Category: English

I snuck into the city where my online boyfriend lives to surprise him. But instead of a romantic reunion, I overheard him talking trash with his boys: “What’s the use of a sexy voice if she won’t even send a pic? She’s definitely a troll.” “If the campus queen hadn’t rejected me, I wouldn’t waste my time sexting someone like that.” “It’s bad enough she’s probably ugly, but she’s thirsty as hell. Kept demanding to ‘verify the goods’ before we meet.” His friend laughed, “So you showed her?” My boyfriend smirked. “Yeah. But it wasn’t mine. It was Xavier’s.” “Holy sh*t,” his friend gasped. “Your roommate? You said he was packing at least 8 inches. For real?” “Of course it’s real. Why would I lie?” “Xavier’s a real one. Saw I didn’t want to send nudes, so he offered to be my stunt double.” The group erupted in laughter. I laughed too. I’ve heard of hand doubles and leg doubles, but a “d*ck double”? That’s a first. I need this man’s file on my desk in three minutes. 1 I’m a “good girl.” Polite, modest, well-read, and respectful. Optimistic, cheerful, hardworking. Bullsh*t. That’s just the persona I maintain in front of the elders. The real me… Rebellious, spicy, wild at heart, petty, and definitely not to be messed with. And I have cravings. In every sense of the word. After high school graduation, I spent my days scrolling through hot guys on TikTok. Lean swimmers, golden retrievers, cold and aloof scholar types—liked and saved them all. Scrolling and scrolling, my heart started racing, and I got restless. So, I got myself an online boyfriend. Julian. One year older than me, currently in college. 6’0″ barefoot, broad shoulders, a tapered waist, abs you could grate cheese on. Most importantly, he’s allegedly packing 8 inches. I can’t believe I stumbled upon such a prime specimen. Life is good. Surprisingly, Julian turned out to be an upperclassman at the university I was about to attend. It felt like destiny. But Julian knew nothing about this. I kept it a secret because I wanted to surprise him when the semester started. To keep the mystery alive, I never sent him a face pic. Julian got annoyed about it, saying I wasn’t being sincere. He sounded so dejected on the phone. His hometown was just a city over from mine, less than thirty minutes by train. After thinking it over, I decided to just go find him. 2 To give me “security,” Julian reported everything to me. He even texted me where he was eating with his friends. Saved me the trouble of fishing for info. I followed the GPS and easily found the BBQ joint where they were hanging out. Among dozens of tables at the roadside stall, I spotted Julian instantly. He was even better looking in person than in his photos. It was midsummer, the wind was hot, and as it hit my face, my cheeks felt even hotter. I steadied my breathing and was about to walk up. Suddenly, Julian slammed his beer glass on the table, a mocking look in his eyes: “What’s the use of a sexy voice if she won’t even send a pic? She’s definitely a troll!” I stopped in my tracks. The blush on my face receded like a tide. Julian continued, “Just playing around. If the campus queen hadn’t rejected me and I wasn’t bored out of my mind, I wouldn’t even give her the time of day.” “It’s bad enough she’s probably ugly, but she’s thirsty as hell. Kept demanding I send nudes.” I pursed my lips, fists clenching involuntarily. Wait a minute. He was the one who bragged about his size and asked if I wanted to see. Why wouldn’t I look? Free show. Now he’s acting like I forced him? Amidst the jeering, someone asked, “So you showed her?” Julian smirked, looking proud. “Yeah. But it wasn’t mine. It was Xavier’s.” “Holy sh*t,” his friend gasped. “Your roommate? You said he was packing at least 8 inches. For real?” Julian took a drag of his cigarette. “Of course it’s real. Why would I lie?” “Xavier’s a real one. Saw I didn’t want to send nudes, so he offered to be my stunt double.” The table went silent for a second, then burst into laughter. “Bro, I’m dead. So this relationship is superficially two people, but actually two people plus a…” More laughter. Julian frowned. “What relationship? It’s just sexting. She’s basically my dog. Once summer break is over, I’m kicking this ugly troll to the curb immediately.” Hearing Julian say these things again, I surprisingly didn’t feel much. Because right now, my mind was filled with that impactful photo. What was his name again? Oh, right. Xavier… 3 Sitting on the train back home, I started scrolling through Julian’s Instagram. But the guy was too narcissistic; he posted nothing but himself. I sighed. Looks like if I want to see what Xavier looks like, I’ll have to wait for school to start. I felt a pang of regret for a second, then opened TikTok to scroll through hot guys again. Just as I was about to arrive, I swiped onto a campus interview video. The topic was “Who is your campus heartthrob?” I wasn’t interested and was about to swipe away. But suddenly, I heard the name “Xavier.” The arrival announcement chimed. I turned up the volume on my earbuds as I walked out. I listened several times. I definitely didn’t mishear. And the university name matched. I thought back to that photo… Campus heartthrob Xavier. Pretty wild in private, huh? 4 As the semester approached, Julian grew colder. He took days to reply to messages. I gritted my teeth. If he wasn’t still useful to me, I would’ve blocked him ages ago. That night, looking at the one-sided chat log, I sent Julian a sticker, refusing to give up. This time, Julian replied quickly: “Hey, I don’t think we’re suitable. We can be friends, but let’s forget about dating.” I was lying on my bed with a face mask on, legs crossed. Seeing this message, my eyes lit up. I’ve been waiting for this day! I typed with a smirk: “Why? Did I do something wrong? Finger guns sticker” Julian replied: “No, don’t overthink it. It’s my problem.” I rolled my eyes silently. Classic f*ckboy line. Zero creativity. Inner monologue over, time to unleash my acting skills. Crying sticker “You don’t need to comfort me. I know I’m not good enough for you. You deserve a better girl. I wish you happiness.” Julian paused, his heart inexplicably twitching. A while later, he replied: “You’re great. Be confident, babe. It’s me who let you down.” “If you have any requests, just ask. I’ll fulfill them.” I got excited, ripped off my face mask, sat up straight, and voice-called Julian directly. When he picked up, I sniffled first, adding a hint of a sob to my voice. “Will you really agree to any request?” Julian gave a solemn “Mmhmm.” “Actually, I kind of know you’re not confident about your looks. Don’t worry, I don’t care. If you want to meet me, I can right now…” “Then introduce me to a new boyfriend.” I really didn’t have the patience to listen to his rambling anymore, so I interrupted. Julian froze. Three seconds later, he reacted: “Huh?” 5 I sighed. “Julian, actually, from the moment I saw your photo, I knew it was impossible for us.” “You’re so handsome. How could you like an ordinary girl like me? Being friends with you is already enough for me.” Julian, who was originally annoyed, instantly deflated. His vanity was satisfied, and he felt guilty at the same time. So he said, “Chloe, don’t belittle yourself. You’re great. I… I’ll introduce my roommate to you right now.” “He’s also very handsome. Many beautiful girls at our school chase him, but he rejected them all.” “This shows he doesn’t care about looks. You guys chat, maybe you’ll hit it off.” I stayed silent for a moment, then sighed softly. “Okay, I’ll try.” Then I asked casually, “By the way, what’s his name?” “Xavier. His name is Xavier.” Success! My eyes curved into crescents. I suppressed my excitement and steadied my breathing. “Okay, I’ll add him on WeChat first. Send me his contact.” “Julian, thank you.” Julian laughed. “Don’t mention it. Don’t forget, we’re friends now.”

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Preston Rhodes ran out on our wedding five years ago. He didn’t just get cold feet; he vanished. Now, he was back, standing in my office with a diamond ring in one hand and the audacity of a thousand men in the other, asking me to marry him. “Audrey, let’s make this official.” He gestured vaguely to the air, as if swatting away a minor inconvenience. “Bella gave me a son. My grandfather had to accept her into the fold because of the bloodline. The three of us… we can make this work.” He held the ring up, twirling it between his fingers with a bored elegance. “Bella doesn’t have your pedigree, obviously. I didn’t have a choice.” I looked up from the quarterly financial reports spread across my mahogany desk, staring at him as if he were a rare, fascinatingly stupid insect. Did this man miss the last century of social progress? Did he think he was living in a feudal fantasy because he forgot his medication this morning? He caught my stare and offered a smirk that was equal parts condescension and charm. “Why are you playing dress-up in this CEO role, Audrey? You should take a page out of Bella’s book. Give me a son. That’s the only legacy that matters.” I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. Listening to him pontificate about male heirs and domestic submission was like inhaling toxic fumes. I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Legacy is just a bedtime story insecure men tell themselves to feel important, Preston.” I closed the folder with a snap. “Tomorrow, I’m initiating the hostile takeover of Rhodes Enterprises. If you’re going to work delivery to make ends meet, try not to be late. My time is money.” 1 Preston had always been arrogant. He hated nothing more than being ignored. He snatched the report from my hands, his voice dropping to a growl. “You will never be half the woman Bella is, simply because you don’t know how to be soft. What kind of woman treats her future husband like furniture?” When he saw my smile vanish, replaced by a glacial stare, he softened his tone, pivoting to manipulation. “Look, I know you’re hurt. But men of my status… we have needs. We have options. It’s the way the world works.” He sighed, feigning the burden of nobility. “I know you’re still hung up on me leaving the wedding. But Bella was showing. I couldn’t hide it. I had to be there for the birth. You can’t hold a grudge against a mother and child.” When Preston fled five years ago, I threw myself into the wreckage of my family’s company. I didn’t have time for romance or heartbreak. Hearing these archaic justifications now, unearthed like dinosaur bones, I felt absolutely nothing. “You have thick skin, Preston. You think this is the 1950s? You think I’m going to sign up for a sister-wife arrangement?” Preston kicked his feet up onto my desk, crossing his ankles in his signature playboy sprawl. “Audrey, five years and you’re still so naive. In our circle, every powerful man has a side arrangement. The Sinclair family needs to save face, right? We’ll get the marriage license after I introduce Bella to Grandfather. You’ll be the official Mrs. Rhodes. That title belongs to you.” He leaned back, examining his fingernails. “Besides, holding it all together while I was gone… it must have been exhausting. I’ve always said, running a conglomerate isn’t women’s work. Pack it up, Audrey. Go home. Cook me dinner.” He leaned in, trying to turn on the charm, attempting to brush my cheek. I recoiled as if he were radioactive. Feeling my revulsion, Preston’s mask slipped. “Audrey Sinclair. Stop acting like a pristine saint. Take the damn ring. Do you really think you’re some untouched virgin goddess anymore?” The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. “It sounds like you know exactly what happened to me, Preston.” For a split second, he looked like he’d swallowed his tongue. Five years ago. The engagement party. Preston vanished. That same night, a catastrophic explosion ripped through the Sinclair main distribution center. Inventory destroyed. Lives lost. Crushed by the humiliation of being left at the altar and the devastation of my family’s business, I spent my nights drowning in bourbon. And then, one rainy night, in a haze of alcohol and grief, I was assaulted by a stranger. After it was over, the man—satisfied and cruel—whispered the truth. It was Preston. To force his family to accept Bella, he needed to devalue me. He paid for the sabotage at the factory. He paid the man to assault me. The goal was simple: drag the Sinclair name through the mud so we couldn’t sue for breach of contract, and drag me down to the gutter so I was no “better” than his mistress. I remembered lying by the window that night, staring at the rain, debating whether to jump. But I didn’t. Instead, I buried the girl I was. I took over the failing company. I fought in the trenches of Wall Street. Not for love. Not for happiness. But so my parents, with their graying hair and bowed heads, could look the world in the eye again. “Audrey, stop fighting it,” Preston said, his voice low. “I’m back. I’ll take care of the money. What else could you possibly want?” He reached out, grabbing my chin, trying to force a kiss. I didn’t think. I reacted. The slap echoed through the office like a gunshot. I slammed my hand on the security button. “If you see this man again,” I told the security team as they dragged him out, “throw him into the street.” Preston didn’t scream. He just smirked. “You’re fiery, Audrey. I’m the only one who can handle that. The ring is yours. I’ll wait for you to come to your senses.” Being thrown out didn’t stop him. For days, my office turned into a florist shop. Jewelry arrived by the crate. Lunch was delivered from his restaurants, a different menu every day. The notes were always the same condescending scrawl: Come back when you’re done playing boss. I didn’t even blink. I told my assistant to trash it all and block his number. We were in the final stages of acquiring Rhodes Enterprises. Negotiations and board meetings consumed my life. Preston Rhodes was a fossil, a relic of a life I had discarded. He meant less to me than the dust on my laptop screen. Just when I thought he’d given up, a text came through from a new number. Fine. You want to end the engagement? Come to the Rhodes Estate. It’s the only way you’re getting the contract back. The engagement contract? I almost laughed. It was a worthless piece of paper. But I was curious. I wanted to see the final act of his circus. The next evening, I walked into the Rhodes family manor. Preston was there, sitting on the velvet sofa. Next to him was the woman—Bella. She looked small, fragile, clutching a baby to her chest like a shield. Preston’s eyes raked over my tailored suit and short skirt. A smug smile tugged at his lips. “Audrey. You made it.” He stood, moving to wrap an arm around me. I sidestepped him effortlessly. He leaned in, whispering, “That skirt… remarkably short. Trying to get a reaction out of me?” I gave him a look that would wilt flowers. He cleared his throat, pivoting to the room at large. “Audrey, I brought you here to settle things. Bella is gentle. She’s sweet. You’re… ambitious. Capable. You two will be like sisters. One big, happy family.” Sisters? Happy family? The absurdity washed over me. He was still hallucinating. He actually believed that after the betrayal, the sabotage, the rape, I would settle for being the matriarch of his twisted harem. “Preston,” I said, cutting off his delusion. “Is your brain still buffering? We aren’t family. Give me the contract so I can leave. The air in here is stale.” Preston’s face darkened. The charming façade crumbled. Before he could speak, Bella tugged on his sleeve. Her voice was a breathy whimper. “Preston, don’t fight for me… She just… she can’t accept her place…” It was a masterclass in manipulation, pouring gasoline on Preston’s fragile ego. He slammed his hand on the table. “Audrey! Don’t be ungrateful! Bella has ten times the grace you do. You walked through that door, so you follow my rules.” He pointed a shaking finger at the floor. “Bella, sit.” Then he turned to me, his eyes manic. “You. Kneel. Pour Bella tea. Apologize for your attitude. Or you don’t leave this house.” Kneel? Serve tea to the mistress? I looked at Preston’s twisted face, then at Bella’s triumphant smirk hidden behind false tears. I didn’t feel anger. I felt a profound, icy contempt. I stood my ground and smiled. “Preston. You really think you have the leverage here?” “You want me to kneel? There isn’t a single brick in this house that the Sinclair Group doesn’t effectively own right now. I haven’t foreclosed yet out of pity.” “And as for the tea…” My eyes slid to Bella. “She doesn’t have the pedigree to accept a cup of water from me, let alone tea. It might shorten her life expectancy.” “You bitch!” Preston roared. Veins bulged in his neck. He raised his hand, stepping forward. I didn’t flinch. I took a step toward him. “Go ahead. Strike me. Let’s see what makes the front page of the Journal tomorrow: Rhodes Stock crash, or the last shred of your reputation obliterated?” Preston floundered, scanning the room for a weapon, desperate to assert dominance. “Fine. Fine! You need to learn a lesson. The old ways are best. You need a stick to learn respect!” “Respect?” I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “Your version of respect is bankrupting your family to fund your affairs?” “Silence!” he screamed. “You’re drunk! Look at you, loose, drinking with men at business dinners… you need discipline!” “Drunk?” I had one glass of wine at a gala before coming here. Bella shrank into the sofa. “Preston… maybe she had too much… it’s hard for a woman alone with all those businessmen…” She framed me as a slut with surgical precision. Preston was panting now, consumed by sexual jealousy and inadequacy. “Who were you with? Which man? I’m not dead yet, Audrey! You’re cheating on me?” It was pathetic. “Preston,” I said, my voice calm and sharp as a scalpel. “Instead of worrying about who I drink with, maybe worry about your liquidity? Worry about the three subsidiaries bleeding cash? Worry about the bank calling your father?” He looked blank. He knew nothing. He was a prince of nothing, signing papers he didn’t read. “You… you’re lying!” “Ask your grandfather. You’re a parasite, Preston. sucking the life out of your ancestors’ legacy while you play house with your little bird.” “Shut up! Shut up!” Humiliated in front of Bella, stripped of his delusions, Preston snapped. His eyes locked onto an antique ebony walking stick mounted by the fireplace—a heavy, brutal thing used for ‘family discipline’ in the darker chapters of the Rhodes history. He ripped it off the wall. “You disobey your husband! You act like a whore! I will execute the family law myself!” Bella gasped, covering her mouth, but her eyes were glittering with excitement. I watched him advance, swinging the cane like a madman. The fear was gone. Only rage remained. “Preston, if that stick touches me, the Rhodes family ceases to exist by sunrise.” He hesitated, the cane hovering. Then, the madness took over completely. “Family law? You’re insane,” I spat. “You drove me to this!” he shrieked. “Guards! Hold her!” Two burly house staff entered. They hesitated, looking at me—a CEO, a public figure—but Preston’s unhinged screaming terrified them. “She’s my fiancée! It’s a domestic matter! Hold her down or you’re fired!” “Don’t you dare,” I warned. But the men, fearing for their jobs, grabbed my arms. They forced me to my knees on the cold marble. My blazer tore. Buttons popped from my silk blouse, exposing my shoulder and bra strap. “Look at you,” Preston sneered, looming over me. “Disheveled. Reeking of alcohol. Just like those women in the clubs.” “You dress like a slut, you get treated like one.” Bella chimed in, soft and poisonous. “Preston… she lived abroad… maybe she’s used to being… loose…” “Loose? It’s depraved!” Preston raised the heavy ebony cane. “I’m going to beat the defiance out of you. I’ll teach you what a husband is!” He swung. The wood cracked against my back. The pain was blinding. It stole the air from my lungs. I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper. Crack. A second blow. Crack. A third. The pain was a fire spreading through my nerves. The staff looked away, ashamed, but nobody moved. The sound of wood hitting flesh echoed in the silent mansion. My sweat turned cold. Blood began to soak through the silk of my blouse. I lay pinned to the floor, my body seizing with every strike. But I didn’t scream. I didn’t beg. I didn’t cry. I lifted my head, shaking, and locked eyes with him. My gaze was a weapon. “Have you had enough? Will you submit?” Preston was panting, sweat dripping down his face, pointing the cane at my nose. “Agree to the marriage. Be a good wife. And I’ll stop.” I spit a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the pristine floor. My voice was a raspy whisper, but it carried. “Preston… go to hell.” His eyes went wide with fury. He raised the cane high for a finishing blow— The heavy oak doors of the parlor groaned open. A voice, old and trembling with horror, shattered the moment. “Ms. Sinclair?! What… what in God’s name is happening here?!”

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1 The day of my mother’s surgery, I was scrolling through my phone in the hospital hallway when I saw Leo’s post: [Mom had a little heart flutter, but thankfully our caring daughter-in-law was here to help.] The photo showed my wife, Claire, the surgeon who was supposed to be operating on my mother, gently taking the blood pressure of Leo’s mom. Her text from half an hour ago was still glowing on my screen: [High-risk patient just came in. I had Dr. Shaw cover Mom’s surgery.] After my mother’s operation ended successfully, I quietly arranged for her transfer to another hospital. Then I called my divorce lawyer. … It was one in the morning when Claire finally pushed open the door to the hospital room. The harsh light from the hallway sliced into the darkness. I instinctively shifted my body, shielding my sleeping mother from the glare. She stood at the door, still in her white coat. “Jake,” she said, her voice tired. “I just finished. Let’s wake Mom up, I’ll do a check-up.” I used to be obsessed with my mother’s health. Every time she felt unwell, I wouldn’t rest until Claire had seen her personally. It made sense; my mother was critically ill, and Claire was a leading specialist in the field. But now… I gently tucked the corner of my mother’s blanket, my voice flat. “That won’t be necessary.” Claire froze, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. “Jake, Mrs. Davis’s heart palpitations today were serious. That’s why I had Dr. Shaw take over. Don’t get the wrong idea.” “Besides,” she added, her tone hardening, “Dr. Shaw told me the surgery went perfectly. Can you stop making a scene?” I wasn’t getting the wrong idea. And I wasn’t making a scene. “If there’s nothing else, you should go home. Don’t disturb Mom. She just had surgery and needs to rest.” A cold laugh escaped her lips. “Fine. Just don’t come crying to me later, saying I don’t care about your mother.” Care? A surgeon who walks out mid-operation. A daughter-in-law who prioritizes someone else’s mother. A “care” like that? We couldn’t afford it. Claire slammed the door on her way out. I gently smoothed the worry lines on my mother’s brow. She fluttered her eyes open for a moment before drifting back into a peaceful sleep. The next morning, I went downstairs to buy my mother breakfast and ran into Claire in the parking lot. “Jake,” she said, rolling down her window. “I made some chicken soup for Mom. Let’s go up together?” I was surprised. At this time, she was usually already at Leo’s place. Ever since Leo and his mother moved here three years ago, she had accompanied my mother to her check-ups less and less. At first, she said it was hospital meetings, emergency surgeries. I believed her. Until six months ago. I was with my mother for an appointment and saw Claire in the hospital garden. She was supposed to be in surgery, but there she was, carefully helping Leo’s mother on a walk. “Easy, Mrs. Davis, take your time.” “Oh, Claire, you’re more thoughtful than my own son.” So, it wasn’t that she didn’t have time. It was just that we were no longer worth her time. We had a massive fight that night. After that, my mother refused to let Claire take her to the hospital ever again. Even though divorce was now a certainty, the concern in her eyes looked genuine. I didn’t refuse, just sent my mom a quick text. As Claire opened her car door, my eyes caught a seat cushion on the passenger side, finely embroidered with the letter ‘D’. Hanging from the rearview mirror was a small, framed photo of Leo and his mother, dangling next to a silver charm. She noticed me looking, and her expression tightened. “Those are just some things Mrs. Davis left behind. I’m holding them for her.” Her voice became defensive. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.” The old me would have ripped that photo down and demanded to know who her real family was. But now, I just nodded. “That’s a nice charm.” She stared at me, confused. “Jake… you’re not angry?” Angry? Maybe I should have been. But all I felt was a vast, numb emptiness. This was such a blatant line she had crossed. Did she really not see it? Or did she just enjoy it? I turned away. “Let’s go. Mom will be waiting.” She pursed her lips and followed me, carrying the thermos. We hadn’t taken more than a few steps when her phone rang. The custom ringtone was Leo’s favorite piano piece. Leo’s frantic voice came through the speaker. “Claire! Where are you? My mom’s not feeling well again, you have to come back and check on her!” She didn’t even try to hide it. “I’m on my way.” Hanging up, she shoved the thermos into my hands. “It’s an emergency with Mrs. Davis. Tell Mom I’m sorry. I’ll see her another day.” In her haste, the thermos slipped and crashed to the ground. She didn’t even look back as she sped away. In the hospital room, my mother was quietly eating her porridge. I struggled to find the words. “Mom, Claire had… an emergency. She said she’ll come back…” “I know, son.” My mother’s voice was soft, her gaze calm as she cut me off. “Under anesthesia, you’re paralyzed, not deaf.” She took my hand. “The two of us… we just can’t compete with them, can we?” That evening, Claire called. She’d heard I was transferring my mother, and her voice was tight with suppressed rage. “Why are you transferring her? I’m the best doctor here, am I not taking good care of her?” “Or is this because I didn’t visit this morning? Are you really going to throw a tantrum over that?” “Jake, that’s your mother! You can’t play games with her health just because you’re upset!” “I have to stay with Mrs. Davis tonight. Since you think I’m doing such a terrible job, I won’t be coming home!” I listened calmly, then replied with a single word. “Fine.” Silence. She clearly hadn’t expected that response. She stammered for a moment before finally managing a, “You…” I hung up before she could finish. Five minutes later, my phone pinged. A message from Leo. [Hey Jake, sorry about all this. My mother hasn’t been well, and Claire has been a huge help.] [But you really shouldn’t have acted that way. You need to be more understanding. Claire is the best doctor in the city, of course she’s in high demand.] [Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her for you.] I read the message—less an apology and more a declaration of ownership—and then deleted it and blocked his number. This whole charade had been going on since Leo and his mother arrived three years ago. It started with occasional favors, then frequent care. Now, Claire was practically their private physician. Her call came again, moments later. “Jake! What the hell is wrong with you? Leo was trying to apologize, and you treat him like that?” In the background, I could faintly hear Mrs. Davis sobbing and Leo comforting her. I remained silent, listening to her vent. “How did you become so cold? Mrs. Davis is a sick woman! Don’t you have an ounce of compassion?” “I am so disappointed in you!” I ended the call, my fingertips cold. I’m the one who should be saying that to you. She was the one who kept putting others first. I hadn’t said a word, yet somehow, I was the one at fault. Back home, I started packing. The lawyer had confirmed that the division of assets from our marriage would be in my favor, more than enough to cover my mother’s medical expenses. My last hesitation was gone. I opened the closet. On the left were my mother’s simple, plain clothes. On the right, Claire’s expensive designer suits—most of them bought while shopping with Mrs. Davis. I remembered once my mother wanted a new coat. Claire had told her “next time,” then turned around and bought Mrs. Davis a cashmere one. We fought about it, and she promised to get one for Mom. That coat never appeared. Clothes, toiletries, my mother’s favorite books… I packed them all, box by box. When my fingers brushed against a wooden box deep in the closet, they trembled. I gently lifted the lid. Inside were photos from when Claire and I were dating. On top was a picture from her medical school graduation. She was beaming at me in her cap and gown. On the back, in her elegant script, she had written: [To my dearest Jake, wait for me. I’ll become a doctor you can be proud of.] My phone rang. It was Claire. Her voice was choked with tears when I answered. “Jake! Mrs. Davis took a turn for the worse, she’s in the ICU! If anything happens to her, I will never, ever forgive you!” I looked at the girl in the photo, the girl whose eyes used to be filled with only me. The girl who used to secretly text me during her night shifts to say she missed me. Now, for someone else’s mother, she was spitting venom at me. My thumb traced the smile on her face in the picture. “Do whatever you want,” I said softly. I hung up and fed the contents of the wooden box into the paper shredder. Claire didn’t come home that night. I didn’t call her, screaming and begging her to come back like I used to. I didn’t call Leo to curse him out for wrecking my marriage. Back at the hospital, my mother, as if by silent agreement, didn’t ask where Claire was. The cold war lasted for three days. Finally, my mother was stable, and the hospital transfer form needed the signature of her attending physician. I tried calling Claire, only to find she’d blocked me. I had no choice but to drive to Leo’s house to find her. When I started the car, the GPS, which had been switched to Leo’s voice at some point, gently reminded me to drive safely. I fought back a wave of nausea and typed in Leo’s address, only to see the saved location name pop up on the screen: “Our Love Nest.” Disgusting. Utterly disgusting. Claire was not only crossing every line, she was reveling in it. When I arrived, the place was empty except for a moving truck driver locking the door. I asked him for the delivery address. It was my house. The house I had bought for her. Our marital home. My hands tightened on the steering wheel. I turned the car around and raced home. From a distance, I could see the moving truck parked outside. Claire was directing workers as they carried an antique vanity into the living room. “What are you doing?” She turned, not a hint of surprise on her face. “Mrs. Davis is unwell and needs someone to look after her. It’s too much trouble going back and forth, so I’m having her move in with me.” “This is my house.” “What’s yours is mine, isn’t it?” she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “The guest room is already set up.” I watched as the movers carried Leo’s suitcase into the room next to our master bedroom—the room we had planned for our future child. “Did you ask for my opinion?” Claire frowned, her patience wearing thin. “Jake, can you please be mature about this? Mrs. Davis is a patient…” “A patient?” I cut her off. “So that gives her the right to invade my home? To let you hand over the life I built for us to complete strangers?” Leo emerged from the house with a contemptuous smirk. “Claire is my mother’s devoted daughter-in-law. How is she a stranger?” How utterly ridiculous. My wife, standing with another man, claiming to be a family, making me feel like the outsider. Claire reached for my arm, but I stepped back. “Sign it.” I held out the transfer form. “Sign this, and you can do whatever you want with this house.” Claire’s face darkened. Leo saw the papers in my hand and sneered. “Everyone knows Claire is the best cardiac surgeon in the city. Transferring? Mr. Hayes, are you trying to get attention this way?” “Claire, forget it,” he said, his tone softening. “You’ve been with me and my mom all week, neglecting Jake and his mother. You should go check on them.” At his words, Claire’s expression eased. “Jake, do you have to be so childish? Using Mom’s health as an excuse? I know you’re upset, but you’re the one who stressed Mrs. Davis out and made her sick in the first place.” She pushed the form back at me. “I’m not signing it. And you owe Leo an apology.” I looked at her, defending another man, and suddenly, I didn’t even have the energy to argue. “Whatever.” Back at the hospital, Dr. Shaw was doing her rounds. Her name was Anna. She knew my mother’s case well. “Let’s transfer her to University Medical Center,” she said gently. “My mentor works there. He’s even better than I am.” The paperwork was processed quickly. On the signature line of the transfer form, in neat, elegant script, were two words. [Anna Shaw.] On the day of the transfer, the transport ambulance hadn’t arrived yet. I told my mother to rest while I took our bags downstairs. As I reached the entrance of the building, a familiar white car pulled up. The passenger window rolled down, and Leo smirked at me. “Really going through with it? Jake, what other hospital has a specialist like Claire?” “Can you even afford it? If not, you can always ask our Claire. She’s very charitable; I’m sure she’d help.” I stared at him coldly. “Don’t trouble yourself. Since Dr. Adams is so busy, we wouldn’t want to take up any more of her time caring for you and your mother.” Leo’s face instantly crumpled into a look of feigned hurt as he turned to the driver’s seat. “Claire, did I say something wrong? Why is he so angry?” Claire rolled her window down. “Jake, don’t take it too far.” “I’m taking it too far?” I looked her straight in the eye. “For a man whose wife is a surgeon who abandons her patients mid-operation, I think I’ve shown remarkable restraint.” Seeing her at a loss for words, I turned to leave. But I heard Leo’s snide remark behind me. “Some people just don’t know what’s good for them…” I ignored him. The ambulance still wasn’t there, so I headed back to the room. Before I even reached the door, I could hear shouting. I burst into the room to see Leo’s mother jabbing a finger in my mother’s face. “I’m doing you a favor by letting you switch rooms! My daughter-in-law is the top surgeon here! I’ll stay in whichever room I damn well please!” “Please show some respect.” I stepped between them, shielding my mother. “The hospital has rules. You don’t get to make them.” My mother tugged at my sleeve, her voice calm but firm. “Ma’am, there’s a thing called first come, first served.” “First come, first served?” Mrs. Davis scoffed, raising her voice for effect. “My daughter-in-law is Claire Adams, the top specialist in this hospital! What I say, goes! Who the hell do you think you are, trying to take a room from me?” My mother looked around at the murmuring crowd. “Claire is my daughter-in-law,” she stated, her voice quiet but clear. “You?” Mrs. Davis yanked on my mother’s sleeve. “Look at your cheap clothes. You think you’re worthy of being Claire’s mother-in-law?” I grabbed her wrist. “Let go of her!” Just then, Claire and Leo rushed in. Seeing them, Mrs. Davis cried “Oh!” and collapsed into her son’s arms, pointing at me. “Heavens! He’s attacking me! In broad daylight!” “Son, he pushed me!” Leo shot forward. “Jake, you laid a hand on my mother?” I laughed, a cold, humorless sound. “Laid a hand on her? Are there no security cameras in this hospital? You’re just going to stand there and lie?” “I was stopping her from harassing my mother. What about you? Do you just let your mother run wild and act like a tyrant in a hospital?” The commotion drew a larger crowd. “Well, I’ve seen it all now. People fighting over inheritance, over parents, but never over a daughter-in-law.” “Look at what that old woman is wearing. Doesn’t look like she’s related to a doctor. Maybe she’s just confused?” One of the onlookers asked curiously, “Dr. Adams, which one of them is your family?” All eyes turned to Claire. I stared into her eyes, my voice low and steady. “Claire. Think very carefully before you answer. Think about how Mom has treated you all these years.” Claire’s lips trembled, her gaze darting between us. Leo suddenly grabbed her sleeve and started to sob quietly. “Claire, you know… I never had a father. My mom is all I have in this world. If anything happens to her… I don’t want to live anymore.” Claire squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and when she opened them again, her gaze was filled with a cold resolve. “I am Mrs. Davis’s daughter-in-law.” She then turned to my mother. “Ma’am, I believe you’re mistaken.” The words hit me like a bucket of ice water. Eight years of marriage, and she publicly disowned her own mother-in-law. The room erupted in whispers and jeers. “What’s wrong with that old woman, claiming relatives like that!” “She probably saw they had money and wanted a piece of it…” “And her son doesn’t look like much either, just a pretty boy…” Rage flared in my chest. “Claire, have you lost your conscience? How could you say that…” Before I could finish, my mother stood and grabbed my arm. “Son, let it go.” She looked at Claire, the hope in her eyes slowly fading, dimming, until all that was left was a flat, empty calm. “I’m sorry, Dr. Adams. I’m just an old, confused woman. I seem to have mistaken you for someone else.”

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Over summer break, my younger brother used my account to blow $5,000 on video games. When my mom found out, she acted like the sky was falling. She frantically demanded my ID so she could file for a “minor’s unauthorized purchase” refund. “That’s five thousand dollars! Do you know how long it takes me to save that much?” she wailed. “Claire, give me your ID right now!” I comforted her, promising to fix it, and rushed home from college. On the way, I was scrolling through a local community forum when a post caught my eye: [How do I get a refund for a minor’s game purchase with the least impact on my son?] My son played games all summer and spent five figures without me knowing. Luckily, he’s under 18, so I can apply for a refund. But will this affect his credit or future? Oh, right. I have a daughter in college. If the refund fails, can I just make her pay for it? The top comment offered a “solution”: [You have a daughter? Easy. Say your son used her account. Any bans or credit hits will fall on her, not him.] The original poster liked the comment. My blood ran cold. 1 The comments section was tearing the poster apart: [Stop trying to scam the system. Take responsibility.] [If you do a chargeback like this, the tech giant will blacklist the ID. That phone number and SSN will be banned from all their services forever. It’s digital suicide.] [If your son goes to college later, he might not even be able to log into university portals if they use single sign-on!] But the poster ignored the warnings. She only liked the comment suggesting she use her daughter as a shield. My mind went blank. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Just moments ago, my mom called me, sobbing that my brother Tyler had spent $5,000 on games and begging me to come home. I had dropped everything at my dorm and sprinted to the station. My phone buzzed. A voice message from Mom. “Claire, how far away are you?” “I don’t know how Tyler got my card password. I can’t control him anymore! I just want to die!” “Claire, you’re all I have!” Her voice was desperate, filled with despair. We’re a single-parent household. Since the divorce, Mom raised Tyler and me on her own. She’s aged faster than other women her age. September was coming. Tuition was due for my sophomore year and Tyler’s senior year of high school. We needed money. I gripped my ID card so hard my knuckles turned white. A mother who suffered so much for us… how could she be the person who wrote that post? It had to be a coincidence. The subway announced my stop. I typed back quickly: [Mom, don’t worry. I’m almost there.] 2 I ran all the way from the station. When I opened the door, the house was dark. A shattered vase lay on the floor. Mom was on the sofa, wiping tears. Tyler stood in the corner, looking guilty but shooting me a glance that screamed, Save me. When Mom saw me, she grabbed my arm like a lifeline. “I looked away for one summer, and he went crazy!” she cried. “I checked the statement. Five thousand dollars! Do you know how hard I work for that? How am I going to pay your tuition?” She looked at me with intense urgency. “Claire, did you bring your ID? We have to apply for the minor refund right now!” Tyler looked at me with puppy-dog eyes. “Sis, please.” Looking at his face, I just wanted to punch him. He used to be a good kid. How did he rot so fast in one summer? I moved to scold him, but Mom blocked me. “I already yelled at him! Claire, just give me the ID!” If this were yesterday, I would have handed it over without a second thought. I did whatever she asked. But the forum post was burned into my retina. I hesitated. “Mom… maybe we should contact customer support first? Understand the consequences?” Mom gripped my wrist tighter. It hurt. “Claire, don’t worry! I already called them! You just need to hold your ID, let me take a picture, and do a facial recognition scan. Refunds take time. We have to do this now if we want the money back for tuition!” The more anxious she got, the colder I felt. I shook my head. “It’s okay, Mom. My tuition isn’t urgent. I have a 3.9 GPA; I got a scholarship this semester. You just need to worry about Tyler.” “Besides, we’ve never done this. What if we mess it up and they deny it? Let’s research first.” Seeing my resistance, Mom finally let go of my arm. She glared at me. “You’ve grown up. You don’t trust your own mother anymore.” 3 I didn’t comfort her. Instead, I took Tyler’s phone and contacted the game’s support chat to ask about the refund process. While waiting, I laughed bitterly internally. I used to see news about parents refunding thousands of dollars and thought, good for them. Now, I was the victim. Support finally sent a link. It was a form. Bank statements, birth certificate, photos of the minor playing, and a photo of the account holder (me) holding my ID. Tyler’s situation was specific. Games have strict anti-addiction measures for minors. So, during the summer, Tyler used my account to bypass the time limits. I had agreed to it back then because I was soft-hearted. So now, to get the money back, I—the adult account holder—had to claim fraud. At the bottom of the form, in bold red letters: [WARNING: Upon processing a refund for minor usage on an adult account, the account holder’s ID and phone number will be permanently banned from all services within our ecosystem.] I froze. “Ecosystem.” Mom was still buzzing in my ear. “Claire, are you done? See? It’s fine. Come here, hold the ID up.” My brain was buzzing. Mom was loud. I looked over at Tyler. He was standing in the corner, head down… playing games on a second phone hidden in his sleeve. He didn’t care. He wasn’t sorry. Something inside me snapped. I pushed Mom away. “Ouch! My stomach hurts!” I ran into the bathroom and locked the door. 4 Sitting on the toilet, shaking, I pulled out my phone. I found that forum post again. The poster’s IP address was local. The timestamp was July 10th—right at the start of summer break. I scrolled down to the comments. The poster had replied to the comment about using the daughter’s account: [So, if he uses his sister’s account, my son won’t be affected at all? You’re sure?] The reply: [100%.] The poster replied: [Great. I’ll let him play then. Boys will be boys, gaming isn’t a big deal.] My hands were trembling. I opened WeChat and searched my chat history with Tyler. July 11th. The day after the post. Tyler: [Sis, can I use your login for games? My kid account has a 3-hour limit.] I had sent him the verification code instantly, telling him to focus on studying. Tyler: [Love you, Sis.] My heart shattered. It wasn’t a mistake. It was a setup. From a month ago, my mother had planned this. She let him spend the money knowing she would burn me to get it back. The tech giant that owned this game also owned the software my university used for online electives and the portal for submitting assignments. If my ID was blacklisted, I would become a digital ghost. I wouldn’t be able to log into my classes. I would fail due to attendance. I would lose my scholarship. And Mom… she knew. She knew the consequences, or at least that someone would face consequences, and she decided it should be me. Someone pounded on the bathroom door. “Claire! Hurry up! What are you doing in there?” 5 I stepped out of the bathroom. Under the harsh living room lights, my mother looked old and tired. The words of accusation died in my throat. I felt nothing but a hollow ache. I didn’t understand. Why? I was the good child. I got scholarships. I tutored kids to buy her and Tyler new phones. I wore old clothes so they could have new ones. I saved every penny to buy her a gold necklace for Mother’s Day. Was I just a fool? “Where’s the ID?” she demanded. I took a deep breath. “I… I lost it on the way here.” Silence. Mom frowned, her eyes narrowing with genuine anger. “I told you to be careful! You’re so useless. How are we going to fix Tyler’s mess now? Fine, we’ll go to the DMV tomorrow morning to get a replacement.” “Can we just… not refund it?” I asked, my voice trembling. “He played on the official server. We can sell the account to recoup some losses.” Mom stared at me like I was insane. “Sell it? How much can we get?” I pulled up a trading app. “The items and skins he bought… market value is about $800.” “$800?! No! That’s a huge loss!” Mom screamed. “That’s how virtual items work,” I said quietly. “Mom, you said Tyler needs to learn the value of money. He spent $5,000. We sell the account for $800. The remaining $4,200… you take out of his allowance. Let him learn a lesson.” “As for my tuition… don’t worry about it. I have my job. I won’t starve.”

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My uncle’s family bound themselves to us with a “Double Effect” system. If my dad earned $10,000, my uncle’s stock account would mysteriously gain $20,000. If my mom got a facial, my aunt’s rough skin would become twice as smooth for no reason. My family scrimped and saved for years to buy a spacious condo. Immediately, my uncle’s family bought a townhouse in the same complex. This continued until the last subject of the college entrance exams. I accidentally drank spiked water. I endured the stomach cramps and finished the test, thinking I was done for. But the next moment, paramedics rushed past, carrying my cousin, who had uncontrollably soiled himself in another exam hall. 1 As soon as I walked out of the exam hall, my parents rushed me to the hospital. They couldn’t understand it. My grades were usually trash, so I never had test anxiety. Why would I suddenly have stomach spasms? Compared to me, my cousin, Brandon, had it much worse. His “incident” was so spectacular that experts at the city’s top hospital were treating him like a lab rat, running every test imaginable. But they couldn’t find a physical cause for why he turned into a human fountain. Finally, the experts concluded that Brandon must have succumbed to immense psychological pressure during the exam. Grandma and Grandpa were wailing in the hospital corridor. “My precious grandson! My poor baby! He’s suffered so much!” “Brandon has always been top of his class! He was Ivy League material! Who knew he was under so much pressure?!” I walked past the emergency room, watching my grandparents howl. You’d think Brandon had died. My parents exchanged glances, unsure whether to approach. The moment Grandma saw me, she charged over like a rabid chicken. “You jinx! What are you doing here? Are you here to laugh at your cousin?” So even Grandma thought it was funny. My mom shielded me, her face cold. My dad stepped forward to stop Grandma. “Mom, what are you doing? Roxy is sick too. She just came from another department.” Grandma didn’t show an ounce of concern. Instead, she glared at me with hatred. “She’s sick too? She must have passed her bad luck to Brandon! She did it on purpose so he wouldn’t get into Harvard!” My mom exploded. “My daughter getting sick is bad luck, but your precious grandson getting sick isn’t? Brandon shitting himself in the exam hall and spraying everyone’s papers—now that’s bad luck! Grandma, keep spewing nonsense, and see if karma doesn’t hit your precious grandson right in the ass!” Grandma’s eyes went wide. She looked like she’d been struck by lightning. She opened her mouth to curse but couldn’t get a word out. My mom smiled silently. “Children suffering is usually because the elders committed sins! Keep cursing, keep scolding. My daughter is tough, but your delicate grandson might not survive your bad karma!” Grandma was so angry smoke was coming out of her ears. She clenched her fists, grinding her teeth loud enough for us to hear. I could tell she was cursing us out in her head. Grandpa couldn’t take it anymore and scolded my dad. “Enough! Can’t you say something?” My dad mumbled, “Dad, I’m clumsy with words, just like you. You didn’t say anything just now either.” Grandpa’s face turned red, and he waved his hand, telling us to get lost! 2 So, we got lost. The difference was, my dad and I left with relief, while my mom left triumphantly. My mom used to be gentle. Her sharp tongue was honed over nearly two decades of fighting with Grandma. Being able to shut Grandma up would keep her happy until dinner. For years, my dad stood by my mom. Mostly because Grandma was too much. Misogyny aside, she insisted I was bad luck! Brandon and I were born around the same time, just an hour apart. But Grandma listened to some wandering fortune teller who said our fates clashed. Since Brandon was the “destined genius,” I must be the jinx suppressing him. Grandma wanted to send me away. My parents refused. From then on, Grandma never gave me a kind look. My parents were educated and didn’t believe in such superstitions. Knowing Grandma disliked me, I grew up at my maternal grandma’s house in the city. We thought distance would fade the nonsense about clashing fates. But my uncle’s family had other ideas! When I started elementary school, they moved to the city too. We bought a condo; they bought a townhouse in the same complex. We went to the same school, just different classes. Even my aunt’s boutique opened right across the street from my mom’s office. We couldn’t avoid them! Just now, as we left the hospital, Uncle’s call came in like a debt collector. My dad was driving, so my mom answered on speaker, holding the phone far away. Uncle’s furious voice roared out. “Dave! Did anything happen while you were driving just now?” My dad glanced at the phone with disdain. “No! I’m driving normally. What could happen?” Uncle asked again, “I heard Roxy is sick? Is that true?” My mom rolled her eyes. “Brother, if there’s nothing else, I’m hanging up.” “Hey, hey, hey…” My mom hung up and muted the phone. “Gold miners couldn’t dig up a psycho like him! A few years ago he seemed to care, now he’s just like your mom, blaming Roxy for everything that happens to his son.” My dad said quietly, “He didn’t say that… forget it. Let’s not talk about the kids’ exams anymore.” My mom turned to look at me from the passenger seat. “Roxy, you did your best. Don’t stress.” I frowned at the frantic WeChat messages from Uncle. [Roxy, is your dad really okay driving?] Why was Uncle so nervous about my dad driving? When we got to the parking lot, my mom noticed a scratch on the rear bumper. “When did this happen?” My dad slapped a Tom & Jerry sticker over it. “Company finances are tight. Let’s leave it for now.” That night, I scrolled through my friend Lucy’s feed. [So unlucky today! Encountered a bio-weapon in the exam hall, and then got rear-ended leaving the city. Please let the rest of the trip be smooth.] The photo showed a three-car pileup on the highway. The car in front had its rear end smashed. And in the corner of the photo, my uncle was angrily holding his phone. Too much of a coincidence? 3 That night, the news reported on the exam incident with a blurry surveillance video. In the video, Brandon suddenly raised his arms and shouted, “I can’t take it anymore!” As soon as he took a step, his pants fell down. The students near him were the victims. Their exam papers were sprayed with disgusting brown liquid. The news station even thoughtfully mosaicked Brandon’s eruption. We hadn’t watched TV in ages. A friend called my dad to tell him to turn it on. The friend chuckled on the phone. “The station is useless. Why mosaic the butt? They should have mosaicked his face!” My dad was too embarrassed to speak. Even with the blur, anyone who knew Brandon recognized his “robust” figure. 6’2″, 250 pounds. Sitting on the floor, struggling to get up but failing. My mom said “Ew” and changed the channel. My dad hung up. “How could this happen to Brandon? Will it affect his score?” My mom scoffed. “If his score is affected, Grandma will blame Roxy. Even if he does well, she’ll laugh at us first, then blame Roxy. I’d rather worry about Roxy.” My dad sighed. “Everyone knows Brandon is my nephew. Don’t be so harsh…” My mom cut him off. “He’s a giant baby! Your parents spoiled him rotten. Treating the exam hall like a kindergarten potty. People are calling our house; think about how you’ll face your boss tomorrow!” While they argued, I was glued to my phone. From the moment the exam ended, Brandon’s “incident” went viral. It was trending top three on Weibo, TikTok, and Xiaohongshu. Many students in the same hall were affected. One girl vomited on the spot and cried hysterically afterward. Some students were threatening online not to let Brandon off easy. 4 The next day after work, my dad went to visit Brandon in the hospital out of kindness. In the ward, Brandon was playing video games like nothing happened. Grandma was hovering with chicken soup. “Good grandson, come, drink some soup.” Brandon looked at the greasy soup with disgust. “It smells gross! Take it away!” Grandma looked even more loving the more he rejected her. It was like she couldn’t express her love unless she spoon-fed him. “Just one sip, good boy!” Grandma held the spoon with one hand and the bowl with the other. Her long, yellow fingernails were dipping into the soup. Seeing her get closer, Brandon flailed his arm in annoyance. The hot soup splashed all over Grandma’s chest. “Ah!” “Mom!” Brandon was fed up. “I told you to stay away! Look, there’s a feather in the soup! How can I drink that?” My dad walked in and supported Grandma. “Brandon, is that any way to behave?” Brandon wasn’t afraid of my dad at all. He sneered. “Uncle Dave, why aren’t you being a corporate slave at your company? What are you doing here?” My dad was furious. “Is this how you talk to elders? Where are your parents? I need to ask them how they raised you!” Brandon pouted. “Go find them! My parents do big business. They aren’t idle like you, watching over someone else’s son.” Grandma stopped my dad from scolding him. “Brandon just recovered, don’t bully him!” A weird smell wafted from Grandma’s wet, greasy clothes, making my dad step back. Brandon sat on the bed and said, “Uncle Dave, sucking up to me now is useless!” My dad looked like he heard a joke. “Me? Suck up to you?” Brandon was arrogant. “Yeah! There’s no free lunch. My mock exam scores are Ivy League level. Even if I messed up the last subject, I can still pick any top university I want! Uncle, I understand you. You don’t have a son, and Roxy is a loser destined for community college. You’re here being nice because you want to rely on me later! The family’s future depends on me!” My dad was stunned for a second, then exploded. “You little idiot! Mom, this is the kid you spoiled! Spraying shit in the exam hall wasn’t enough, now he’s spewing shit from his mouth!” Hearing “spraying shit,” Brandon’s face turned green. Grandma was even more anxious. “Shut up! Who said you could mention that! Brandon has… Irritable Bowel Syndrome! You’re just jealous because he’s not your son!” 5 My dad got kicked out of the ward. He came home and told my mom. My mom had long lost hope for that family. “So what? Your mom has treated Roxy like this for eighteen years. Your brother and sister-in-law made money in stocks and got cocky. Now that Brandon is going to a top college, your mom doesn’t need you anymore.” My dad let out a bitter laugh. “No son, sucking up to a nephew, family glory… young people don’t talk like that. He must have heard it from my parents and brother. I thought my brother still cared about me. We lived in the same complex, kids went to the same school… I thought he was checking on me out of concern. Now I see it was just comparison and showing off!” My mom was unhappy too. “Years ago, your sister-in-law’s shop was across from my office. My colleagues went in, and she’d ask about my salary and benefits. When they didn’t want to say, she’d give them attitude and call them poor behind their backs. Who cares about relatives like that? It’s obvious: they’re afraid you’ll suffer, but they’re terrified you’ll drive a Range Rover.” I didn’t listen to the rest. Now that I think about it, my uncle’s family did pay a weird amount of attention to us. Normally, they’d ask about our income. If it was high, they looked jealous or competitive. If it was low, they looked smug. That was normal toxic relative behavior. Until Brandon and I started elementary school. I have zero talent for studying. No matter how hard I tried, I was average at best. Brandon played all day but always scored at the top. At first, my parents sent me to cram schools. But after years of effort, we accepted the truth. I am a mediocrity. Brandon is a natural genius. I was mocked for this constantly. Feeling suffocated, I started organizing my old test papers. Most students tear them up to celebrate freedom, but I wanted to sell them for scrap. My grades were worthless anyway. My phone pinged. A notification from the school’s confession wall. A hot post titled: [Don’t idealize geniuses, especially the ones who shit themselves!] Apparently, a junior girl had bid high for Brandon’s notes, hoping for wisdom. Instead, she got blank pages, doodles, and crude ratings of girls’ appearances in each class. Things like “bangable,” “needs to be trained,” “huge tits.” It was disgusting. The girl demanded a refund. Brandon refused and insulted her. “Even if I bombed the last subject, I’m scoring over 700! Worship me and shut up! Just wait for my score to slap your face, bitch!” The girl was furious and posted everything. 700? Brandon had hit that in mocks. But my grades were so bad my parents never compared us. I quickly looked up his past scores. Me: 360. Brandon: 720. Me: 356. Brandon: 712. Me: 345. Brandon: 690. My scores hovered around 350. His were always double mine. Double. Exactly double. That was too coincidental!

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1 For ten years, my sister called me a jinx. Because the moment I, the long-lost son, returned home, her perfect life shattered. The company went bankrupt. Our parents jumped from their office window. My sister tried to follow them more times than I can count. But when my own heart failed from exhaustion, it was her on the operating table next to mine, giving me the heart that would save my life. “Live well, Asher,” she whispered as the anesthesia took hold. “But in the next life… please, just stay away from us.” My eyes were wide open as they wheeled her into surgery. During the transplant, my body rejected her heart. I stopped breathing. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day the family’s lawyer first found me. I shook my head and gave him a small, respectful salute. “Thank you for the offer, sir, but the state raised me. It’s time I started paying that debt back.” … The lawyer looked at me like I was an alien. He couldn’t comprehend someone turning down a life of unimaginable wealth for a reason like that. “The Kingstons are one of the wealthiest families in the city,” he said, his voice laced with disbelief. “Do you have any idea what you’re giving up?” I just shook my head. If they were that wealthy, why send a lawyer instead of coming themselves? It was obvious they weren’t exactly thrilled about my existence. It’s pathetic that it took me a whole other lifetime to figure that out. I refused again and again, even signing a document swearing I would never make a claim on the Kingston estate. Finally, he left. I let out a long breath and started the slow walk back to the children’s home. I’d been working delivery jobs since graduation and had saved up a decent amount of money. Enough to buy some dolls for the younger kids and a new hand cream for our house mother. But as I reached the gate, I saw a figure standing there, poised and impatient. It was my sister, Chloe. “Asher Kingston,” she said, her voice sharp. “When you get home, I’m warning you, don’t say the wrong thing. Especially not to Caleb. He’s the most important person in our family.” Her words were a lightning strike that left me stunned and reeling. She remembered, too. She had been reborn. I swallowed the bitter taste in my throat and shook my head. “You have the wrong person. My name is Asher Stone.” “I don’t know you,” I added, my voice flat. “Please leave.” Chloe’s eyes narrowed, disbelief etched on her face. “What kind of game are you playing now? Trying to be clever?” “Don’t bother. Mom and Dad still don’t even know you exist. As far as they’re concerned, Caleb is their real son.” Hearing that, a profound sense of relief washed over me. Good. At least in this life, I wouldn’t be responsible for the Kingston family’s karma. Their bankruptcy, Chloe’s death… none of it would have anything to do with me. The thought was liberating. “Miss… I’m sorry, do you need something else?” I asked, my tone polite but distant. “If not, you’re blocking the driveway. There’s a lot of traffic here; it’s dangerous.” With that, I brushed past her. Inside the yard, a group of kids playing in the mud saw me and ran over, their faces bright with excitement. “Asher! You’re back!” “Did your family come for you? Are you leaving us?” I could feel Chloe’s stare on my back as I shook my head. “They’re all gone. You guys are my family now.” Ignoring the way her body went rigid, I took one of the kid’s muddy hands and led them toward the house. “Guess what I brought you guys? I heard you’ve been craving snacks. Let’s sneak some before Mrs. Gable finds out!” Their happy shouts echoed through the yard. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so light. The next morning, I was getting ready to head to my old high school to give a speech at the assembly for the incoming freshmen. Staring out the window, my mind was filled with dreams for the future. In my last life, when I arrived at the Kingston mansion, they were in the middle of celebrating Caleb’s birthday. My sudden appearance was an awkward interruption. They already knew Caleb wasn’t their biological son, but after so many years, he was the only son they had ever wanted. They said it was good that I was back. The company needed an heir. I changed my application from West Point to the finance program at Wharton. I threw myself into Kingston Industries. They gave me all the pressure and gave Caleb all the love. And then… what happened then? Caleb sold the company’s most vital secrets. We went bankrupt overnight. My parents couldn’t handle it; they died by suicide. Even Chloe became a ghost, haunted and resentful, looking at me like I was her enemy. She always said I was a jinx. If it wasn’t for me, she’d still be the beloved heiress of Kingston Industries, the happiest girl in the world. I never argued. I just worked, trying to give her the life she’d always known. I worked until my heart gave out. I closed my eyes, picturing my parents’ faces one last time. Mom, Dad. I can’t be a son to you in this life. I hope that without me, your family of four can finally be happy. When I opened my eyes again, the school gates were right in front of me, and a thrill of excitement ran through me. After the children’s home, this place was my second home. My favorite teacher, Mrs. Davis, met me at the curb. “Asher, are you still set on your plans?” I was about to smile and nod when a voice cut through the air. “Asher Kingston! I knew you hadn’t given up!” Chloe was running toward us, her face flushed. “You want to study finance, right? Well, I’ll have you know Dad already signed his shares over to Caleb. You won’t get a thing!” “The Kingston fortune belongs to Caleb!” Watching her hysterical outburst, I felt a sense of absurdity. Wasn’t I a victim in all this, too? If Caleb’s mother hadn’t switched us at birth and left me for dead, I wouldn’t have been found half-frozen on the steps of the home. If Caleb hadn’t betrayed the company, our parents wouldn’t have died. Was it all my fault? Not wanting to reveal my secret, I just lowered my head and tried to walk past her. But she grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin. “Our family is happy now, Asher. Why did you have to show up?” “Do you want to watch us fall apart all over again? Is that what will make you happy?” “How can you be so cruel?” I tried to pull away without hurting her. After all, she had saved my life once… Mrs. Davis stepped between us. “Excuse me, miss. Asher is my student. If you have a problem, you can speak to me.” “Please don’t harass a child.” She pulled me behind her, her eyes sharp. “Asher, do you know her?” I clung to her sleeve like a lifeline. “No! I don’t! She was at the children’s home yesterday saying all this weird stuff!” That was all Mrs. Davis needed to hear. She immediately called security. “It’s alright, Asher. I’m here.” In the security office, Chloe sat across from me, her gaze fixed on me, a storm brewing in her eyes. On my side, the school security guard, my teacher, the dean, and even the principal were all fussing over me. So this… this is what it felt like to be chosen? To be protected? “Don’t worry, Mr. Stone,” the principal said, shooting a look at Chloe. “We won’t let anyone bother you.” He cleared his throat. “Ms. Kingston, what is your business with our student?” “You know who I am?” Chloe scoffed, slamming her purse on the table. “Then you should know better than to lock me in here like a criminal! Let me out!” The principal wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, his voice firm. “Asher Stone is one of our most distinguished graduates and our city’s sole acceptance to the United States Military Academy at West Point this year. We have a responsibility to ensure his safety.” “I suggest you explain yourself, or I’ll have to report this to the academy’s liaison office.” Chloe’s eyes went wide with shock. She stared at me. “West Point? I thought you were going for finance?” The principal frowned. “Mr. Stone has been working toward this goal for three years. Where did you hear about finance?” Realizing her mistake, Chloe composed herself, smoothing her hair. “A kid from a group home like him? Getting into a top university? Are you sure he didn’t cheat?” “You should probably investigate your own students before you start bragging. You’ll let any stray in these days.” Even though I was prepared for it, her words still felt like a fist clenching around my heart. Before I could speak, Mrs. Davis shot back. “What did you just say? It’s clear you’re just here to cause trouble.” “Everyone at this school knows Asher has been the top student for three years straight. Are you calling all of us liars?” “And what’s wrong with being raised in a children’s home? A grown woman like you should know better than to be so prejudiced.” The dean nodded in agreement. Our school had a partnership with the home. They waived our tuition and provided dedicated counselors. They had watched me grow up. Chloe’s words were an attack on all of them. Even the old security guard was glaring at her. “We don’t welcome people like you here. Please leave.” “And if I see you bothering Asher again, the police will be having a talk with you.” As I watched Chloe’s retreating back, a mix of emotions swirled within me. Someone tapped my shoulder. It was Mrs. Davis. “Whether your name is Stone or Kingston, you are your own person,” she said gently. “If you ever need anything, my phone is on for you 24/7.” The principal and dean nodded, their expressions telling me they understood more than they were letting on. They were giving me space, and their unspoken support was overwhelming. I tried to hold back my tears, but a few escaped and splashed onto the table. They all pretended not to notice, guiding me toward the auditorium. “The students are waiting for your speech. Go on.” I nodded and walked onto the stage. As I spoke, I could see a familiar figure in the distance, watching me intently, as if searching for a crack in my armor. She didn’t find one. Afterward, Mrs. Davis drove me back to the home. Delivery trucks were parked at the gate, unloading boxes. I walked closer and saw Chloe directing the workers, pointing them toward the main yard. She saw me and clicked over in her high heels, her voice an accusation. “You’ve been reborn too, haven’t you, Asher?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And my name is Asher Stone,” I replied calmly. “You should try to remember that.” I walked past her, glancing at the piles of neatly stacked supplies. New mattresses, pillows, toys… everything the home needed. “Let’s make a deal,” she said, appearing at my side. She held out a check. “I’ve donated a million dollars. This is another million for you.” “Two million dollars. To buy out our relationship.” So, that was my worth in her eyes. Two million dollars. Less than the sports car she’d bought Caleb, yet it was meant to sever our bond for a lifetime. When I didn’t respond, she sneered. “Not enough for you?” “Do you know how long it takes a normal person to earn that much money?” “You should learn to be content with what you have and not long for things that don’t belong to you.” I knew what she was implying. My parents. Her. Kingston Industries. The family I never had. “Is it really that hard to earn a million dollars?” She threw the check at my chest and turned to leave. That’s when I finally spoke. I bent down, picked up the check, and tucked it into her designer handbag. “It only takes me about ten days to make a million,” I said, my voice quiet but clear. “And it only takes you about ten seconds to spend it.” She spun around, her face a mask of disbelief, her voice trembling. “You do remember!” “So what if I do? You’d be nothing without the Kingston name!” “Admit it! You only succeeded because Mom and Dad propped you up, because Caleb and I gave up the company for you!” A sarcastic smile touched my lips. “Did any of you ever ask me what I wanted?” “You just wanted a human ATM. Don’t make it sound so noble, like you were making some great sacrifice.” “I saw the immigration applications.” If I hadn’t stumbled upon the paperwork for their family of four in the study in my last life, I might have been fooled forever. The “family” I thought I was a part of was just another lie. Chloe clearly remembered, too. Her eyes darted away, and she fumbled for words. Finally, she managed a weak retort. “As long as you stay away from us in this life, none of that will happen!” “Really?” Hearing her still trying to evade the truth, I lost my patience. “Chloe, do you really think that as long as I don’t exist, everything will be fine?” “Do you need me to remind you what really happened?” She froze as if petrified. Shock, pain, regret—a thousand emotions flashed across her face. I knew, in that moment, she was finally ready to face the truth.

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Four years into our marriage, I sent my husband’s mistress abroad and then drugged him. We spent the night together, and I became pregnant. The next morning, Julian said nothing and flew out of the country. On the first day, my family’s company went bankrupt. On the second day, I got into a car accident. Not only did I lose the baby, but my uterus was removed, leaving me unable to ever conceive again. On the third day, my parents were kidnapped, taken thousands of feet into the air, and dropped to their deaths while I begged for mercy. It wasn’t until Julian stood in front of me, holding his mistress, that I realized he was behind it all. “You should be grateful I found Bella today, Sarah. Otherwise, you would have died with your parents.” I coughed up blood and rushed forward to confront him, but his bodyguard kicked me dead before I could say a word. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day I drugged Julian. 1 “Sarah, you’re going to regret this.” His voice was accompanied by heavy, ragged breathing. I opened my eyes in disbelief, staring at the familiar scene. Julian, under the influence of the drug, looked at me with dark, lust-filled eyes. He grabbed my wrist violently. “Come here! Isn’t this what you wanted?” I instinctively jerked my hand away and ran out of the room in terror. Behind me, Julian kept calling my name like a death sentence. In my past life, this was the day I sent his mistress, Bella, abroad and drugged him so we could sleep together. Julian and I grew up together. But when we got married, he told me he only saw me as a sister. In our first year of marriage, he got himself a mistress. No matter how hard I tried to please him, he remained unmoved. Desperate for a child to secure my place, I sent Bella away and drugged him. That night, I got what I wanted. The next morning, Julian gave me a dark look and left the country. After that, disaster struck my family. Bankruptcy. Miscarriage. Hysterectomy. And finally, my parents’ brutal deaths. It was all Julian’s punishment for me sending Bella away. He had forgotten his wedding vows to cherish me forever. He forgot how my parents treated him like their own son. The Su family’s resources were always open to him. When the Qin family was on the brink of bankruptcy, it was the Su family that saved them. Yet, he destroyed my parents without hesitation. And if he hadn’t found Bella quickly, I would have died without ever knowing the truth. I shuddered at the thought. Julian was pounding on the door behind me. I knew the lock wouldn’t hold for long. But the mistake hadn’t been made yet. Bella should have just arrived at the airport. If I brought her back and sent her to his bed, everything could be saved. In this life, I didn’t want a child, and I didn’t want Julian’s love. I just wanted to stay far away from them. Without hesitation, I called my assistant. “Bring Bella back to the estate. Now!” 2 After making the call, I collapsed to the floor, weak. Soon, Bella was brought back. She looked at me with venom in her eyes. “Who are you to send me away? You’re lucky you brought me back, or Julian wouldn’t have let you off!” Bella held her head high, eyes full of triumph. I said nothing. I just opened the door and shoved her inside. “I know you and Julian are made for each other. I’m fulfilling your wish.” Hearing the heavy breathing behind her, Bella looked terrified. “You crazy bitch! Are you giving me to some random man? Even if you use such evil tricks, Julian won’t love you!” My heart ached. I shouted to Julian, “I was wrong to drug you, but I’m compensating you now. We’re even.” In my past life, I used a high dose. He went at it for a whole day. Now with the woman he truly loved, they probably wouldn’t leave the room for twenty-four hours. Seeing that the man was Julian, a smile instantly appeared on Bella’s face. She proudly took off her coat, revealing the lace lingerie underneath. Seeing my stunned expression, she gloated, “What are you looking at? Julian loves this on me. He says you’re like a dead fish in bed. Holding your hand feels like holding his own left hand.” She walked over and hugged Julian. The next second, Julian, unable to hold back any longer, tackled her to the ground. I couldn’t watch anymore and slammed the door shut. Even in a new life, seeing this still cut me like a knife. But this time, I would not repeat the same mistakes! The sounds from inside continued. I turned and walked away numbly. After gathering all my documents, I finally let out a breath. Next step: get Julian to sign the divorce papers so I can leave for good. I started drafting the agreement, word by word. Looking at his name, memories flooded back. We grew up together. He had his tender moments. He always brought me my favorite wontons. He prepared gifts for every holiday. He was the first to defend me when others hurt me. I was young and naive, thinking it was love. So I begged my parents to let us marry. Julian didn’t object, and I thought he loved me too. Until after the wedding, when he brought Bella home for the first time. He said he only loved me as a sister. If my parents hadn’t threatened him with death, he wouldn’t have married me. But he couldn’t spend his life with a “sister,” so he brought Bella home. “From now on, we are husband and wife in public, but at home, you are my sister, and Bella is my wife.” I cried, screamed, and threatened to jump off the balcony. Eventually, I forced Bella out of the estate. But driving her away didn’t win his heart. In the end, it cost me my entire family. Thinking of this, I printed the divorce agreement and clutched it tightly. Suddenly, a voice came from behind. “Sarah, what are you doing?” 3 I turned around and saw Julian holding Bella, looking at me with dark eyes, his body covered in marks. I took a deep breath and handed him the divorce papers. He slapped them away without looking, frowning at me. “Sarah, apologize to Bella.” My heart sank. I had given them what they wanted yesterday, but he still wouldn’t let it go. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Bella nestled into Julian’s arms, looking aggrieved. “Forget it, Julian. Who am I to ask the great Miss Su for an apology? What if she gets angry and sends me abroad again?” She tugged at his sleeve, voice trembling with tears, while shooting me a hateful glare. Julian hugged her tighter, turning a cold gaze on me. “Sarah, apologize to Bella. Don’t make me say it twice! Or your family’s company and your parents…” Seeing the ruthlessness in his eyes, I realized Julian might never have intended to live peacefully with me. He was coerced into marriage, and from that day on, he hated my family. Even in this life, where I didn’t send Bella away, he still threatened me with my parents and the company. He had always planned to destroy us. I swallowed the bitterness and rasped, “I’m sorry.” Bella turned her head, pouting. “She’s not sincere at all. I want her to kneel and slap herself while apologizing. Ninety-nine times. Only then will I forgive her.” Julian frowned. Bella quickly added, “If I had really been sent away last night, Julian, wouldn’t you be heartbroken? What if something happened to me abroad…” Before she could finish, Julian kissed her. “Don’t say that. You know I can’t lose you.” He looked at me coldly. “This was your fault. I know you can’t do it yourself, so just apologize, and I’ll have someone help you.” The bodyguards forced me to my knees. Slaps rained down on my face. Pain blinded me. Julian wasn’t satisfied. He grabbed my chin. His eyes were dark. “Sarah, I was too good to you before. Think of your parents. Do what Bella wants, or ninety-nine slaps will become nine hundred and ninety.” I gritted my teeth and apologized until I coughed up blood. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” After ninety-nine slaps, I collapsed, unconscious. Before I closed my eyes, I saw a flicker of pain in Julian’s eyes. 4 When I woke up, Julian was sitting by my bed. He sighed and tried to feed me warm porridge. I turned my face away. He frowned. “It was wrong to hit you, but Sarah, you started it.” I cut him off by handing him the divorce papers. “Let’s divorce. I’m giving you and Bella my blessing.” Julian snatched the papers and threw them on the floor, his face black. “You think you can marry when you want and divorce when you want? What am I to you?” I looked at him in disbelief. “Didn’t you always want to marry Bella?” He stood up, glaring at me coldly. “Sarah, playing hard to get? I told you I only see you as a sister. You want a divorce? Fine. But until the certificate is issued, don’t touch Bella. If she gets a single scratch, it’s on you.” Bella walked in, smirking at me. “Julian, that’s not nice to Sarah. If you say that, doesn’t she become my bodyguard until the divorce? But since you asked, Sarah, I’m counting on you.” Bodyguards flooded the room. Julian signed the papers, staring at me as if trying to read my mind. I was dragged out of bed silently to follow Bella. Once I get the divorce certificate, I can escape them and avoid my past fate. The next month was pure torture. Julian made out with Bella in front of me without shame. They kissed loudly in dressing rooms while I stood guard outside. Listening to their laughter, I stared blankly into the distance. Tomorrow, I get the certificate. Freedom. An hour later, Julian walked out with a disheveled Bella. He looked unhappy. After taking a call, he gave me a dark look and left. Once he was gone, Bella dropped the act. She mocked me, “Some people just have thick skin. Squatting on things that don’t belong to them, refusing to give them back even when the owner returns. Like a stray dog.” Before I could reply, a group of men rushed out and grabbed Bella. The leader looked vicious. “You’re Julian’s mistress? Today is your unlucky day!” He raised a hand to knock her out. I lunged forward and grabbed Bella’s hand. If anything happened to her, Julian would blame me. Thinking of my past life, I held on for dear life. If I let go, I’d be buried with her. The man sneered and slapped me. My head spun. “Bitch, can’t even save yourself and trying to stop me? Take them both!” Soon, amidst Bella’s screams, we were pinned to the ground. Just as we were being dragged away, a noise came from behind. “Let them go!” Julian rushed forward, eyes anxious. While the men were distracted by Julian, I tried to drag Bella toward the exit. But Bella pinched my hand hard and shoved me backward. I looked at her in shock. She whispered: “Who told you to compete with me?” The next second, I was grabbed by the thug again. “Julian! Tell your men to back off! Or I can’t guarantee her safety!” The man choked me, lifting me high. Julian looked at me, expression unreadable. “Sarah, you’re overacting. Don’t believe your own lies.” I didn’t know what he meant. I reached out to him. “Save… me.” Julian hesitated. Just then, Bella cried out in pain. “Julian, it hurts! Sarah hired these people herself, they won’t hurt her! She just pushed me, I’m worried about the baby…” I looked at Bella in disbelief. I struggled, trying to explain. But hearing Bella’s words, Julian picked her up and turned away. The thug threatened him, but he just said coldly: “Do whatever you want with her.” Seeing no escape, the thug stopped struggling. He pinned me down with a twisted expression. “Boys, this Julian guy is ruthless. Since he doesn’t want his wife, let’s taste what a CEO’s woman is like!” He tore my clothes open. “Julian! Save me!” Desperate, I used the name I called him as a child, hoping to awaken his conscience. He paused but continued walking away with the unharmed Bella. I fought with everything I had, but I was overpowered. Just before he entered me, a fierce resolve flashed in my eyes. I bit my tongue off. Blood gushed out. The man looked terrified. In the last second before passing out, memories of Julian’s past kindness flashed before my eyes. Then, they shattered. I fell into darkness. … After leaving, Julian’s heart raced. He felt like he missed something. After settling Bella in the hospital, he stood outside her room. Remembering Sarah’s dead eyes and her cry for help, he finally made a call. “Go see if Sarah is dead.” He knew she hired those people. She wouldn’t be hurt. But he frowned. He swore he would teach her a lesson when she came back. But the next second, the voice on the phone froze him. “Mr. Vance, the Madam bit her tongue and committed suicide after you left. She was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital…”

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They called me the luckiest woman in the city. An orphan, I had found a broken man in the gutters, and with a little begging here, a little borrowing there, I had somehow nursed Julian Devereux, the heir to the Devereux fortune, back to life. In return, he had lifted me from obscurity and was about to make me his wife. Everyone said he spoiled me, let me run wild with his affection. When I idly mentioned I liked pearls, a collection once belonging to British royalty appeared at my door. When I gazed at a single rose, the next morning, the entire estate was carpeted in the rare Louis XIV varietal. He was the untouchable Lord Devereux, master of his family’s empire. And then, at the zenith of my fairy tale, the day he was to make me his, I met Vivienne Pembroke. And she had my face. … Vivienne tilted my chin up with a manicured finger, her eyes a canvas of undisguised contempt. “You do have a pretty face, I’ll give you that.” Whispers erupted around us. “That’s Vivienne Pembroke… she looks exactly like her…” “Be quiet. Do you know who she is? The Pembroke heiress. She could snap her fingers and half the Capital would tremble. As for her origins…” No matter how Julian tried to hide it, the fact that I was an orphan could never be erased. They just didn’t dare say it aloud. Not after what happened to the last person who did. At a gala, when Julian first brought me into his world, a society matron had sneered about my parentage. Julian had merely glanced at her, his expression placid. The next day, that woman was found on the city’s busiest street, broken and begging, her mind gone. No one had breathed a word against me since. In the next instant, the glowing cherry of Vivienne’s cigarette was pressed against my cheek. The smell of burning flesh filled the air. I cried out in pain and shoved her away. She stumbled backward, falling gracefully into Julian Devereux’s arms. The burn on my face was agony, but a sharper pain lanced through my heart at the look in Julian’s eyes as he held her—a tempest of emotions I had never seen before. “Julian, my face,” Vivienne whimpered. “It hurts so much…” But Julian’s gaze was fixed on the cigarette still in her hand. He gently took it from her fingers. “Your lungs are delicate, Vivi. You must be more careful.” He had completely ignored me. Vivienne looked over his shoulder at me. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to this… young lady?” Only then did Julian seem to notice the weeping burn on my face. He looked away, his voice low. “This is Celine. She’s… my sister.” The ancient jade signet ring on my finger slipped from my grasp, hitting the marble floor and splitting in two. He had placed it there only last night when he’d asked me to be his wife. I looked around the grand ballroom. The crimson banners celebrating our union, the loving portrait of us at the entrance, even the interwoven gold embroidery on our formal attire—everything screamed engagement. So how had I, the fiancée, suddenly become the sister? The jade had broken cleanly, but my heart was tearing apart, a ragged, shredding agony. “Julian…” I stepped forward, wanting to demand an explanation, but he was already turning, shielding Vivienne as he led her away. The whispers swelled into a roar. “I thought this was their engagement party.” “The next lady of the Devereux estate? I wouldn’t be so sure now.” I looked to Julian, the man who couldn’t bear to hear a single bad word spoken about me. He didn’t even glance my way. His entire world was focused on Vivienne. I was invisible. In a haze of pain and medication, I felt a cool sensation on my cheek. I opened my eyes to see Julian carefully applying a salve to the burn. I threw my arms around his waist, clinging to him. “Why did you call me your sister tonight?” He didn’t answer, his voice a low rumble. “I have to go to the Capital City.” The Pembrokes… they were from the Capital. The events of the night—the canceled engagement, his sudden departure, the strange new obsession in his eyes when he looked at Vivienne—crashed over me in a suffocating wave. My heart hammered against my ribs, a painful, frantic rhythm. I couldn’t breathe. “Is it because of her? Because of Vivienne?” Julian’s gaze snapped to mine, cold and hard. “Celine. Be careful what you say.” It was the first time he had ever looked at me with anything but warmth. My voice trembled. “Then tell me why! Why are you going to the Capital? Why did you call me your sister? Why did you cancel our engagement? Why!” He looked away, unable to meet my eyes. “Take Miss Celine to the family chapel,” he commanded the guards at the door. “She will kneel there until she has calmed down.” I stared at him. The man before me was a stranger. Not the Julian who had promised to grant my every wish, to answer my every question. I knelt in the cold chapel, before the stone tombs of his ancestors. Staring at the eternal flame, I whispered a desperate prayer. “Spirits of this house, I will accept a lifetime of hardship and poverty in my next ten lives, if you will only grant me this one with Julian. Let us be together, always.” A soft, mocking laugh echoed from the doorway. Vivienne stood there, wreathed in shadow. “The Devereux ancestors,” she purred, “do you really think they’ll ever accept you?” “A woman like you, Miss Pembroke,” I retorted, my voice shaking, “has no shame, interfering in our relationship?” She laughed again, a low, throaty sound. “Interfering?” She blew a plume of smoke in my direction. “You, who appeared with my face while I was away at university and attached yourself to my childhood sweetheart. You call me the intruder?” With a flick of her wrist, she touched the lit end of her cigarette to an ancient tapestry. It smoldered for a second before catching fire. I tried to scramble away, but she grabbed my arm, her grip like steel. “You think I’m the one who came between you?” she hissed, her face illuminated by the growing flames. The fire spread with terrifying speed, smoke billowing around us. She didn’t seem to feel the heat at all. “Then let’s see who he chooses.” The fire alarms blared. Servants rushed to the chapel doors, but Vivienne pressed the sharp point of a hairpin to her own throat. “Tell Julian Devereux he has to choose between me and Celine, right now! Or we both burn!” I had inhaled too much smoke. My lungs burned, my vision swam. I collapsed to the floor. Through the distorted haze of heat and smoke, I saw Julian burst into the chapel. He swept Vivienne into his arms and ran. He was in such a hurry that he didn’t see me on the floor. His foot came down hard on my outstretched hand, crushing it as he fled. The searing pain jolted me back from the brink of unconsciousness. As the darkness closed in, his promise from the day he brought me to his home echoed in my ears. “Celine, you saved my life. I can only repay it with my own.” “I will give you a lifetime of honor, of wealth, of safety.” But here I was, broken and burning, my life hanging by a thread, abandoned by my savior. When I woke up, I was in a hospital. I waited. Day turned to night, and back to day. I sat as still as a statue, a forgotten idol waiting for a worshipper who would never come. Julian never came. Perhaps the fire had burned away his love, I thought. My heart felt like a hollow chamber of ash, no longer capable of pain. Then, he was there. He gently tried to give me a sip of water. It tasted strange, bitter. I turned my head away, but he gripped my jaw, forcing my mouth open and pouring the liquid down my throat. A fire erupted in my larynx, a pain so intense I thrashed wildly. Julian’s grip only tightened. I tried to cough, to scream, but no sound came out. I was silent. My throat felt as though it had been scoured with acid. A single tear escaped and traced a path through the soot on my cheek. I looked up at Julian. His own eyes were red, rimmed with tears. He gathered me in his arms, his voice a broken whisper. “Celine, it’s okay. From now on, I’ll be your voice. I’ll speak for you…” I bit down on his arm, hard. Blood welled up, but he didn’t flinch, letting me inflict the pain. His tears were hot on my skin, a stark contrast to the chemical fire in my throat. The twin agonies made my head swim. Through the haze, I heard him whisper again. “I’m so sorry…” “Someone has to take the blame for the chapel, Celine… Vivienne can’t… she’s too fragile. And you… you’re too stubborn. You would never have confessed for her.” “This was the only way… I’m so sorry…” When I next awoke, the room was empty. It was all a nightmare. The door opened, and the Devereux matriarch swept in. She placed a document on my bedside table. “When Julian favored you, I allowed your foolishness. But Vivienne is back now. They were meant to be. Everything is finally back on its proper course. It is time for you to leave.” With a trembling hand, I wrote on a notepad: Is this what Julian wants? “Julian’s wishes are no longer relevant.” A thousand protests rose within me—to fight, to scream, to beg. But I touched my throat, the silent, ruined flesh, and signed my name. I wrote one last thing. I have only one condition. I never want to see Julian Devereux again. The matriarch said a car would take me to the airport in the morning. But just as dawn broke, Julian’s men came for me instead. Before the charred ruins of the family chapel, Julian stood with Vivienne shielded behind him. The family elders were gathered, their faces grim. “The ancestral tablets of eighteen generations, the family registry, all of it, gone!” one of them roared. “And you still protect this woman?” Julian’s shoulders relaxed when he saw me. He pulled me before the elders. “Vivienne didn’t do it,” he announced, his voice ringing with false conviction. “Celine burned the chapel.” I wanted to scream, No! But only a strangled gasp escaped my throat. I gestured frantically, trying to explain, but no one looked at me. After a long, tense silence, the eldest patriarch sighed. “Then let the family law be served. Forty-nine lashes. Not one less.” The Devereux “family law” was a brutal tradition. One lash could break a man. I grabbed Julian’s hand, my eyes pleading with him to speak, to stop this. He pulled his hand away, refusing to look at me. “Administer the punishment,” he said softly. As the first whip fell, my mind flashed back to the day I met him. He was fleeing his enemies, bleeding and near death in the ruins of an old church. I found him. He told me he’d give me a million dollars to save him. I told him he was a liar, but I saved him anyway. Later, when he was safe in his magnificent home, he had laughed. “A million dollars is for common people, Celine.” He had offered me the entire Devereux empire. His heart. His whole world. That was to be my reward. At the tenth lash, I thought I heard his voice from the night he proposed. “From this day forward, you are the lady of this house.” “If anyone ever tries to hurt you, they will have to go through my dead body first.” A mouthful of blood escaped my lips, spattering the mended jade ring on his hand. The brilliant green was stained with crimson. A broken gem, even one set in gold, is still just a broken thing. When the forty-ninth lash fell, I was barely breathing, a bloody ruin on the stone floor. In his study, Julian’s heart gave a violent lurch. A terrible, suffocating unease washed over him. He couldn’t name the feeling, but then a frantic shout erupted from outside. “Miss Celine has no heartbeat!” Julian shot to his feet. The world tilted, the room spinning around him. The only words that cut through the chaos were: “No heartbeat!” What did that mean? A hot rush filled his throat, and he doubled over, vomiting blood. The sharp pain cleared his head for a moment. He had to get to her. He threw open the door and came face to face with his grandmother. The matriarch’s smile was glacial. “And where do you think you’re going?” “I have to see Celine…” he mumbled. “See her? Who is she to you?” Her hand cracked across his face. “Remember this! The daughter-in-law of this family, the wife of Lord Devereux, your intended, is Vivienne Pembroke! Not some gutter orphan you picked up off the street!” Julian froze as if struck by lightning. He turned. Behind him, Vivienne stood, her expression unreadable. “Are you going to abandon me for her, too?” she asked quietly. A wave of crushing despair washed over him. He collapsed into a chair, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. It had all been a lie from the start.

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I woke up in a room I didn’t recognize, the air thick with a rising heat that had nothing to do with the temperature. I was drugged. And I wasn’t alone. The red pinpricks of high-definition cameras in the corners confirmed the nightmare: a live feed, streaming right now, straight onto the darkest corners of the internet. The viewers—thousands of them, the digital leeches of the dark web—were buzzing, placing bets on how long we could hold out. I had two choices laid out for me in this agonizing space. I could let the drug burn me alive from the inside out, a fever of chemical torture. Or I could sacrifice every shred of my dignity, and put on a show for the anonymous masses with the man standing a few feet away. 1 “Heh heh, welcome, everyone, to ‘How Long Can They Last?’” “Tonight, we feature the famously aloof artist and the notoriously untouchable CEO!” “We’ve been planning this event for an entire year! Hope you enjoy the show!” The synthetic, electronically processed voice echoed off the concrete walls. With a sharp clack, the enormous screen mounted on the wall flickered to life. Four brutal, industrial spotlights immediately skewered my vision with blinding white light. The searing pain made me hiss in discomfort. “Awake?” The man’s voice was rough, like gravel had been dragged across his vocal cords. I turned my head and my breath hitched, then stopped completely. It was Ethan Rhys. The heir to the Rhys BioPharma empire in Boston, known for his utterly impenetrable aloofness. We’d only met twice before, briefly, at a gallery reception for the new packaging illustrations I’d done for his company’s latest drug—an approval I’d just secured. We hadn’t exchanged more than three complete sentences. “Mr. Rhys, where are we?” “An abandoned warehouse. And we’re being streamed, live.” He spoke, then immediately shuffled backward, retreating into the farthest corner he could manage, his breathing heavy. “Does it feel hot in here to you?” I fanned myself nervously, taking in the scene. He shot me a look of pure, mortifying awkwardness, his lips moving as if to speak, but he said nothing. Odd. But he wasn’t wrong. It was a broadcast. HD-800 models—a dark web favorite, meaning the transmission distance wasn’t great, maybe a couple of miles. A peculiar, unwelcome heat was beginning to rise under my skin. I forced myself to breathe deeply, trying to distract my mind from the intensifying sensation. “Mr. Rhys, how did you get caught up in this?” It was easy enough to target an independent artist like me, with no security. But Ethan Rhys? Surrounded by security and corporate muscle? Taking him down would have required a massive operation. Why us? Why the two of us together? A suppressed groan of agony escaped Ethan’s throat. “Someone set me up…” “Who’s the bankroller? The person behind the curtain?” Anyone who could pull this off against him must have invested a fortune. “I don’t know,” Ethan ground out, each syllable a struggle to escape his gritted teeth. “But I will.” 2 On the massive screen, a dense, frantic scroll of comments flashed. [WTF! Isn’t that Sienna the Illustrator? The one they call the ‘Untouchable’?!] [Heard half of Boston’s A-list has chased her, and she’s shot them all down.] [Yep, notoriously hard to get!] [And the other one is the Hermit CEO, Ethan Rhys? They’re playing for real stakes!] [Holy hell, I’m so stoked!] [Dark web is killing it! They managed to snag these two for a live stream!] [Rumor is, they planned this for a year!] [The Ice Queen meets the Hermit. Perfect pairing!] [Heh heh, I love watching the ‘prim and proper’ finally get ‘down and dirty’…] Those comments felt like dirty, invisible hands, stripping me bare and tossing me onto the street. “Let us out of here! This is illegal!” I instinctively curled my body inward, but my voice still came out in a terrified tremor. The synthetic voice gave an exaggerated, mocking laugh. “Help me! I’m so scared!” “Heh heh, friends, guests! The countdown starts now: 30 minutes! Place your bets! Let’s see how long they can resist the urge. And… who gives in first~~~” The comments grew more brazen, more vile. [Oh, spare us the high-and-mighty act. When the drug hits, you’ll be crying for him.] [They’ve been locked up for almost half an hour. Why hasn’t the show started yet?] [Is this a fake?] [I bet twenty minutes! The girl’s dose hasn’t fully kicked in.] [Both of them are total smoke shows. Worth every penny.] [Stop messing around! Get on with it! I’m putting $200k on them not lasting.] The drug? The drug? The one I’d only read about in trashy romance novels? I risked a glance at Ethan Rhys. He was in far worse shape than I was. Cold sweat beaded on his temples. He was propped against the wall with one hand, his knuckles white and protruding. The muscles in his exposed forearm were taut and subtly shaking, like he was wrestling a silent, invisible beast. I finally understood the meaning of his earlier, hesitant look. He couldn’t speak. He was beyond opening his mouth for a casual chat. I ran to the heavy iron door and started beating on it like a maniac. “Is anyone out there? Open up! Open the door!” “Stop, Sienna… that will only make the drug take hold faster.” Ethan’s voice cut through my panic. It was raspy, yet possessed a dangerous, compelling magnetism. His breathing was ragged and hot. In this suffocating, drug-fueled situation, his voice was like a lethal aphrodisiac. A mortifying thought flashed through my mind: If he lunged at me, would I fight him, or… I shivered, realizing I had already started spiraling into the forbidden thought. I kicked the door harder. “It’s been welded shut…” Ethan spoke again. I spun around to face him, my heart hammering in my chest like a runaway train. “Then what are we supposed to do? Wait to be burned to death by this chemical torment? Or couple like animals in front of a thousand people?” The words were out before I could stop them, and I instantly regretted it. The bloody redness in his eyes flared, but he bit down hard, turning his face away. His Adam’s apple convulsed violently, almost tearing through the skin. He was clearly struggling far more than I was. My words sounded like an accusation that he would take advantage of me. “I’m sorry,” I looked down, my voice catching on a sob. “I’m just… terrified.” “Don’t worry,” Ethan said, his fists clenched so tight his skin stretched white. Sweat was pouring down his forehead, soaking the back of his shirt. “I will not touch you.” 3 “Too loud! Hmm, seems like my hospitality was lacking. I didn’t give you enough of the good stuff!” The electronic voice was cold and sinister. The next second, a cloud of rose-tinted gas hissed from the ventilation duct. It smelled sickly sweet, like melted honey and a chemical burn, snaking its way into my nostrils. My fingertips immediately started to tingle with a terrifying, delightful numbness. Ethan spun around violently, his eyes fixed on me, pupils contracted to pinpricks. My heart seized. My body trembled uncontrollably, and I felt a surge of utterly shameful anticipation. “Don’t inhale!” He roared and lunged, moving so fast he was a blur. His hand, burning hot, clamped over my mouth and nose. His touch was scalding. The calluses on his thumb grazed my lips, an act of sheer, terrifying aggression. I instinctively recoiled, but ended up driving my head straight into his chest. His face was inches from mine. His breath, erupting in ragged bursts, was a fiery, medicated inferno. The comments section exploded: [Finally! Mr. Rhys, hold her tight!] [Look at his hand! He’s about to crush her face!] [Get on with it! Stop pretending to be a gentleman!] Ethan’s fingers suddenly tightened, and I let out a sharp, muffled cry of pain. “Sorry.” He seemed to snap out of a trance, abruptly releasing me. He stumbled back a huge step, his body slamming violently against the iron door. BAM! A low, guttural moan of pain ripped from his throat. A shard of sharp, upturned metal on the door sliced a deep gash into his forearm. Blood instantly gushed out, streaming down his arm and dripping onto the pale concrete floor—a shocking, aggressive red. I gasped in horror. “Don’t be afraid!” He retreated to the corner, and I watched, paralyzed, as he dug his own fingers into the fresh wound on his arm. He let out a suppressed roar, a sound of pure, tearing agony. He was using the pain to force himself awake, to force himself away from me. The comments instantly turned crueler: [Oh, look! He’s actually bleeding! Is he trying to look pathetic? Trying to make the girl pity him?] *[Get her to lick the wound! And get it on!] * [He’s about to blow, but he’s still playing the saint. Give it up, Romeo!] 4 My own condition was no better. The earlier struggle, the panic, and now the second dose had sent the drug racing through my bloodstream. It was a waking beast, consuming my will. I bit down hard on my tongue until I tasted metal. The coppery scent of my own blood filled my mouth, a feeble attempt to use pain to fight off the shameful, burgeoning desire. Worse, my body had already surrendered. A million invisible ants seemed to crawl beneath my skin, urging me toward that specific source of pure, overwhelming male energy. Ethan’s wound was still bleeding, staining half of his shirt sleeve crimson. I gathered the last of my strength and ripped the lace trim from the hem of my cocktail dress. “Use this to tie it up.” My legs were jelly, my voice trembling and unrecognizable. I stumbled two steps and held it out to him. Ethan’s body instantly froze. He turned, his eyes bloodshot and feral, like a beast on the verge of losing control. His gaze dropped first to the scrap of fabric I offered, then slowly moved up, locking onto my face. The intensity of his stare terrified me. I instinctively tried to pull my hand back, but he suddenly clamped down on my wrist. His fingertips brushed my skin, sending a jolt of electrifying numbness up my arm. My rational mind screamed at me to push him away, but my body was a shameful traitor. All I wanted was to burrow into his arms, to feel his heat. “Please…” I bit my lip, my nails digging into my palm, clinging to the last sliver of control. “Don’t, Ethan.” The comments section went completely insane: [He finally put his hands on her! Pin her against the wall!] [The girl’s melting! What’s with the act?] [I bet they don’t last 10 seconds. Wager: $100k.] [Go! Go! Go! Stop wasting time!] A sob escaped me, and a single, scalding tear rolled down my cheek, splashing onto the back of his hand. He flinched violently, as if my tear had burned him. He abruptly let go, gasping as he staggered two steps back. “I’m sorry!” He averted his eyes, a flicker of panic in his voice. “Thank you, but I don’t need the bandage.” We both knew the score. If we gave in to this physical need, we would be reduced to rutting animals, coupling under the jeers and scorn of countless strangers. The dark web would record our humiliation and sell it. The price of a momentary surrender would be a lifetime of shame and regret. 5 Having been denied the spectacle they craved, the comments hissed like venomous snakes, dripping with malice: [Oh, he actually refused? What a pretentious gentleman!] [Loser! Can’t even get a girl when she’s doped up!] [Look at Mr. Rhys’s back! He must be rock-hard. Why the saintly act?] [Damn it! I’m out hundreds of thousands because they’re dragging their feet!] [The girl should stop faking it! Her face is flushed—she definitely wants it!] [Go jump him! Solve the problem for both of you! We’ll light up the rockets!] Just then, the warehouse loudspeaker boomed to life. The same cold, synthesized voice spoke: “Heh heh, now entering the ‘Close Proximity Challenge’ segment.” “Rule: Do what I say, or we will release more ‘Pink Bubble Air.’” Ethan’s head snapped up. Like an enraged bull, he bellowed into the speaker. “Go ahead! I’d rather die than let you scumbags get what you want!” “And what about Miss Sienna?” The voice was playfully taunting. I was riding the peak of the drug’s effect, fueled by the rush of male hormones. I could barely speak, using every ounce of my diminishing strength to hold myself together. I just shook my head violently. The electronic voice suddenly turned chilling. “It seems you two aren’t getting the hint. Very well. Miss Sienna, they say a man pursuing a woman is like climbing a mountain, but a woman pursuing a man is like pushing aside a veil. How about you take the initiative?” “Don’t rush to refuse. Do you… recognize this?” The image on the screen abruptly switched from our live feed to a close-up shot—a pink hair tie with a tiny, silver rabbit charm dangling from it. My heart sank like a stone. It was my sister Layla’s hair tie. I’d given it to her for her birthday last year, and she wore it every day. The electronic voice carried an awful, malicious chuckle: “If you don’t want anything to happen to her, you’ll kiss him. And don’t tell me you don’t want to kiss him right now.” The comments section went ballistic: [Aha! Time for the big guns!] [Kiss! Kiss! Quick!] [Whose life is more important, your sister’s or your virginity?] [Hurry! I’m betting on the position already!] [I’m betting $500k on the missionary position.] 6 Staring at that familiar hair tie, the blood ran cold in my veins. Layla was the most important person in the world to me, second only to my father. I felt like I was going insane. The last flicker of my sanity was being extinguished. “Who? Who paid you to do this?” Ethan ground out, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscles twitching. The synthetic voice remained cheerfully indifferent: “That’s none of your concern, Mr. Rhys! We take people’s money; we deal with people’s problems.” “I’m starting the countdown now. If you don’t complete the task in ten seconds, I will kill the little girl! Heh heh…” I shuddered, my mind clearing slightly. “Stop! That hair tie might look like the one I made, but there are similar ones! How do I know Layla is actually with you?” The electronic voice let out a sinister laugh. The screen flashed, cutting to a new image: a familiar figure tied to a chair, gagged with cloth. Seeing the camera, she shook her head frantically, tears streaming down her face. “Layla!” I screamed, trying to rush forward, but Ethan pulled me back instantly. “Ten… Nine…” The screen instantly returned to the live feed, and the synthetic voice started counting. “Ethan!” I pleaded, my voice choked with sobs and completely shattered. “Please…” I had broken. Under the dual torment of the drug and the threat, I abandoned my last shred of struggle. Ethan looked up at me sharply, his eyes wide with shock, and a trace of barely concealed heartbreak. The comments section was in a frenzy: [She’s finally come around!] [Mr. Rhys, stop standing there! Kiss her!] [Kiss her, then go straight for it! No holding back!] [Go! Go! Go!] “Eight…” But Ethan didn’t move. He turned his head away, biting down hard, trembling slightly. We both knew what that one kiss would lead to.

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My husband is a terrible photographer. Which is a problem, because I’m a beauty influencer with over a million followers. In the three years we’ve been married, Leo has been the perfect partner in every other way. He tracks my cycle on his calendar, kneels to massage my sore ankles after a long day in heels, and makes sure I have three solid meals when I’m too lost in editing a video to remember to eat. But whenever I ask him to take a simple picture for me, that pained look crosses his face. “Babe, I’m telling you, I just don’t have the eye for it. Please don’t make me.” On the rare occasion I could guilt him into it, the results were always comical. The lens, they say, captures the heart of the person behind it. If that were true, Leo’s heart saw me as a bizarrely angled cryptid or, at best, sixty pounds heavier than I am. I eventually gave up. Today, rushing to get footage for my big Christmas brand deal, Leo spoke up from the doorway. “You can’t frame it like that,” he said suddenly. “It’s going to look awful.” In three years of marriage, it was the first time he’d ever offered a single piece of photographic advice. I thought he’d been secretly studying, trying to find a new way to connect with my work. My heart swelled. Beaming, I filmed a little behind-the-scenes clip of his advice and posted it to my story, only to have a tidal wave of ice-cold water thrown in my face by my own comment section. “Wait… isn’t that the guy who used to be Ava Sinclair’s exclusive photographer? No way he ‘doesn’t have an eye for it.’” “To you his first words are ‘you’ll break the lens.’ To her, they were ‘I’m all yours, maestro.’” “Holy shit. Your ‘bad at photos’ husband is LEO DAWSON?!” “I’m more shocked that Leo Dawson is MARRIED. What the hell was I doing shipping him and Ava all those years?” 1 The comments kept pouring in, a relentless flood. “You’ve got good taste, I’ll give you that. It was an open secret in the industry. For Ava’s big competition, Leo stayed up for three straight nights shooting and editing. The second the show was over, he literally collapsed backstage. God, their story is still iconic.” “You think that’s iconic? What about how he just dropped his camera and walked away from the entire industry after she left? He went completely dark. Talk about devotion.” “Girl… I think there’s a little green sprouting on your head.” … The shippers and the trolls took over my comments, and the few remaining were just mourning a love story that never got its ending. Three thousand, seven hundred comments, all piecing together a man I didn’t know at all. This wasn’t the Leo I had fallen in love with—the steady, reliable man who was so calm and self-assured that I was the one who had to nervously bring up the topic of marriage. This was a reckless, passionate kid who would race through a rainstorm to explain a misunderstanding at her apartment, who would loudly and publicly claim her as his in front of her other admirers. The night before Ava left the country was Christmas Eve. That same day, Leo Dawson quit his job at the studio, put down his camera for good, and locked himself in his room, staring at the last set of photos they ever took together. It was a bridal shoot. A joint creation. It was Ava who had taught him how to find the angle, how to adjust the light. They had chosen the gown and the backdrop together. It was their shared memory. He watched the slideshow, and with every image, he wept. I scrolled through the comments, reading their entire history. The bright white of the screen burned, and my eyes stung with tears I refused to let fall. I knew that set of photos. They were legendary. They were the key that unlocked the doors to the international fashion scene for Ava. I remember seeing them back then and thinking, the camera really does have a soul. How much love must a photographer have for his subject, for an audience to feel it radiating from a still image? The composition Leo had just suggested for my video… it was the same framing he’d used for Ava, all those years ago. Was it because Christmas was coming again? Was he thinking of her? “Hey, what’s this? You’re crying?” Leo’s soft chuckle broke the silence. The calloused pad of his thumb brushed against the corner of my eye. I flinched away, forcing a smile onto my face as I tried to keep my voice steady. “Have you ever studied photography? The composition you suggested was really beautiful.” I took a breath. “My regular shooter for the event backed out. I could really use a photographer to save the day. How about it, husband?” Everyone has a past. And for the past few years, he had been so good to me. It was real. Besides, I’d just gotten the positive pregnancy test last week. The future we’d always talked about, our little family of three, was finally within reach. If he said yes, it would mean he had truly moved on. I could pretend I never saw any of this. I could let it all go. But Leo just froze. A long, heavy silence stretched between us before he finally spoke. “I’ve never studied it. You know that. I’m terrible at taking your picture.” His words made my desperate attempt at peace feel pathetic. Laughable. The whole world knew his story with Ava. It was still plastered all over the internet. Leo, my cautious, careful Leo, was telling such a clumsy, easily disproven lie. I lowered my gaze, my voice barely a whisper. “Is that so?” “Then what are all of these comments about?” 2 With the last shred of denial torn away, a frantic energy seized me. I demanded to know why. Leo was silent for a long time. “There is no why,” he finally said, his voice flat. “I loved her. And sometimes, I still think about her. It’s that simple.” He watched my hysteria with a chilling calm before adding, “Chloe, we’re married now. You don’t need to be obsessed with my past.” The irony was a bitter pill. “And what if she came back now?” I shot back, my voice trembling. “If she asked you to be her exclusive photographer again, would you go?” He didn’t answer. Instead, his hand moved to my shoulder, trying to pull me into an embrace. I slapped his hand away, my eyes locked on his, demanding an answer. Leo sighed. “Come on. Don’t work yourself up like this. Let’s just go to sleep.” His composure was infuriating. It painted me as the hysterical, irrational wife. Tears welled, blurring his face. “Would you go, or not?” I insisted, my voice thick. According to the comment section, Ava Sinclair had just returned to the States and opened her own studio. She was looking for a skilled, dedicated photographer. The old fans were in a frenzy, convinced this was the grand reunion, completely unconcerned about the feelings of his legal wife. Leo’s jaw tightened. “No, I wouldn’t go. Okay?” As if on cue, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. The caller ID glowed in the dark room: a single, shining letter. A. Without a second thought, Leo grabbed the phone and started to walk out of the room. I lunged, clutching the hem of his shirt. A tear splashed onto the fabric, darkening a small circle. “Answer it here.” We were locked in a standoff. The ringing weakened, and perhaps fearing he would miss the call, Leo actually answered it, right there in front of me. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “Ava.” He said her name with a deep, lingering tenderness that twisted a knife in my gut. A soft, gentle voice replied from the speaker. “It’s me.” I felt Leo’s entire body go rigid, so still that he forgot to pull his shirt from my grasp. Ava’s voice was laced with a hint of melancholy. “I’m so sorry to bother you this late. But… I didn’t know who else to call. The photographer for our studio is throwing a fit, and now he’s refusing to shoot the final runway show, let alone come back to the States with me. But the venue here is already booked, and we can’t postpone.” She paused. “I know this is a long shot, but… could you come and save me? Please, Leo. For old times’ sake.” 3 “What about your show over there? How will you manage?” The words flew out of Leo’s mouth before he could stop them. Both Ava and I were stunned into silence. I’d never seen him so impulsive, so reckless. Especially not for me. My own voice rose, sharp and high. “You’re going to fly overseas for her? Tomorrow is Christmas Eve! Our families are supposed to come over for dinner!” I had planned to announce the pregnancy then. Our parents had been asking for years. My mother-in-law would always get that wistful look whenever a friend mentioned their grandchildren. And Leo… Leo had wanted a child more than anything. In our most intimate moments, he would whisper against my ear, his voice thick with emotion, “Let’s have a baby, one that’s just as sweet as you. Please?” On the other end of the line, Ava’s voice suddenly caught. “Leo, is… is that a friend of yours?” “We’re married,” I cut in. A choked sound came from the phone. Leo frowned at me, his voice firm. “It’s just taking pictures, Chloe.” Right. It was just taking pictures. Then why was it an absolute “no” when I asked, but the second she called, he was ready to book a flight to another continent? The air crackled with unspoken things. Ava was the first to break the silence. “Forget it, Leo. It’s okay.” “Wait,” he said, a rush of panic in his voice. He covered the phone’s microphone with his hand and pried my fingers from his shirt. His voice was cold. “Can you just stop this?” “She’s all alone in a foreign country. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get to where she is? I’m helping a friend. What is wrong with that?” I opened my mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. But it hasn’t been easy for me, either… This was supposed to be the year I finally broke a million subscribers. But the morning sickness has been relentless. My video output has slowed to a crawl, my livestream numbers are dropping, and my brand partners are getting nervous, even threatening to terminate our contract. The Christmas campaign was a lifeline, a huge opportunity a friend had fought to get for me. But the photographer I’d booked bailed, saying my morning sickness was “disgusting” and he couldn’t work with me. I’m not some naturally gifted prodigy. I got here through sleepless nights writing scripts and endless hours practicing in front of a mirror. Now, because of this pregnancy, I might lose everything I’ve built. And even with all that, I never for a second regretted carrying his child. There was too much to say, too much hurt welling up inside me. The moment I tried to speak, tears started streaming down my face. Leo was already grabbing his camera bag, packing in a frantic hurry. Seeing me cry, he paused. For a moment, I thought he would come to me, hold me, or at the very least, offer some hollow words of comfort, like he always did. But all he said was a flat, dismissive, “Drink some water when you’re done crying. I’m leaving.” My nails dug into my palms. “Are you really going?” I asked, my voice raw. “No regrets?” Leo looked at me, a long, hard stare. Finally, he looked away. “Get some sleep.” The heavy thud of the front door echoed through the house, leaving me completely alone in the cavernous silence. My hand instinctively went to my stomach. For a long, long time, I just stood there, crying. Then, I picked up my phone and dialed a number. “Hello, I’d like to schedule a consultation for a… for a painless abortion.” 4 My voice must have been choked with tears, because the young woman who answered the phone sounded startled. “Ma’am? Are you okay? Please, just take a deep breath. Don’t do anything rash.” “Is there something wrong? I can just listen, if you want to talk.” I couldn’t hold it in anymore. A wrenching sob tore through me. A complete stranger on the phone was showing me more compassion than my own husband, the man who slept beside me every night, who had looked right at my pain and chose to walk away. Almost as a form of self-torture, I spent the rest of the night digging up old behind-the-scenes clips of him and Ava. There was Leo, blushing when Ava glanced his way while posing. There he was, frustrated with himself for not capturing her at the perfect angle. And there he was in an interview, boldly declaring that she was the most beautiful woman he would ever capture through his lens. In our relationship, he had always been the stable one, the calm one. His emotional steadiness gave me a profound sense of security. So when he was occasionally distant or cold, I just chalked it up to his personality. It wasn’t his personality at all. It was just that he’d already given all his fire, all his passion, all of his grand, romantic gestures to someone else. And he was still ready to fight her battles. I watched until dawn, tears tracking paths down my cheeks. As the first light hit my window, I hardened my heart and forced myself to make a decision. I was at the clinic by eight a.m., clutching my appointment confirmation. The waiting room of the OB/GYN clinic was already packed. I saw so many couples, waiting together for their appointments, their faces glowing with happiness. One pregnant woman grimaced, her face pale. Her husband immediately started rubbing her back. “Are you feeling sick again? This is too much for you. We don’t have to do this, you know. We can just stop.” She gave him a weak, loving smile, and he melted. “I know, I know. You’re doing so great,” he cooed, his eyes filled with adoration. It must be nice. A pang of envy shot through me. My morning sickness had been terrible, but Leo had never really asked about it. He probably still didn’t even know I was pregnant. “Chloe Morgan?” a nurse called. “We’re ready for you.” My thoughts snapped back to the present. I stood and walked into the exam room. The doctor reviewed my chart, her brow furrowed. “Your health history indicates that it’s not easy for you to conceive. If you terminate this pregnancy, it could be very difficult to have a child in the future. I strongly recommend you discuss this further with your family.” I stared down at my hands, which were trembling uncontrollably. My phone screen lit up with a text from my mom. “Happy weekend, sweetie! What do you feel like for dinner tonight? You and Leo pick.” A second text followed. “We are so, so excited for your surprise!” I stared at the messages for a long time, the certainty I’d felt just moments ago beginning to crumble. I was about to tell the doctor I needed more time to think when my phone started ringing. It was Leo. 5 “My camera fell. It’s broken,” he said, his voice a frantic rush. “You need to bring yours. Now. Book the earliest flight you can, the event starts in a few hours.” The words hit me like a barrage of stones, leaving me stunned and confused. Ava’s camera broke. What did that have to do with me? “If the camera’s broken, just buy a new one,” I said, frowning. “You could be at a pro shop choosing a new one in the time it would take me to get to the airport.” Before I could finish, Ava’s tearful voice broke in on the line. “We can’t! They don’t have lenses this good here. The photos won’t be the same.” It clicked into place instantly. My camera. The anniversary gift from Leo. It had a custom-made lens—one of only a handful in the world, he’d told me. I remembered the night he gave it to me. When I opened the box, I’d actually stumbled back, insisting it was too expensive, that my skill level didn’t deserve such incredible equipment. But Leo had pressed it into my hands, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “What are you talking about? You’re amazing. You deserve the best of everything in the world.” An identical lens. Which meant he had given one to Ava, too. I tilted my head back, trying to keep the fresh wave of tears from falling. “I can’t. I have something here I can’t get out of.” Ava started to say something else, but Leo cut her off, his voice now sharp with irritation as he took the phone back. “What’s the big deal? Just let Ava use the camera. Your little videos aren’t good enough for a camera like that anyway! And what else do you have going on? That influencer stuff isn’t even a real job. What could you possibly have that you can’t get out of?” His casual, cruel dismissal of my life’s work sucked all the fight out of me. Just before the sob broke through, I let out a small, quiet laugh. “I’m about to go into surgery,” I said softly. “So, yeah. I really can’t get away.” I ended the call, my fingers gripping the phone so tightly my knuckles turned white. I looked at the doctor, my voice steady now. “We don’t need to discuss it anymore.” “What’s the earliest you can do the procedure?” Everything moved quickly after that. As the IV needle slid into my arm, the sky outside was just beginning to bruise with dusk. The television in the recovery room was broadcasting Ava’s final international runway show. Members of her team were telling the reporters a gushing, romanticized story of her bond with her “prodigal photographer.” Two nurses were chattering excitedly nearby. “It’s so romantic,” one of them sighed. “After all this time, they found their way back to each other.” I looked up at the screen. The camera was doing a close-up on Leo as he shot Ava on the runway. The lights converged on them, and for a split second, their eyes met. It was a look of profound, undeniable connection. Love. The crowd roared, the nurses behind me squealed, and my social media feeds were exploding with a single refrain: I’m shipping this so hard. It was Christmas Eve. It was supposed to be a happy, noisy celebration. The anesthetic began its work, a cold spread through my veins. Amid the sound of a thousand celebrations, I was completely alone as I said goodbye to the tiny life inside me. At that exact moment, Leo was finishing his shoot. He and Ava were standing together, taking questions from the press. They looked like a bride and groom at their wedding reception. “Mr. Dawson, it’s so moving that you came all this way. Could you comment on the current nature of your relationship?” “The rumor is that you two are back together. Is that true?” Leo gave a small shake of his head. “No, that’s not true. I’m married.” The smile on Ava’s face faltered for a fraction of a second before she recovered beautifully. “We’re just friends! And his wife is amazing, a huge influencer! I was so touched he would leave his family right before the holiday to come help me. I really didn’t expect it.” Her words were just ambiguous enough for a sharp reporter to seize upon. He pushed his microphone towards Leo. “Mr. Dawson, is there tension in your marriage? There’s currently a trending story that your wife was seen at a clinic today… alone… having an abortion.” At the mention of the word, Leo’s entire body went rigid.

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