing alone in the hospital corridor, a laughingstock for a growing audience of strangers. I tilted my head back, blinking away the tears. What a waste. I’d missed my appointment. I’d have to get back in line. It was almost dark by the time I finished my check-up and got home. I didn’t turn on the lights. I just stood in the entryway, looking at the cold, empty house. Every detail was to my taste, yet it all made me feel sick. Because every corner held a trace of him. “You’re back?” Julian’s voice came from the bedroom. He walked out and handed me a glass of water. It was a familiar gesture, the one he always used when he wanted something from me. “Mona doesn’t want to get rid of the baby,” he said, placing the glass in front of me. He watched me, testing the waters. “I was thinking… maybe we could let her have it, and you could raise it as our own.” I turned to look at him, and he quickly averted his gaze. As if catching himself, he looked back, his voice suddenly full of false confidence. “The Hamiltons from Sterling Group did the same thing, didn’t they? Their current CEO was an illegitimate son they brought home to raise.” His words sent my heart plummeting. The Hamiltons. The laughingstock of our social circle. The man who brought his illegitimate son home, pushed out his own legitimate child, and now lived with both his wife and his mistress under the same roof. I remembered the first time Julian had told me about them, the contempt in his voice. And now, he had become the very person he despised. Perhaps my stare was too intense, because he quickly changed the subject. “Why were you at the hospital today? Are you sick? I thought your last check-up was fine.” …

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Julian was a notorious playboy. He treated every girlfriend well, giving them whatever they wanted. Except marriage. Everyone knew he broke up with his first love and was still hung up on her. He couldn’t commit to anyone else. In the fifth month of our relationship, my family pressured me to settle down. So I said goodbye: “I heard your first love is coming back. Congrats.” He smiled. “Yeah.” That night, his friends threw him a “single again” party. It was a huge, lively event. Someone mentioned me: “Hey, Julian, I think I just saw Chloe. She was with a guy, pretty handsome.” Everyone started gossiping. Julian suddenly exploded. He crushed his cigarette and sneered: “She’s the one who wanted to be together, and she’s the one who wanted to break up.” “How can she have it so good?” Chapter 1 When I first started dating Julian, his friends placed bets. Big money on whether our relationship would last more than a month. He came from a prominent family and had quite a reputation. When I first met him, my roommate warned me: “The Vances run this city. You don’t want to mess with them.” “But this Julian Vance is different. I heard he’s easy to pursue, never loses his temper with girls, and always breaks up amicably.” It wasn’t a lie. But between us, there really wasn’t any “pursuing.” I was a second-year grad student, working on a research project with my advisor. I needed an out-of-print English monograph that was impossible to find. I posted everywhere online with no luck. Just as I was giving up, someone replied. The tone was cynical yet earnest: [My old man seems to have it. Contact me if you want it. I’ll do a good deed for once.] I contacted him immediately. To thank him, we met up a couple more times. We got along well. The last time, he stood under a streetlamp, handsome and dashing. Suddenly, he raised an eyebrow and asked: “Will we see each other again?” Would we see each other again, as the seasons changed, year after year? The moonlight was cold, the night beautiful. Saying “no” felt like a letdown. Something possessed me to smile and challenge him: “I heard you’re easy to pursue. Is that true?” He looked at me, unable to stop smiling. “Why don’t you try?” When you’re young and naive, meeting someone so free-spirited and confident makes you want to get close. Besides, I had seen him long ago. I had just arrived in the city, my wallet was stolen at the station. Penniless, after filing a police report, I walked out into the rain, miserable and crying. He drove by, slowing down. “Where to? I’ll give you a ride.” Of course, I didn’t dare get in. He was patient, coaxing me: “I’m not a bad guy. Trust me once. Stop crying, okay?” I always wanted to thank him, but we never crossed paths again. In a city of millions, meeting someone again is hard. Not long after that night, we were together. My roommate was shocked. “What’s it like dating someone like him? Must be nice, right? But I heard he never dates anyone for more than two weeks.” “Just enjoy it while it lasts.” I said yeah, enjoy it while it lasts. People are naive sometimes. Back then, I thought love was just following your heart. When I liked him, I didn’t care about his past. I just wanted a future with him. But later I found out, that’s not how it works. Take that bet, for example. Julian never dated anyone for more than two weeks. So why did his rich friends bet on one month? Long after, I found out. The extra two weeks were because I looked 30% like his first love. Chapter 2 Most people lost that bet. Because, to everyone’s surprise, Julian and I had a great relationship. Unlike his previous flings. He was unusually proactive, visiting me every day for lunch or dinner. Once when I was busy, he waited at the school gate for over half an hour. I felt bad and offered to treat him to a nice meal, but he tugged my sleeve, suppressing a laugh: “Your boyfriend wants to eat at the cafeteria.” He paused, then asked: “Is that okay?” I knew he didn’t want me running around. I had heard that back in school, the young master was too posh for cafeteria food. We didn’t break up. Our relationship was surprisingly good. In our third month, he moved near my campus. We spent more time together. He set up a home theater, and we’d curl up on the sofa watching movies. He wasn’t really interested, but I was. He watched patiently from beginning to end. For movies I loved, he’d take notes and write reviews seriously. His grandfather was a famous painter, and Julian had learned a thing or two. He was quite talented. During those days, he occasionally painted me. One painting stuck with me—a girl standing under a camphor tree, holding a stack of books, with delicate features and a bright smile. I always wanted to ask him: when we first met, I was shy. Did I really smile that brightly? Later, late one night. It was our first time. I hit a snag in my research. He patiently guided me through it, tapping my waist lightly, relaxed. “Understand now?” I had an epiphany and hugged him in delight. His gaze darkened. He pressed forward, lips moving, his touch cold. He was nervous, but acted nonchalant, gripping my hand. “Chloe.” “Mm.” Halfway through, his voice low, he mentioned the painting: “When we first met, and you stood there, I really wanted to paint you.” I laughed, kissing his neck, teasing: “Do you say that to all your girlfriends?” Whispering sweet nothings in the heat of passion, reminiscing about first meetings. He tsked, pressing against me. “Go ask around. Who else have I gotten this far with?” The ambiguity flowed silently. Eventually, I stopped laughing and cried softly in his arms. September in the North is beautiful. Social media was full of videos of tourists praying at temples. I pestered him to go with me. He pulled several all-nighters to clear his schedule for a day. On the winding mountain path, he held my hand up hundreds of steps, watching my every move, afraid I’d trip. But after leaving him, I thought: who goes through life without tripping? Back then, I really liked him. Chapter 3 When did things start to change? Probably when I saw that photo. It was the fifth month of our relationship. Julian had many friends, and they were all geared up to celebrate his birthday. Preparations started weeks in advance. I was on break, so I helped out. Spending time with them, they didn’t hide their conversations from me. Slowly, I learned that Julian had been serious about love once. He earnestly proposed, picked rings, chose a venue. But in the end, over a small matter, the girl felt he didn’t love her enough. After a big fight, one left in anger, the other didn’t chase. They broke up. They almost got married. Finally, someone showed me a photo, bluntly: “Speaking of which, you look a bit like Sophie. That’s why we started the betting pool.” In the photo, Sophie smiled brightly. So similar to the girl under the camphor tree in the painting. When I first heard about the bet, I thought they were bored. Now, I realized the fool was me. Everyone knew he broke up with his first love and was still unwilling to let go. He followed her updates. Every year on her birthday, he sent expensive jewelry across the ocean. If she had any trouble, someone would tell him, and no matter what, he’d go and quietly fix it. Without her knowing, without contact, but never letting go. Only I naively thought I was different. Finally, someone laughed: “Since Sophie left, Julian has been dating, but we all guess he’s doing it to force her back.” Everyone laughed. Julian returned from his call, sat next to me, squeezed my hand, and chuckled: “What are you talking about? So happy.” I looked at him, heart cold, and said woodenly: “Talking about your first love.” He froze. He rarely zoned out. In the end, he didn’t say her name, just said lightly: “What’s there to talk about?” This was the first time I thought about breaking up. I should thank his friends for not keeping me in the dark. Because they didn’t care about my feelings, they told me the truth, allowing me to wake up and see the situation clearly. To understand that I was just a passerby in Julian’s life, a tool to love another. Chapter 4 After that day, I felt a subtle shift between Julian and me. But neither of us mentioned Sophie. He didn’t try to explain anything. He became more generous with me. He took me to auctions. If I glanced at something, it would soon be delivered to me. I forgot who said it. Julian treated every ex well, never stingy during breakups. Whatever they wanted, he gave, be it money or resources. It felt like a transaction. The night before his birthday, he sent me two transfer contracts. A villa and a car. My fingertips were cold when I received them. Shaking, I called him. He answered quickly. I pretended to be casual. “Sending such big gifts for your birthday, aren’t you losing out?” “Losing what? I like you, I want to treat you well,” he replied, voice lifting with a smile. Like a lover’s teasing. I pinched my palm, forcing myself to be calm. “These are too expensive. Almost like a dowry.” He was silent for a long time. I pursed my lips, tears falling silently. Finally, his voice paused, then he said nonchalantly: “Chloe. “Don’t overthink it. Sleep early. I’ll pick you up tomorrow night.” Should I believe him? That he did this because he liked me, not because he wanted to break up.

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My childhood best friend always thought I was stupid. He spent three years trying to teach me how to swim and failed. Yet, he managed to teach his cute little junior from school in just three days. In the pool, the girl wrapped herself around him like she had no bones. “My leg cramped, Gavin. I have to hold onto you. Mia won’t be mad, will she?” I stared at them coldly for a moment. And then, I suddenly woke up. Later, when Gavin saw me at the natatorium, clinging like a koala to a coach with pale skin, broad shoulders, a snatched waist, and a six-pack, he ground his teeth so hard I thought they’d crack. “Mia! Get down from there right now!” I leaned into the massive, muscular chest of my protective new coach and feigned shyness. “You know what? You really do learn faster this way.” 1 I stood by the poolside. Gavin was helping his junior, Lily, practice kicking. They were facing each other, holding hands. It didn’t look like a swimming lesson. It looked like a scene from The Bachelor. “Mia, do you see this? She’s only been learning for three days and look at those splashes. I taught you for three years and you’re still doing the doggy paddle.” Gavin had taught me for three years, true. But every session ended with him mocking my posture or starting a splash fight until we both gave up. He never treated me with the patience he was showing her. Suddenly, a squeal echoed from the water. Lily yelped and threw her arms around Gavin’s neck. “Gavin! My thigh hurts…” Without a word, Gavin scooped her up in a bridal carry. He shot a provocative look my way. He was betting on my jealousy. After fifteen years of friendship, he was used to me pining after him. He thought he had me figured out. The girl shrank into his arms, looking at me with wide, innocent doe eyes. “My leg cramped. I had to have him hold me. Mia isn’t mad, is she?” Gavin raised an eyebrow at me, casual and arrogant. I stared at them. I felt something heavy in my chest sink to the bottom. And shatter. I turned around and walked away without looking back. 2 If this one can’t teach me, I’ll find one who can. Stop looking for problems within yourself and start blaming others. That’s my new motto. If Gavin could teach Lily instantly, then clearly, I just needed the right motivation. I needed a hot coach who could princess-carry me in the water, encourage me, and keep me entertained. I marched straight to the aquatic center my uncle owned. I slammed my list of non-negotiables on his desk. “I want pale skin. Broad shoulders, narrow waist. Abs are mandatory. Pecs are mandatory. Biceps are mandatory. He has to be over six feet tall, single-digit body fat, long legs, good proportions. No uggos, no old guys. He needs a nice voice and gentle eyes.” My uncle’s face twisted up like a pretzel. “Mia, honey, are you hiring a coach or looking for a boyfriend?” “I don’t care! If you can’t find a coach like that, I’ll never learn to swim!” “You child… who picks a swim coach based on their abs?” Just then, a splash echoed through the glass. A man stood up in the lap pool. Water droplets rolled down his porcelain skin, over broad shoulders, a tapered waist, and abs that looked carved from marble. His chest was distractingly defined. He swept his wet hair back with one hand, revealing a face so handsome it felt like an attack. I grabbed my uncle’s arm, shaking him. “Him! That one! I want him!” Uncle Ray slapped my hand away. “He doesn’t take students. Stop drooling. That’s Chase. He’s a pro athlete. He just trains here during his off-season.” I pouted, disappointed. The man tilted his head, towel-drying his hair. Water dripped from his sharp jawline. His gaze, half-amused, drifted over and collided with mine. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked my uncle. “Oh, Mia is my niece. She hasn’t learned to swim in three years and insists she needs a hot guy to teach her. It’s ridiculous. Blaming the coach’s face for her lack of skills…” “Three years and still can’t swim?” Chase raised an eyebrow. He looked at me, the amusement in his eyes deepening. “Uncle Ray, put her on my schedule. I’ll teach her.” 3 I didn’t expect Chase to be so easygoing. He was a literal National Level swimmer, yet he was willing to teach a potato like me. “No competitions coming up. I’m bored,” he said, leaning down toward me. His handsome face was suddenly inches from mine. I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Is it true? Three years and you still can’t swim?” His voice was deep, magnetic. I nodded awkwardly. Chase smirked. “Then it really must be the coach’s fault.” Professional athletes really are built different. Before we even got in the water, he had to go over the theory. Chase was shirtless, a towel draped casually over his shoulders. Because I was significantly shorter, he had to lean in constantly. The distance was… intimate. High nose bridge, thick lashes, a bobbing Adam’s apple dampened by humidity… I quickly looked down. Full chest, deep-cut abs, the V-line disappearing into his trunks… Jesus. This was too much for a teenage girl to handle. “Got it?” Chase waved a hand in front of my face. “If you don’t understand any of the points I just made, just ask.” Points? What points? I was too busy connecting the dots on his abs. “Um… your physique is too distracting. I think I got dizzy. Can you explain it again?” I thought he’d be like Gavin—impatient, calling me stupid or unfocused. Instead, he paused, then let out a low chuckle. His eyes curved into crescents, utterly bewitching. “Sorry. That was inconsiderate of me.” He went into the locker room, threw on a T-shirt, came back out, and explained everything again, slowly and carefully. 4 Theory met practice. It was time to get wet. I’ve been terrified of water since I was a kid. The moment it goes past my chest, I panic. Chase seemed to sense it. He got in first and held out a hand. “Don’t be scared. Come on. I’ll catch you.” I plucked up the courage to step down, but my foot slipped on the tile. I pitched forward, losing my balance. The water rushed over my head. Panic set in. My hands flailed wildly, grabbing onto… well, something I probably shouldn’t have grabbed. Chase stabilized me, holding me up by the arms. My face exploded with heat. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! I slipped and panicked and—” His expression was calm, though the tips of his ears were a suspicious shade of pink. “When you’re drowning, anything is a lifeline, right?” I was mortified. “You aren’t mad?” He smiled faintly, his tone gentle. “Next time, I’ll hold you tighter. I promise I won’t let you slip.” When I got out of the pool, my phone was vibrating off the bench. It was a wall of texts from Gavin. You jealous? If you don’t reply, I know you’re actually mad. Okay, fine. I dropped the junior off. Where are you? I’ll come find you. Are you seriously mad? It’s such a small thing, don’t be dramatic. I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt and let out a long breath. I locked the screen. Out of sight, out of mind. “Boyfriend?” Chase’s voice came from the water. He was leaning against the pool edge, arms resting on the deck, water glistening on his muscles. “No,” I denied. “He’s…” I used to think of Gavin as my boyfriend-in-waiting. We grew up together. He was good-looking, and girls always flocked to him, but he treated me differently. He teased me, sure, but he always coaxed me back. I thought he was just dense. But seeing how gentle he was with Lily proved he wasn’t clueless. He just didn’t want to be that way with me. I forced a bitter smile. “He’s my former swimming coach. The one who couldn’t teach me in three years.” Chase nodded thoughtfully. “His loss. No wonder he’s the ‘former’ coach.”

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1 I was out shopping with my best friend this morning when I saw him—Kris Lockwood, my cool and composed husband, standing at the Chanel counter. He was buying the very haute couture gown I’d had on reserve for weeks. That evening, the gown appeared on his executive assistant. I didn’t make a scene. Instead, a playful, dangerous smile touched my lips. I had every identical Chanel gown from every boutique in the city delivered and piled up in front of him. Let him buy them all. My best friend, Nicole, had already drafted the divorce papers for me overnight. I have the money and the looks. The one thing I’m not short on is men. At the annual company gala, I drifted through the crowd, a glass of red wine in hand, laughing with the division heads from our various branches. The dance floor was just starting to fill as the music swelled. That’s when Kris made his grand, belated entrance, his assistant on his arm. I watched, from across the hall, as he stopped at the entrance to adjust the Chaumet brooch on Cathy’s dress. A faint smile played on his lips, his eyes full of doting affection, clearly pleased with his handiwork. Kris always did have an impeccable eye for detail; with that small adjustment, Cathy’s delicate features were instantly elevated, making her almost worthy of the Chanel gown she was wearing. In that single moment, every fantasy I’d clung to shattered. When I’d seen him leaving the boutique that morning, I’d been so sure he was picking up the dress for me. My heart had felt so full, so happy. I’d even had my makeup artist create a look specifically to match it. But as the minutes ticked by and the gala began, the dress never arrived. I called him, my tone light and probing, asking if he had a surprise for me. He brushed me off with a few words about being busy, but I caught it—the sweet, saccharine voice of another woman in the background. “Mr. Lockwood, do you think Mrs. Lockwood will be upset?” “Don’t worry,” he’d replied. “She has enough clothes to open her own boutique.” It was then I understood. The man I married was no longer purely mine. Now, Cathy stood before me, her face tilted up in a sweet smile, a pair of familiar, charming dimples deepening in her cheeks. “Mrs. Lockwood, you look stunning tonight.” Her compliment did nothing to soften my gaze. My eyes turned cold, raking over her from head to toe. “That’s a lovely dress. It’s the same model I had on order from Chanel.” We were all smart people here. Some things didn’t need to be spelled out. A fresh college graduate, not even a year into her first job, couldn’t possibly afford a twenty-thousand-dollar gown. My stare made her squirm. Cathy bit her lip, her hands twisting nervously in front of her as she shot desperate glances at Kris. Kris met my eyes, his expression as placid as ever. “Anna, don’t misunderstand. Cathy mentioned she’d never been to a gala like this, never worn couture.” He gestured vaguely. “She’s been working so hard, showing so much initiative. I just grabbed it for her on a whim.” I arched an eyebrow and nodded, then gave my assistant a subtle signal. A moment later, a line of thirteen Chanel sales associates, all dressed in immaculate uniforms, marched into the hall. Each carried an identical gown, and they advanced in a formidable, smiling line until they stood before Kris. He looked at me, confused. I leaned against a carved pillar, my arms crossed, a smirk playing on my lips. “Time to pay up.” I let my gaze sweep over the other executives in the room. “All thirteen of our division heads brought their assistants tonight. Every single one of them is hardworking and full of initiative. You wouldn’t play favorites, would you, Kris? Not and give a gift only to your own assistant?” Cathy knew I was publicly humiliating them. The color drained from her face, leaving it a stark white. When she spoke, her voice was thick with unshed tears. “Mrs. Lockwood, please don’t make things difficult for Mr. Lockwood. It’s all my fault. I’ll return the dress right now.” Listen to that. As if I was the one making a scene, the cruel wife tearing apart two innocent lovebirds. “Cathy, is it?” I said, my voice dangerously soft. “You’re overthinking things. Thirteen dresses is hardly ‘making things difficult.’ Kris grew up with someone to pick the bones out of his fish for him. It’s perfectly normal that he wouldn’t understand the implications of a man giving a woman a dress.” My eyes narrowed. “But you’re his personal assistant. You’re supposed to be more aware of these things. Didn’t you know better?” Cathy dropped her head in panic, mumbling apologies. Kris Lockwood—his looks, his family, his career—was the complete package. He was a star, brilliant and untouchable for most of his life, with countless women vying for his attention. Yet, for years, he’d maintained a cool, detached independence. Any woman who tried to get too close was met with nothing but a cold, distant stare. He was the one who had held me in his arms on countless nights, whispering softly in my ear that I was the only thing in his world worth cherishing. But everything had changed. Now, I could see it in his eyes: a flicker of pity and protectiveness for another woman. With a faint, resigned smile, Kris shook his head. He pulled a black card from his jacket and handed it to the lead sales associate. Then he walked over to me, his arm sliding around my waist, his gaze locking with mine. Over the swell of the music, his deep, pleasant voice murmured in my ear. “It’s just a dress, Anna. I didn’t realize you cared so much. Scaring the poor girl is one thing, but I’d hate to see you get so worked up. It breaks my heart.” His tone was light, almost joking, as if this were all a trivial misunderstanding. He effortlessly shifted the focus away from Cathy. A cold smirk spread across my lips. My fingers, pale and slender, curled around his silk tie, and I pulled him closer, inch by inch. “Cathy has a crush on you. You’re a smart man, Kris. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.” I paused, letting the words hang between us. “I know a couple million is nothing to you. But this is the first time something like this has happened. I expect it to be the last.” The employees around us, assuming we were flirting, erupted in a chorus of good-natured hoots and whistles. We were so close I could feel his breath on my skin. A flush crept up Kris’s neck, and the first crack appeared in his carefully composed facade. He frowned, a hint of discomfort in his eyes. “Anna, not here. What will the staff think?” “There’s nothing between Cathy and me besides a professional relationship. You’re imagining things.” I let out a soft scoff and released his tie. Humiliating him here would be easy, but it wouldn’t do me any favors either. Getting into a public feud with some bland, watery girl was beneath me. I’d made my point. For now, I decided to let it go. Besides, I had no concrete proof of an affair. Taking his arm, I walked with him to the stage to deliver the annual address on our company’s stellar performance this year. The other executives’ assistants, all savvy women, delightedly collected their new gowns. They made sure to parade past Cathy on their way out. “We have you to thank, sweetie. If it weren’t for you, we’d probably never get to wear something so expensive in our lives.” “To Mr. Lockwood, giving away a dress is like handing a piece of candy to a child. You’re not going to get any silly ideas about him, are you?” “My, those eyes… and those dimples… they look so familiar. No wonder Mr. Lockwood took a special interest in you.” One after another, their faces were masks of mockery, their words dripping with warning. Cathy had probably never been humiliated like this in her life. Her head sank lower and lower, as if she wished the floor would swallow her whole. Fat tears splattered silently onto the marble. As soon as the crowd thinned, she fled the hall with red-rimmed eyes. She didn’t come back. After the dinner, we made a tactful early exit, leaving the younger employees to enjoy the rest of their night. The moment I got in the car, I knew something was wrong. My passenger seat had been adjusted. And stuck to the corners of the sun visor were several cute anime girl stickers. No one but me ever dared treat Kris as a chauffeur, and no one was clueless enough to sit in my seat. I knew exactly who had been here. A sudden, inexplicable rage ignited within me. I hated to admit it, but in that moment, my scalp tingled with fury, my reason slipping away. Finding out he’d given my dress to Cathy had been one thing—a waste of a good gown. But this—her leaving a trace of herself in my private space—was a declaration of war. In five years of marriage, I had never been this angry. I wanted to slap him across the face, kick him out of the car, and then drive at top speed to wherever Cathy was and give her a piece of my mind. I was about to confront him when his phone rang. Kris, completely oblivious to my simmering rage, answered the call. It was Cathy. I started yanking at the seat controls, my movements jerky and aggressive. “Okay, don’t worry,” I heard him say. “I’m on my way.” My hand froze. I slowly lifted my head and stared at him. He frowned slightly. “Cathy’s at the boutique trying to return the dress, but she doesn’t have the receipt. I need to go.” He was already looking past me, his mind elsewhere. “Anna, I’ll call the driver to pick you up. You go on home.” The words caught in my throat. “You’re leaving me here? For something so trivial?” “Anna, don’t make this difficult,” he sighed. “The girl’s pride is wounded. After what you did, she cried until her voice was raw. All she wants now is to return that dress.” “Is her pride wounded, or is she just provoking me in front of you? Couldn’t she just come and get the receipt herself?” Kris rubbed the bridge of his nose, his voice weary. “Anna, is it really necessary to torment a new hire like this? When did you learn to throw your weight around? This isn’t like you.” The white-hot anger that had been consuming me vanished, replaced by a wave of crushing disappointment. It was almost laughable. “Throwing my weight around?” I echoed. “Kris, you have never, not once, defended another woman to me—not even your own mother. This is a first.” A flicker of confusion crossed his handsome face. “When we got married,” I continued, my voice dangerously calm, “we made a deal. For the sake of both our families’ reputations, you wouldn’t play around, and I wouldn’t waste my nights in clubs. Are you really going to break that rule for her?” His gaze turned deep and cold. He was silent for a long moment before finally dialing the number for our family driver. Then, he leaned over, unbuckled my seatbelt, and spoke in a flat, even tone. “You’re always so forceful, Anna. We’re husband and wife, not just strategic partners. Outside of work, can’t you be a little more like other wives? Can’t you try to rely on me, to yield just a little?” He pulled back, his decision made. “I’ll handle things with Cathy, then I’m going to spend the night at my parents’ estate. I think we both need some time to cool off.” So that was it. He was tired of me. Bored. And now he was desperate to feel his masculine power with some other woman. He used to tell me he admired my decisiveness, my sharp, take-charge attitude more than anything. What a pathetic, high-minded excuse to pin all the blame on me. I got out of the car without another word, watching the black Maybach disappear from sight. I had given him a chance. He didn’t take it. I pulled out my phone and dialed my best friend. “Nikki,” I said, my voice steady. “Draft the divorce papers.” I never wanted it to come to this. Our families, the Lockwoods and the Archers, had been friends for generations. Kris and I were childhood sweethearts, though we’d lost touch for about a decade when he went abroad for his studies. We reconnected at the dinner our families arranged to discuss our engagement. He was polished and charming, handling the elders’ questions with an easy grace. In the years he was gone, I’d thrown myself into the family business, but I’d also spent my fair share of nights at high-end clubs, decompressing with male models. I thought things would be awkward between us after so long, but when we were alone, I discovered a witty, humorous soul hidden beneath his composed exterior. That old, familiar feeling from our youth came rushing back. We were both ambitious, at the peak of our careers. We admired each other, and soon, we were engaged and married. Our union was more than a marriage; it was a merger. Lockwood Industries and Archer Enterprises became intertwined, our stocks mutually held. Divorcing him would be a financial nightmare. Back at home, I showered, drank a glass of warm milk, and prepared for bed. My phone buzzed with a message from Kris. Goodnight, it read, followed by a kissing emoji. Even in the midst of a cold war, he never failed to perform the perfunctory duties of a husband. The next morning, as I was walking into my office building, a young man with bleached-blond hair nearly knocked me over. My Hermès Himalaya bag slammed onto the pavement, scuffing the exotic leather. The coffee and breakfast he was carrying flew through the air, splashing all over the hem of my cashmere coat. The two security guards at the door saw what happened and rushed over, scolding the kid for not watching where he was going. Panicked, he scrambled to pick up my bag and tried to wipe the coffee stains off my coat with a napkin. When he saw it was hopeless, he dropped to his knees, begging me to forgive him. It was the dead of winter, and he was only wearing a thin jacket and sunglasses, which didn’t quite hide the dark bruises under his eyes. I ignored the ruined coat, my heart aching as I frowned and gently wiped at the scuffed leather on my purse. And of course, Kris, who always arrived at work at the same time I did, saw the whole thing from across the street. Lockwood Industries was just opposite Archer Enterprises. He stood there, watching silently, his face a mask of stern disapproval. For the first time, I saw disgust in his eyes. He probably thought I was on another power trip, enjoying this poor kid groveling at my feet. I ignored his silent judgment. I took a step back, waved off the approaching guards, and pulled the young man to his feet. “I don’t know what you’re going through,” I said, my voice firm but not unkind, “but a man’s dignity is precious. You can lose anything, but you can’t lose your spine. That’s the only thing that truly belongs to you.” He mumbled a stream of apologies and thank yous as he cleaned up the mess on the ground, then scurried away. Just as he rounded the corner of the building, he shot a quick look back over his shoulder, a strange, unreadable smile on his face. Back in my office, I sat at my desk and examined the damaged bag. The scuff wasn’t large; you wouldn’t even notice it if you weren’t looking for it. But once a flaw appears, it can never be perfect again. It was so valuable that even this tiny imperfection would be nearly impossible to repair. Harder to fix than my bag was my marriage to Kris. The look in his eyes that morning was a thorn lodged deep in my heart. Our lunch was a long-standing ritual. The Lockwood family chef would prepare it and have it delivered to my office, and Kris would come over to eat with me. Today, I waited until one o’clock, assuming he wasn’t coming. Just as I opened the container, he walked in. Cathy trailed behind him. Her eyes were red and swollen, and she kept her head bowed, looking meek and fragile. I put down my chopsticks and simply watched them. Kris sat down beside me and sighed. “Because of last night, Cathy is being targeted and ostracized at the office.” I picked up my spoon and began to ladle some soup into my bowl, not even bothering to look up. “Is that so? She’s the President’s executive assistant. Can’t she handle a little office drama?” His voice grew tight. “What I mean is, I want you to call your people off. Stop tormenting a young girl!” It was an unspoken rule of our corporate marriage: we each had our own loyalists planted in the other’s company. He was accusing my people of defending my honor by going after Cathy. Last night’s gala was a joint event; nearly every employee from both companies had been there. It was inevitable that Cathy’s behavior would become a topic of gossip. I stirred my soup and took a sip. “First,” I said calmly, “I haven’t instructed anyone to target your assistant. You should know that’s not my style. Second, whatever she’s facing today is a direct result of her own lack of boundaries. Kris, you still don’t understand people. Your special treatment, your tolerance for her behavior—you’re the one making her a target. You are the one who will ruin her, not me.” Cathy, who had been standing silently, suddenly took two steps forward. “It has nothing to do with Mr. Lockwood,” she blurted out. “Mrs. Lockwood, I know what happened yesterday was my fault. It was the first time I’d ever received such an extravagant gift, and I got carried away. I offended you, and I sincerely apologize.” I paused, then laughed. “Kris, your assistant is fascinating. She doesn’t seem to understand plain English, but she’s certainly quick to defend you.” I didn’t accept her half-hearted apology, nor did I intervene to stop the office gossip. Cathy’s tears and victimhood finally snapped something in Kris. For the first time in our relationship, he lost control. He slammed his soup bowl onto the floor at my feet, the porcelain shattering. He demanded that I apologize to Cathy. I had done nothing wrong. Why should I apologize? That day, we parted on the worst terms imaginable. That very afternoon, Kris left on a business trip, taking Cathy with him, away from the toxic environment he had created. That night, I was drinking with Nicole. She complained that I was too sharp, too intimidatingly competent. That’s why a “dumb beauty” like Cathy had managed to catch Kris’s eye. My mother died when I was young, and my father never remarried. I was raised to be the heir, groomed from childhood to carry the weight of the entire Archer family on my shoulders. Feminine softness was a luxury I couldn’t afford; it was a weakness that would only hold me back. I could stick to my principles for thirty years without wavering. Why couldn’t he? In the end, it was simple. He just didn’t love me anymore. And I have no interest in things that don’t belong to me. “I actually went to Lockwood Industries today to get a look at this famous assistant,” Nicole said, swirling the ice in her drink. “And wow. At first glance, she’s practically a knock-off Annabelle doll. Especially her eyes and those dimples—they’re just like yours. I don’t get what’s going through Kris’s head. Why ignore the real thing to coddle an imitation? Does he love you, or does he not?” Her words cut through the alcoholic haze, sobering me instantly. No wonder I’d felt a strange, foggy sense of familiarity when I first saw Cathy. I let out a bitter laugh. “Who knows? Maybe the knock-off is gentler. More understanding.” My head was pounding. Nicole drove me home, her driving exceptionally smooth because she knew I was feeling sick. “The divorce papers are ready,” she said as she pulled up to my villa. “When are you going to give them to him?” “Mid-month,” I said. “He’ll definitely be back for the family dinner with his grandfather.” Every month, without fail, we would go to the Lockwood family estate for dinner with his grandparents. Divorcing Kris was no small matter. I needed this time to secure my position and prepare for every possible outcome. Cathy, meanwhile, wasn’t staying quiet. Her social media was a constant stream of updates. Breakfast with the handsome CEO. Working late into the night together. Standing atop the city’s tallest skyscraper, looking down on the world. Her first time skydiving, her first time seeing a real coral reef, her first time witnessing the ethereal beauty of the Northern Lights. This business trip was giving her a lifetime of experiences she could never have dreamed of, and her feed could barely contain her joy. I used to be the only one who did those things with Kris. Now, the looks my colleagues gave me were a mixture of pity and caution. Kris was allowing her to use this to humiliate me. It was a flawlessly cruel, soul-crushing move. For the next few days, Nicole practically lived with me, helping my legal team sort through the financial entanglement of my marriage. One afternoon, she stormed into my office, her face a mask of fury, clutching a manila envelope. “Anna, that bastard Kris has gone too far!” I was signing a contract and looked up, startled by her rage. “What is it? Is he back?” Nicole slapped the envelope down on my desk. A memory card and several photos slid out, showing Kris and Cathy in a hotel suite. Kris was shirtless, and the angry red marks on his chest were a glaring accusation. “He’s not back,” she seethed, “but his sex tape is!” My shoulders, which I always held so straight, slumped. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise, each beat a throb of pain. With a trembling hand, I picked up the memory card and inserted it into my laptop. The video showed a rooftop terrace at dusk. Kris was holding Cathy’s face in his hands, gazing at her with an almost obsessive look. Behind them, the sky was a fiery orange, the sunset weaving a tapestry of color behind them, lovers embracing against the sky like a scene from a romantic painting. Just as their lips were about to meet, I snapped the laptop shut. My voice trembled uncontrollably. “Who sent this?” “It was couriered. The front desk signed for it.” I took a deep, shuddering breath and slowly let it out. Methodically, I gathered the photos and put them back in the envelope, tucking them away in a desk drawer before I could regain my composure. “Don’t say a word about this to anyone. Find out who sent it.” “Who else could it be?” Nicole spat. “That shameless homewrecker is desperate to climb the ladder!” The angle of the video looked like it was secretly filmed, not staged. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Kris, my husband, was now truly tainted. Tomorrow was the middle of the month. It was time for all this rot to end. The next day, Kris returned to the office. The first thing he did was hold a company-wide meeting where he made an example of three employees, firing them on the spot. They were the ones who had been most vocal in mocking Cathy. Two of them were my people. I wasn’t surprised that he would defend her so brazenly. After all, they were sleeping in the same bed now. What did surprise me was that he brought her to the family dinner that evening. Cathy had brought a pile of expensive health supplements and gifts for my mother-in-law, clearly having done her homework. She charmed her completely, and Kris’s mother was beaming. When I arrived, my mother-in-law sent someone to fetch my father-in-law and Kris from the study, telling them it was time for dinner. She took my hand and began chattering away about trivial things. Kris entered the dining room, glanced at me once, and then looked away. Cathy followed close behind him and, without a moment’s hesitation, sat down in the chair next to him—the seat that had always been mine. Kris froze for a second, but said nothing. We weren’t divorced yet. We were still legally husband and wife. Yet here he was, with his assistant by his side, bringing her home to the family estate, letting her occupy the seat that had always been mine.

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