Category: English

1 Because of my scars, my brother and my fiancé forbade me from ever taking off my veil. Every stunning profile shot the media managed to capture of the mysterious pianist was attributed to my sister. Everyone believed she was the prodigy, the genius behind the alias Luna. But tonight, I decided to finally take off my veil at the awards ceremony and reveal my true self. My brother blocked my path. “Darcy, can you just let your sister accept the award for you? She doesn’t have much time left. Her only wish in this life is to stand in the spotlight just once.” A cold chill settled in my chest. This was the fifth year in a row he had used that exact excuse. I turned to look at my fiancé, hoping for some support. Instead, he frowned. “What? You’re not willing to do this for her?” “Kelly’s illness is so severe. Why can’t you just make her dream come true? You can always explain the truth to the public later.” He handed me a small jewelry box. “Actually, I was planning to propose to you tonight. If you let your sister have her moment, this ring is yours.” “Darcy, don’t be so selfish.” My lips twitched into a bitter smile. I held the tiny, pathetic diamond ring in my palm, remembering the drawer I had accidentally opened in my sister’s room two days ago. Inside was a ring identical in design, but ten times the size. I took a step back. This time, I was done giving things up. Hank raised his voice in front of all the backstage staff. “Darcy, say that again?” I met his gaze. “I said, I’m going up there to accept my award myself.” Hank took a step forward, towering over me. His finger practically brushed the tip of my nose. “Your sister has one final wish, and you won’t even give her that? Darcy, do you have a single shred of decency left in you?” Kelly rose slowly from her makeup chair. She wore a champagne-colored silk gown, her long hair pinned up in an elegant, intricate bun. She looked like she had spent hours preparing for this very stage. She dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief. “Hank, don’t press her,” she said softly. “It’s just my bad luck. I shouldn’t have expected so much from life anyway. We all have to leave this world with some regrets.” Her head dropped, her shoulders trembling with quiet, delicate sobs. Hank’s eyes welled with tears of pity. He pulled her into a tight, protective embrace. “Don’t talk like that! You are not going to die. I’ll find you the best doctors in the world. I’ll take you wherever you want to go, and if you want to stand on that stage, I will make sure you do!” He glared back at me, his eyes full of cold authority. “Darcy, you’re young. You’ll have plenty of chances to win awards in the future. Does this single night really matter to you? Your sister doesn’t have that luxury.” Does this single night really matter? I had heard that exact line for five long years. Last year, I fell in love with an antique necklace at an auction. Kelly saw it and said she liked it too. Without a second thought, Hank took it and clasped it around Kelly’s neck. “Darcy, you look beautiful in anything. Let your sister have this one. She’s sick and depressed, let’s just make her happy.” When our parents passed away and left me their house, Kelly casually mentioned she wanted to live there. Hank took my keys and handed them to her on the spot. “Darcy, Kelly’s health is fragile. Living in the old house makes it easier to get to the hospital. Just let her have it. Does it really matter where you sleep?” For years, every time I yielded, Kelly’s illness would miraculously improve for a couple of days. Then, it would take a sudden turn for the worse, repeating the cycle until my next sacrifice. It was an endless, exhausting drain, squeezing every drop of life out of me. “Darcy!” Another voice cut through the air. Jared, my fiancé, stormed over and grabbed my wrist. “Have you lost your mind?” His grip was so tight my bones ached. “I am perfectly sane,” I replied, staring him down. “Look in a mirror! Have you forgotten what you look like?” He scoffed. “Who else could ever stand looking at a face like yours? If you go out on that stage, are you accepting an award, or are you just trying to humiliate both of us?” I froze. He called me ugly. He called me an embarrassment. But who was the reason my face was scarred in the first place? 2 Ten years ago, on a sweltering summer afternoon, Jared took me out to the countryside to paint. We stood on a crumbling, abandoned stone bridge. He was busy capturing the scenery, while I watched from his side. The bridge had been neglected for decades. Suddenly, the stone beneath his feet gave way, and he began to slip backward over the edge. Without thinking, I lunged forward and shoved him toward safety. He tumbled onto the grass, scraping nothing but his knees. I plunged into the jagged ravine below. A rusted iron rod tore through my left cheek, ripping the flesh open from my cheekbone down to my jaw. Blood soaked the earth. The surgeon had to use thirty-seven stitches to put my face back together. After that day, a hideous, jagged scar became a permanent fixture on my left cheek. Jared had knelt by my hospital bed, weeping, swearing he would love me forever, that he would never care about my scars, and that he owed me his life. But promises fade. Human hearts rot. I stared at him, unable to believe my ears. “Jared, you’re using my face to hurt me?” A flicker of guilt crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by his usual, patronizing coldness. “I’m only looking out for you. The internet will tear you to pieces. You’ll be crying before the night is over. Darcy, try to have some self-awareness.” I trembled, my eyes burning with unshed tears. I forced them back. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out the velvet box, popped it open, and looked at the cheap, pathetic ring inside. The diamond was so small and poorly cut it resembled a piece of broken glass. I laughed softly, tossing the box back into his chest. “Think whatever you want,” I said. “I don’t want to marry you anymore anyway. And tonight, I am going up on that stage to claim my own award.” I turned on my heel. Jared lunged, grabbing my arm and pulling me back so hard I nearly lost my balance. “What the hell is wrong with you? There’s a limit to how much of a tantrum you can throw!” I sneered at him. “Jared, tell me the truth. Did you actually buy this ring for me? Or did you buy a real one for Kelly and just toss me the free gift?” His face stiffened. The ring was indeed laughably tiny. Two days ago, I had found an identical box in Kelly’s vanity. But the diamond in her drawer was ten times the size of mine. At the time, I found it strange. But later, I saw an advertisement for that exact jewelry store. The Collector’s Edition. Limited to one piece worldwide. Value: Eight million dollars. Limited to one piece. That meant the eight-million-dollar ring was sitting in Kelly’s drawer, while the scrap of glass in my hand was likely nothing more than a complimentary token. Exposed, Jared’s expression turned defensive, but he quickly assumed his usual high-and-mighty posture. “What are you talking about? I just thought your features were… a bit delicate, too understated to carry such a massive stone. It would look out of place on you. I didn’t mean it as an insult. Delicate is a compliment. Stop acting up. If you really want a big one, I’ll buy you one later.” He dismissed it so easily. Of course he would. He was rich enough to throw money around without a care. Last year, when Kelly claimed she was having trouble breathing, he spent fifty million dollars to charter a private jet and fly in a world-renowned team of respiratory specialists. The doctors spent three days running tests only to conclude there was no physical issue, suggesting she simply needed rest. Fifty million dollars, gone in the blink of an eye. The year before that, Kelly wanted to see the Northern Lights. He leased a private jet and flew her halfway across the globe. When they returned, Kelly claimed she was exhausted and her condition had worsened, prompting him to spend tens of millions more on consultants. Again, they found nothing. Over the years, he had poured over a hundred million dollars into Kelly’s endless whims. But for me, he couldn’t even buy a proper engagement ring. Seeing my stubborn refusal, Kelly chimed in from behind, her voice dripping with artificial distress. “Darcy, please don’t be mad at Hank and Jared. It’s all my fault. I’ll tell them right now that I don’t feel well and won’t go on stage. Jared… my chest feels so tight… I think it’s happening again…” Frantic footsteps scrambled behind me. The steps leading to the main stage were right in front of me. I lifted my foot to take the first step— Suddenly, a rush of cold, viscous liquid poured over the back of my head. It drenched my collar, trickled down my neck, and soaked my entire back. The sharp, chemical stench of red paint filled my nose, clinging thick and heavy to my skin. I froze. Hank stood behind me, holding an empty paint bucket. “Hank?” My voice was choked, barely a whisper. “Now you don’t have time to go on stage, do you?” Hank’s eyes reflected my pale, paint-streaked face. “Just let Kelly take your place. The credit is still yours, and since Kelly is beautiful, everyone will praise Luna as a goddess. Even if you explain the truth later, the public will only admire you for being such a loving, supportive sister.” He patted my shoulder gently. “I’m older than you, Darcy. I’ve walked more roads than you’ve eaten grains of salt. Stop being so stubborn. Listen to your brother and go change your clothes.” 3 I couldn’t understand when my brother had become such a monster. When we were kids, he had climbed over a tall brick wall just to get me a candied apple, scraping his knee raw in the process. I remember crying and asking him, “Does it hurt, Hank?” He hadn’t shed a single tear. He just pressed the sweet treat into my hands and grinned. “Not at all. As long as Darcy is happy, it doesn’t hurt.” Later, to buy me a birthday present—a giant, expensive teddy bear—he worked grueling shifts at a construction site, hauling drywall until his hands were covered in bloody blisters. He never complained. Now, a stage manager wearing a headset ran over. Seeing me drenched in red paint, he stopped dead in his tracks. “Miss Darcy? What happened to you? Thank goodness we still have time. The awards ceremony has been delayed by an hour due to a technical glitch. Let me find you a spare dress to change into.” He turned to fetch a dress, but a heavy hand gripped his shoulder. Jared had walked up, his face dark with fury. “Who told you to interfere?” Jared grabbed the manager by the collar, pulling him so hard the veins on the man’s neck bulged. “Mr. Jared, I… I was just trying to help Miss Darcy. Her dress is ruined.” “Go to HR and collect your final paycheck. You’re fired,” Jared said, pointing toward the exit. “Now get out of my hotel.” This venue belonged to one of Jared’s luxury hotels. Here, his word was law. The stage manager realized there was no point in arguing. His lips trembled, but he slowly took off his vest, bowed his head, and walked away. Before he walked out the door, he turned back to look at me. There was no anger in his eyes—only a deep, sorrowful pity. I clenched my fists. “Jared, you fired an innocent man just to coddle Kelly? This is his livelihood! He has a family to support!” Before Jared could snap back, Kelly pressed a hand to her forehead, groaning softly. “Please, don’t fight because of me. I really don’t feel well. I don’t want to go up there anymore. Darcy, let me take you back to the dressing room so we can clean you up and rest.” As if possessed, I followed her into the private suite. “Take a seat, Darcy.” I remained standing. Kelly walked over to the vanity, picking up a bottle of expensive perfume and casually spritzing it. Her movements were smooth and graceful, showing none of the weakness she had feigned moments ago. “Darcy, stop fighting it. We’re only doing what’s best for you, aren’t we?” She stopped in front of me, reaching out a hand as if to touch my scarred cheek. I flinched away. “Kelly, they’ve favored you for years. Why do you have to steal the only thing I have left?” Her hand hovered in the air before slowly dropping back to her side. The sweet smile on her face flickered for a brief second, then returned, sharper this time. “Because I hate you.” Before the words fully left her mouth, she suddenly stumbled backward, throwing herself to the floor. With a dull thud, she crashed onto the carpet, clutching her knee and letting out a piercing, agonized shriek. Before I could even process what she was doing, the door to the dressing room was thrown open. 4 Jared and Hank rushed in. Seeing Kelly sprawled on the floor, their faces twisted in panic. “Kelly!” “What happened? Are you okay?” Kelly clung to Jared’s chest, her tears flowing freely. “It was my fault… I lost my balance and tripped… It has nothing to do with Darcy…” Despite her words, her fingers gripped Jared’s sleeve so hard her knuckles turned white, her body shivering like a leaf in a storm. Jared looked up at me, his eyes burning with venom. “Darcy, have you lost your mind? Your sister is incredibly sick, and you pushed her?” “I didn’t touch her.” “I saw it with my own eyes!” Hank roared. “You were standing right next to her! Who else could have pushed her?” One wiped her tears, while the other patted her back. It was a pathetic, rehearsed drama they had performed a thousand times. “Darcy,” Hank said, picking Kelly up in his arms, his eyes filled with pure disgust. “Heaven knew how ugly your soul was, and that’s why it gave you such a hideous face.” Jared supported Kelly’s other side, murmuring softly to soothe her. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. Everything is going to be fine. If you don’t get better, I won’t even think about marriage. I’ll put my wedding with Darcy on hold. Don’t worry about it.” Kelly offered a tearful, delicate smile, her voice soft as silk. “Don’t say that, Jared. Darcy will be heartbroken.” “Then you need to get well quickly,” Jared said, squeezing her hand. “I can’t have my wedding without my beautiful maid of honor.” Their voices drifted down the corridor. Under the harsh hallway lights, their three shadows stretched and merged into one, looking like a perfect, exclusive family. I stood alone in the empty dressing room, staring at my reflection. The sticky red paint was drying on my hair, my veil, and my dress. I looked like a stray dog drenched in blood. The scar on my left cheek stood out prominently, looking like a jagged, red centipede crawling across my skin. Just then, there was a soft knock on the door. A junior staff member walked in, carrying a fresh dress. “Miss Darcy… it’s time for you to go on stage. Let me take you to the washroom to clean up first.” I wiped my face and followed him. He led me down one corridor after another, turning into increasingly isolated, dimly lit wings of the building. The crowds vanished. I stopped walking. “Where are you taking me?” The staff member turned around, his face tight with guilt. “I’m so sorry, Miss Darcy. Mr. Jared ordered that this door remain locked until the ceremony is completely over.” He pushed open an unmarked wooden door, revealing a dusty utility closet packed with old sound equipment, discarded backdrops, and cardboard boxes. “Please wait here. It won’t be long.” With a heavy click, the door locked from the outside. 5 I sat on a dusty box, my knees pressed against my chest, staring blankly at a small monitor mounted on the wall. It was a backup screen connected to the security feed of the main stage. The lights dimmed, and the host took the microphone. Under the dazzling spotlight, to the sound of thunderous applause, Kelly walked out onto the stage. She wore my dress. She wore my veil. With effortless grace, she accepted the crystal trophy, bowing elegantly to the crowd. The moment she unveiled her face, a collective gasp echoed through the auditorium. “My God, she’s gorgeous!” “An absolute angel!” “No wonder she kept her face hidden. What a waste to keep that beauty in the dark!” “We love you, Luna!” They chanted my name, but they cheered for her face. I felt as though every drop of blood had been drained from my body. I slumped to the cold floor, entirely hollow. The ceremony wrapped up quickly. Wiping the tears from my face, a sudden realization struck me—I couldn’t just sit here and take this. I reached into my pocket. My phone was still there. I opened my social media app, logged into the official account that had millions of followers, and began to type: My name is Darcy. The person who just accepted the award was my sister, not me. I am currently locked in a backstage utility room, and this was all planned by— Before I could hit post, the door was thrown open. Hank charged in, snatching the phone straight out of my hands. He stared at the draft, his face turning an angry shade of purple. “What do you think you’re doing? Are you trying to ruin your sister?” “I am taking back what belongs to me!” I screamed, utterly hysterical. “Hank, you can’t just steal my life and hand it to her!” “I never said you couldn’t clarify things later!” Hank bellowed back. “But you have to wait! If you post this now, the entire world will tear her apart! She can’t handle that kind of stress! She’ll die, Darcy! How can you be so heartless to your own sick sister?” “What about me?” my voice cracked. “I’m locked in a closet like trash! Does anyone care about me?” Hank scoffed. “Can’t you just wait a little while? You’ve waited years, what’s a few more weeks?” “I’m not waiting another second,” I said coldly. He let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Fine.” “If you insist on posting this, Jared and I will both go public and call you a liar and an impostor. Who do you think the world will believe?” My vision blurred, the room spinning around me. My own brother was willing to commit perjury just to destroy my reputation and protect her lie. Jared stepped into the room behind him, looking thoroughly annoyed. He took the trophy from Kelly, who had slipped in behind them, and tossed it carelessly at my feet like a piece of garbage. “Isn’t this what you wanted anyway? Now you have it. What more do you want?” “If you want to throw a fit, do it here. We’re going out to celebrate.” The door slammed shut, and the utility room plunged back into darkness. I don’t know how much time passed before an elderly cleaning lady opened the door with a master key to clear out some trash. Seeing me sitting on the floor, she gasped in horror. “Oh, child! What on earth happened to you?” My eyelashes fluttered, heavy with dried paint. “Could I borrow your phone, please?” Without hesitation, she handed it over. I opened a travel app and booked the very next flight to Europe. The moment the booking was confirmed, a single tear fell onto the screen, smudging the digital ticket. I thanked her, using the wall to pull myself up. “Wait, dear.” The cleaning lady stopped near the corner, bending down to pick up the crystal trophy. She wiped the dust off with her rag and looked up. “Is this yours? Don’t leave it behind.” My name was engraved on the base. The gold letters glinted under the dim hallway light. I stared at it. “I don’t want it anymore.”

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1 After clocking out, I rushed to the theater to buy three tickets. Joanna and Zack didn’t show up until two minutes before the trailers started. As usual, Joanna Venmoed me fifteen dollars. “That’s for Zack’s ticket. I just sent it over.” I froze, staring at the long list of transactions in our chat history. A knot tightened in my stomach. When Zack was sick, Joanna bought his medicine. When I grabbed takeout for him, Joanna covered his share. My throat tightened, and I opened my mouth to ask her why she was always paying my best friend’s way. Before I could speak, Zack handed me a cold brew and held up his phone, showing his Venmo QR code. “Hey Gabe, that’ll be six bucks.” I hesitated, looking at Joanna, but she kept her eyes glued to her screen, acting completely oblivious. When my silence dragged on, Zack lowered his hand, looking a bit self-conscious. Joanna instantly snapped her gaze to me, her forehead creased in irritation. “Just pay him, Gabe. Are you seriously going to pinch pennies over a coffee?” My head throbbed. I let out a dry, humorless laugh. She wasn’t oblivious at all. I was simply never on her radar. I tapped Zack’s profile and sent the money. Zack rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Honestly, Gabe, you didn’t have to. It was on me.” Before his words even registered, Joanna snatched his phone and swiped to accept the transfer. It was as if she was terrified the money would slip back into my pocket if she waited another second. “Why wouldn’t he pay? Didn’t you blow through your savings on stocks last week? Every little bit helps.” She knew the intimate details of his finances, understanding his life better than I did, and we had been friends for six years. The theater lights were dimming, and the screen flickered to life. I parted my dry lips to tell them we should get inside, but Joanna’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Oh, you changed your profile picture! Is that the new anime character from that Japanese show?” Zack grinned, his face lighting up. “You actually watched it?” The two of them immediately launched into an animated conversation. I stood there, my hand half-raised, completely ignored. It wasn’t the first time. Zack had barely been in our lives for six months, yet they shared an effortless chemistry that made them look like a perfect match. They always had something new to talk about. Meanwhile, I could talk until my throat went dry, and they would barely spare me a glance. I let my hand drop, turned around, and walked through the ticket gate alone. I sat in the dark theater for nearly twenty minutes before they finally slipped in, shoulder-to-shoulder. I had bought three seats in the middle of a row, sitting right in the center myself. Zack glanced toward me, whispered something in Joanna’s ear, and then pulled her toward an empty row near the front. “There are open seats down here with a better view. We’re just going to sit here,” Joanna texted me. She turned off her phone immediately, not even waiting for a reply. Soon, her quiet giggles drifted back to me. A man in the row ahead of them turned around, his voice dripping with annoyance. “Hey mate, can you tell your girlfriend to pipe down? We can barely hear the movie.” Zack let out a soft laugh. Even though I was sitting right behind them, he didn’t correct the man. “Sorry about that. I’ll get her to quiet down.” The soft curve of Joanna’s smile was clear as day, even from the shadows of the back row. My phone remained silent. No explanation, no apology. I sat through the next hour in a daze. When the lights came up, I walked out of the theater with a hollow mind. Joanna jogged to catch up with me, chatting as if nothing had happened. “Why did the main character punch that older guy?” “I don’t know.” My flat, three-word response caught her off guard. Her brows knitted, her tone shifting to annoyance. “Why are you being like this? Wasn’t this the movie you wanted to see?” “No, it wasn’t.” Yesterday, Zack and I had both pitched movies. As she had done a thousand times before, Joanna chose his. An uncomfortable silence settled over us. Joanna had changed, so gradually that she probably hadn’t even noticed. We were childhood sweethearts. We had gone to the same schools from elementary through high school. She had always been my shadow, supporting every decision I made. She had even given up a spot at a top-tier university just to follow me to Chicago State. Our friends used to joke that Joanna’s world revolved entirely around Gabe. But all of that vanished the moment Zack arrived. “It’s not like you actually follow the plot anyway, so what difference does it make?” Joanna said, her voice dripping with dismissiveness. Zack let out a sudden chuckle. “Remember that time Gabe fell asleep in the theater? We walked all the way out to the parking lot before realizing he was still inside sleeping. He didn’t even notice his phone and wallet had been swiped.” “Exactly! See, he doesn’t even like movies. Even if we picked his choice, he’d just sleep through it.” Listening to them casually tear down my dignity for a laugh made my blood run cold. That night, I had worked a thirteen-hour shift, finishing at midnight, but Zack had insisted I tag along. Exhaustion had dragged me under the moment the seat reclined. When I finally woke up, Joanna and Zack were gone. My phone was missing, and I was left stranded on a dark street corner at three in the morning. I had been furious back then, begging them never to bring it up again. Yet, they kept parading it like a cheap party trick. It felt as though my only purpose in their lives was to serve as their punchline. Joanna finally noticed the tension in my posture. She frowned, looking at me. “Why are you getting mad again? You seriously can’t take a joke.” Zack shot her a warning glance, his voice soft. “Alright, that’s enough. Gabe’s already having a rough night.” He paused, turning to me with an apologetic smile. “My bad, man. How about we go grab some of that hot pot you love?” “No way,” Joanna interjected before I could even open my mouth. “You’ve been dying to try that French bistro, and it took weeks to get a reservation.” “But Gabe…” “He’ll eat anything, don’t worry about him. You think everyone is as picky as you? You’re practically skin and bones.” Zack smirked. “I’m not that light.” “Oh, really?” Joanna challenged. Zack’s dark eyes locked onto hers, a slow, unreadable smile spreading across his face. “Want to bet? I could lift you with one hand.” “I doubt it.” Before she could react, Zack stepped close. Joanna took a step back, her cheeks flushing crimson. She glanced at me, her voice suddenly hesitant. “Gabe might mind.” But before the words fully left her mouth, she let out a squeal as Zack swept her off her feet, hoisting her up onto his shoulders. He grinned, holding her thighs to keep her skirt from riding up. “How about now? Do you yield?” Passersby paused, smiling at the spontaneous display of affection. A few teenagers even pulled out their phones to snap a photo. Joanna blushed, swatting at his shoulder. “You are so annoying!” she squealed as he finally set her down. She covered her face and ran ahead, laughing. Zack didn’t hesitate to chase after her, pulling at her jacket as they bantered like a couple in the middle of a lovers’ spat. I stood frozen on the sidewalk, the color draining from my face. Through the entire display, Joanna hadn’t looked back once. I was a ghost to them. My chest ached, but a strange, hollow sense of clarity washed over me. I turned around, raised my hand, and hailed a cab. Ten minutes later, my phone vibrated. It was Joanna. “Where did you go? We can’t find you.” “I went home.” There was a brief silence on the other end, followed by muffled whispering. Finally, Joanna let out a heavy sigh. “What is your problem now? Don’t be so old-fashioned, Gabe. He’s your best friend. Are you seriously jealous of him?” Zack’s voice drifted through the speaker, chuckling. “Come on, Gabe, you know I’m not interested in Joanna. With that temper of hers, you’re the only guy on earth who could survive her.” “Hey! Who has a temper?” “You heard me!” The two of them drifted back into their private world, bickering over the line. I had tried so many times to explain how their behavior made me feel, only to be met with Joanna’s dismissive, “You’re just being paranoid.” Eventually, I had simply stopped talking. Now, I didn’t even have the energy to argue. I hung up. Joanna didn’t call back. As the cab neared my apartment, thunder rattled the windows, followed by a sudden downpour. I ran through the rain to my building, my clothes soaked. Back in my apartment, I stripped off my wet shirt and turned on the hot water in the bathroom. While waiting for the tub to fill, I opened my phone. Zack had just posted on social media. In the photo, Joanna stood in a drenched white dress that clung to her silhouette, a heavy denim jacket draped over her shoulders. It was Zack’s jacket. Joanna was a germaphobe who refused to touch anyone else’s clothing, yet there she was, wrapped in his coat. Zack’s caption read: [Drenched like drowned rats today!] A mutual friend had commented: [Get inside before you catch a cold!] Zack had replied: [Already checked into a hotel, we’re good!] The bathwater overflowed, splashing against the tiles with a steady, heavy rhythm. I shivered, staring at the screen. Then, I turned off the tap, stepped into the tub, and let the warmth sink into my skin. Joanna didn’t come home that night. And for the first time in my life, I didn’t ask where she was. I actually slept incredibly well. The next morning, the front door clicked open. “Gabe! We brought breakfast. Coffee and bagels!” Joanna walked into the living room, heading toward me with a soft expression, as if she wanted to say something. I stood up, stepping past her to go to the bathroom. Joanna froze, but then she turned to Zack, a look of triumph on her face. “See? I told you. He’s overthinking things again. You owe me.” Zack smirked, pocketing his hands. “So, I get to keep it?” “A bet’s a bet.” Zack walked straight past me into the study and picked up the vintage camera sitting on the shelf. It was a gift from my father for my eighteenth birthday. A sharp ache throbbed behind my eyes. “What are you doing?” Zack paused, his hand hovering over the leather strap, his voice losing its confidence. “Joanna lost the bet, so the camera is mine now. Unless you mind, Gabe? If it makes you uncomfortable, I can put it back.” “Then put it back,” I said. I reached out to take it, but before my fingers could touch the leather, Joanna grabbed my wrist. “A bet is a bet, Gabe. Don’t be a sore loser.” “What do your stupid bets have to do with my things?” My voice was flat, devoid of the warmth she was used to. Joanna’s jaw tightened, an edge of irritation creeping into her eyes. “You gave that camera to me. That means I can do whatever I want with it.” The patience I had held onto for twenty-odd years evaporated. I yanked my hand back, my voice turning icy. “I gave it to you on the condition that you would take care of it! Do you even remember what you promised me?” The vintage camera was a rare Japanese import my father had bought on a business trip decades ago. It was long out of print. Joanna had loved its aesthetic, so I had parted with it to make her happy. It held my childhood, my struggles, and the memories of my late parents. Back then, her eyes had welling with tears as she cradled it. “Gabe, let me be the one to document our lives from now on. I promise to give you a perfect record of our future.” Now, she had traded it away like a cheap casino chip. Joanna rolled her eyes, letting out a sharp scoff. “Are you seriously throwing a tantrum just because I stayed out last night? It was pouring, Gabe. How was I supposed to drive home? We got two separate rooms at the hotel. Stop letting your imagination run wild. Acting jealous over nothing makes you look pathetic.” Her words cut through the room like a blade, leaving a suffocating silence in their wake. I felt a sudden, bizarre sense of detachment. I remembered when we were eighteen on a high school trip. The teacher had assigned Joanna to fetch water with a boy who had an obvious crush on her. Joanna had immediately swapped tasks with another classmate, taking on double the physical labor just to avoid making me uncomfortable. When she had walked back to my side, she had looked at me with absolute sincerity. “I don’t want you to doubt me, Gabe. Not even for a second.” It wasn’t that Joanna didn’t understand boundaries. She simply didn’t care about my feelings anymore. I let out a quiet sigh. There was no anger left in me, no desire to scream. I just looked at her. “Joanna, let’s break up.” She froze, her eyes widening in utter disbelief. But within seconds, her confident, dismissive smile returned, as if she were looking at a stubborn child. “Don’t be ridiculous, Gabe.” Zack stepped in, placing a friendly hand on my shoulder. “Come on, man, you’re just emotional right now. Once you cool down, you’ll realize you’re just making a mountain out of a molehill.” He spoke with the smooth tone of a supportive brother, yet every word subtly painted me as the unstable, unreasonable villain of the story. I had trusted him for years, and this was the result. The arguments, the tension, the constant feeling of being the third wheel in my own relationship, it all came back to him. I shrugged his hand off my shoulder. “Zack, we are no longer friends.” Zack’s eyes welled with sudden tears, and he stood there looking entirely helpless. Joanna lost her temper completely. She lunged forward, her voice rising to a screech. “Why are you being so selfish? Do you have to hurt everyone who cares about you to feel good? What did Zack ever do to you? You’re like a wild dog, biting anyone who gets close!” The screeching in my ears sounded like static. When I broke up with her, she had laughed it off. But the moment I cut ties with Zack, she defended him with her life. The front door slammed shut, and the apartment fell silent. They had walked out together, a united front, leaving me behind without a single text. I knew what they were doing. They were trying to freeze me out, waiting for me to crawl back and apologize like I always did. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was my mother. “Gabe, have you made up your mind yet? Now that you’ve passed the civil service exam back home, your father and I really think you should take the job. It’s a stable career for life. You can talk it over with Joanna. There’s no need for both of you to wear yourselves out in the city.” It was the sixth time this month she had called to persuade me, her tone carrying little hope. But this time, I gave her a different answer. “Mom, I’m coming home.” “Really?” My father’s excited voice echoed from the background. “That’s wonderful! Pack your things, son. You start next week!”

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Late at night, Mom was driving me back to our old family home upstate. Just as we pulled out of the highway rest area, I noticed a black sedan start its engine at the exact same moment. All the way down the road, it followed our every move. It took the same turns, paused when we paused, and blinked its turn signals in perfect unison with ours. It hung back, keeping a steady fifty yards behind us. I was absolutely certain of it. We were being stalked. My mind raced, frantically trying to figure out how to shake them or call for help. But I had no idea that the truth was infinitely more terrifying than a simple stalker. 1 Once we exited the interstate, Mom began to sense it too. She glanced nervously at the rearview mirror, her knuckles whitening on the wheel. “That black Volkswagen is still behind us, isn’t it?” I had told her earlier on the highway that I thought a car was tailing us. Traffic had been light, but with multiple lanes and occasional passing cars, the tail wasn’t completely obvious. It was Mom’s first time driving on the interstate at night, and her nerves were already stretched to their limit. When I first brought it up, she laughed it off, telling me I was letting my imagination get the best of her. Still, she didn’t dare take her eyes off the road to look back. Instead, she silently pushed the speedometer up to ninety, changing lanes three times. But now, off the interstate, the roads were emptying fast, and the black car was still right there. There were only two routes back to our house, and Mom had deliberately taken the one that added five minutes to the drive. Nobody heading in the same direction would make that choice. Yet, the black car followed. We were on a narrow county road now, bordered by thick woods. The streetlights were few and far between. It was just the two of us, a white sedan and a black sedan, our headlights cutting harsh, ghostly beams through the dark. Mom was visibly panicking now. As soon as I got into college, she had paid for my driving lessons. I didn’t have my license yet, and I’d never driven alone, but I had finished my road training and knew the basics. This county road was a narrow two-lane strip. The yellow divider line was dashed, meaning passing was allowed. Driving in the dead of night is exhausting, especially after a high-speed sprint on the highway. I tried to soothe Mom’s rising panic. “Mom, take a breath. Maybe they just live in our town and took the same detour. Let’s slow down. Force them to pass us.” Mom nodded quickly, eager for a solution. “Right. Okay. Good idea.” She tapped the brakes, dropping our speed to twenty-five miles per hour. The car lurched with a heavy, sudden deceleration. Coming straight off the highway, the drop in speed made it feel like we were crawling at a snail’s pace. Mom was too tense, and she had hit the brakes a bit too hard. The gap between us and the black Volkswagen shrank instantly, so fast I thought they were going to rear-end us. I silently swore that the moment I got my license, I would never let her drive again. My heart hammered against my ribs as I stared at the passenger side mirror. But the driver of the black car had lightning-fast reflexes. They braked just as hard, maintaining that exact fifty-yard cushion. They had absolutely no intention of passing. Mom frowned, trying to stay steady this time as she eased her foot further off the gas. Twenty miles per hour. Then fifteen. The black car was like a phantom, slowing in perfect synchronization. The distance between us remained as precise as if it were controlled by a computer. Cold dread washed over both of us. There was no doubt about it now. They were hunting us. 2 Silence filled the cabin, heavy and suffocating. Once we hit the county road, the late-night radio station began to break up, filling the car with a harsh, grating static. Mom turned the radio off, leaving only the low, metallic hum of the engine beneath our feet. The GPS screen showed we were still thirty miles from home. Mom set her jaw, not saying a word, but I watched the speedometer climb again. Thirty. Forty. Fifty. Sixty. On a winding, unlit backroad, this was getting dangerous. I pulled up the navigation map, scanning the route ahead to see if there were any well-lit residential areas or main roads. Or a police station. If there was a station nearby, we would drive straight into the parking lot. But there was nothing. The nearest sheriff’s office was in the opposite direction, nearly forty miles away. I took a deep breath, opened my phone, and texted Dad. I told him what was happening and asked him to drive out in his truck to meet us. Then, I shared my live location. If Dad was with us, there was no way this creep would keep following. Thankfully, Dad replied instantly. He had been working late and couldn’t pick me up himself, which was why Mom had gone. He was too worried to sleep. I told Mom that Dad was on his way. The tight lines around her mouth softened slightly. I let out a long breath, feeling a wave of relief. If Dad was driving toward us, the distance to safety was cut in half. I reached out to pat Mom’s shoulder, only to find her muscles as rigid as stone. Thinking back, we had been targeted at the last highway rest stop. Our tank had been nearly empty, so we pulled in to refuel and grab a bite. While Mom was in the restroom, I sat at a booth, eating a burger and waiting for her. That was when I felt a heavy, unsettling gaze on me. It was a stranger, a tall, dark-skinned man who looked to be in his early twenties. Even though it was midnight, he wore a dark baseball cap pulled low, casting a thick shadow over his face and hiding his eyes. The stare was intense, making my skin itch with discomfort. I looked down, self-consciously checking my clothes, feeling incredibly exposed. When I finally saw Mom walking toward me in the distance, I summoned the courage to look back up, ready to glare at the creep. But he was gone. We finished our food and walked back to the car. Mom’s car was a white crossover, decorated with cute steering wheel covers and dashboard trinkets. It was obviously a woman’s car. I had read online that predators specifically target female drivers. Normally, I loved those little personal touches, but in that moment, I wanted to rip them all off and throw them out the window. Mom started the engine. At the exact same second, the headlights of a black Volkswagen parked nearby flickered to life. An icy knot twisted in my stomach. I felt a terrible, instinctual certainty that the car was waiting for us. I glanced through their windshield, but I couldn’t see the driver’s face. The man kept his head down, wearing a dark baseball cap. The exact same cap as the man from the fast-food joint. The car heater was running, but goosebumps erupted across my arms. As Mom pulled out of the parking lot, the black car rolled out of its spot and slotted in behind us. And it had stayed there ever since. Looking at the dashboard, I saw Mom was holding a steady sixty-five, and she was still accelerating. No, this was too fast. My pulse raced in sync with the roaring engine. The road was flanked by thick stands of pine trees. If a deer or a person jumped out, any swerve would flip us into a ditch. My palms were slick with sweat. But I didn’t tell her to slow down. The terror of being hunted had taken over, and I wanted what she wanted. Only twenty-five miles left. We had to keep moving, as fast as we could. Once we reached Dad, we would be safe. But as Mom accelerated, the black car didn’t just keep pace. It began to flash its high beams aggressively. 3 At first, it was just two quick flashes. When Mom didn’t react, the high beams began to strobe relentlessly. The sudden, blinding glare reflected off our mirrors, searing Mom’s eyes. She threw up a hand to shield her face, and the car veered slightly. Still, she didn’t dare slow down. The flashes became faster, almost frantic. The black car surged forward, closing the gap until it was practically riding our bumper. At its closest point, the glare illuminated the driver’s profile, his jaw clenched, muscles tense under his baseball cap. He was too close. Panicking, Mom jerked the steering wheel to the left, crossing into the oncoming lane and slowing down, desperate to let him pass. But we were driving against traffic now. It was suicide. Mom knew how dangerous it was, her face slick with sweat that dripped down her neck. She tried to swing back into our lane, but the black car refused to give her space. It stayed parallel, matching her speed, flashing its lights, trapping us in the wrong lane. We were trapped on the wrong side of a blind, two-lane road. Mom’s voice shook violently. “Addie, call the police! Now!” “He’s crazy! He’s out of his mind!” I had wanted to call earlier, but before this, the car had just been driving behind us. I didn’t think the dispatcher would take a tailgating car seriously. But this was different. He was forcing us to drive head-on into potential traffic. If another car came over a hill, we would collide at highway speeds. On this narrow road, there was nowhere to dodge. He had to know this. This wasn’t just harassment. It was murder. Why did he want to kill us? What did we do to him? Sweat poured down my forehead. I forced myself to take a ragged breath, trying to steady my trembling hands as I grabbed my phone. Just then, a faint, distant blare of a horn echoed through the trees. But there were no headlights ahead. What was that? In a fraction of a second, I realized the danger. The road ahead dipped sharply into a blind intersection at the bottom of a hill. The horn was a warning from a driver coming from the side road, letting others know they were pulling out. I looked to my right. The black car was right beside us now. The driver had rolled down his window, wildly waving his arm, gesturing at us. What was his problem? Suddenly, the black car slammed on its brakes. It dropped back, disappearing from my side window instantly. I screamed at the top of my lungs, “Mom! There’s a car! Get over!” A pair of massive high beams burst over the crest of the hill, and the silhouette of a heavy pickup truck materialized right in front of us. I squeezed my eyes shut, shielding my face, bracing for the impact. The car lurched violently, tossing us side to side like a toy boat in a storm. In that split second, I heard my dad’s voice screaming in my head, crying over our mangled bodies in a burning wreck. The sound of his grief was so low, so raw, and so real that it felt like he was standing right next to my ear. But the crash never came. Suddenly, the violent swaying stopped, replaced by the smooth, steady motion of the road. I opened my eyes. The blinding high beams of the truck were gone. Beside me, Mom was staring wide-eyed at the road, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. We were back in our lane. In the moment I screamed, Mom had realized there was a blind intersection at the bottom of the dip. A truck had been turning onto the road. Because of the terrible visibility and the trees, the driver had honked to warn anyone coming. It was the move of an experienced local driver. And he had no idea that his horn had just saved our lives. A sob tore from my throat, and tears streamed down my face. Mom’s hand shook as she reached over to touch my hair, her voice trembling. “It’s okay, Addie. It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you. I’m going to protect you.” Her hand was ice-cold, but her shirt was completely soaked with sweat. I couldn’t begin to comprehend the sheer terror she must have felt in the driver’s seat, staring down a head-on collision. If she hadn’t swerved back in time, we would be dead. My gaze drifted to the rearview mirror, filled with a sudden surge of anger. Through the pitch-black night, a pair of headlights reappeared. The black car accelerated, quietly resuming its position behind us. The flashing had stopped. The driver’s window was still down, and his arm was extended, waving at us, his cap poking out slightly. But I still couldn’t see his face. What did he want from us? Anger and the lingering adrenaline of near-death mixed into a toxic cocktail. The GPS showed we were twenty-five miles from home. Crying, I picked up the phone that had slipped into my lap and dialed 911. We had a dashcam. Once we got to safety, I was going to make sure this lunatic ended up behind bars. The call connected on the second ring. Relief washed over me. I opened my mouth to speak. Suddenly, a freezing chill touched my neck. Out of the darkness of the backseat, a hand shot forward, clamping down hard over my mouth. A cold, razor-sharp blade pressed firmly against my carotid artery. A wet, raspy voice whispered directly into my ear, sounding like it had crawled straight out of a grave. “Shh. Don’t make a sound.”

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1 At the overlook, I shifted angles repeatedly, chasing the perfect light. Framing Dana in my lens, I called out three times. She did not seem to hear me, her eyes fixed elsewhere. It was only when Owen shouted for her to smile that she lit up, beaming at him with a warmth I had not seen in months. A passing couple glimpsed Owen’s screen and laughed. Man, your girl must really adore you. Look at how her eyes light up. Owen’s ears flushed crimson. Dana cleared her throat, shifting her weight. I looked down at my DSLR. The viewfinder captured only a blurred side profile, making me look like a paparazzo hiding in the bushes. Since childhood, they had overlooked me, assuming I would follow their lead. In high school, they planned every road trip, taking for granted I would tag along. Later, they chose medicine and enrolled me in nursing without asking. Now they were celebrated as the ER’s Dream Team, while I worked myself to the bone just to keep up. I looked up. They were already walking shoulder to shoulder toward the next stop, certain I was behind them. But this time, I turned and walked the other way. After a lifetime of trailing behind them like a shadow, even a shadow grows tired of following. It took Dana three hours to realize I was gone. The text she sent was cold and demanding. [Where did you run off to? Go grab us some iced lattes from the entrance. Did you seriously get lost again?] I couldn’t even remember how many times she only reached out because she needed something from me. I didn’t reply. I just locked my screen and kept organizing the medical supplies. Our head nurse, Martha, walked back from her rounds and stared at me in confusion. “Wait, Gavin? Didn’t you save up all your PTO to go on that trip with them? Why are you back so early?” My hands froze on the medicine vials. Dana and Owen only had to pull off a single successful emergency surgery to get rewarded with a week-long paid vacation. Meanwhile, I had to hoard every precious hour of my annual leave just to tag along. Yet, the trip I had looked forward to for months had only made me feel like an invisible ghost. Another three hours passed. Owen sauntered up to the nurses’ station clutching a massive plush bear. He tapped my shoulder, grinning. “Hey man! Dana and I had to fake-hug for a whole thirty minutes to win this in a couples’ contest. My arms are literally dead, but hey, anything to cheer up my best bud!” Earlier that day, I had suggested we enter that same contest, but Dana had dismissed me with a cold, “Don’t be childish.” So I dropped it. But the moment Owen wanted it, she was more than willing to pretend to be his partner. We were the ones in a relationship, yet my chest felt so tight I could barely breathe. Seeing that I wasn’t reaching for it, Dana shoved the plush toy into my arms, her face darkening. “You walked off without a word earlier, and Owen is still thinking about you. Who are you throwing a tantrum for?” Her sharp tone drew disapproving glares from the surrounding staff. Owen quickly stepped in to play the peacemaker, a role he knew all too well. “Come on, Dana, you know you sound terrible when you say stuff like that,” he said, turning back to me with an apologetic smile. “Gavin, you aren’t still sore about the photo thing, are you? Tell you what, I’ve got tons of hilarious, ugly photos of her on my phone. Let me show you!” He unlocked his screen, showing off his gallery like a playful act of revenge. The woman who was always so rigid and professional in front of me was pulling goofy faces and laughing hysterically in his photos. Meanwhile, my own camera roll was filled with over a thousand candid photos, each capturing only a fraction of her face. Dana playfully wrapped her arm around his neck, teasingly squeezing his shoulders. “I told you never to show anyone those! You’re dead, Owen!” “Alright, alright! I give up, man!” I stood there like an idiot, feeling entirely like the “anyone” she referred to. I turned away, walked straight up to the top floor, and knocked on the medical director’s door. “Director Harrison, I’ve decided to accept the overseas fellowship.” The director’s face lit up with excitement, though a hint of worry quickly followed. “Gavin, I’m thrilled to hear that. But have you discussed this with your supervising physician?” My supervising physician was Dana. When we first started at the hospital, both Owen and I were interns under her supervision. But Owen was the only one she fast-tracked for a permanent position. During my residency, I made absolutely zero mistakes and received three commendations, but she shrugged it off as just doing your job. I pulled consecutive double shifts to catch up on patient charts, and she called it the slow bird trying to catch the worm. But when Owen managed to stabilize a single seizure patient on his own, she flooded the director’s office with recommendation letters, securing him a spot in the trauma unit. Over time, I realized that no matter how hard I ran to catch up, the distance between us only widened. I shook my head, a sense of relief washing over me. “No need to discuss it with her. This is my decision.” When I left the hospital that night, a torrential downpour was hammering the streets. Dana popped open her umbrella, naturally pulling Owen close under her arm. I stood behind them, having forgotten my own umbrella, completely drenched. She blinked, looking back at me. “I’ll drop Owen off at the car first, then come back for you.” Before I could even answer, she was already running into the storm, shielding Owen. The wind was biting, and I sneezed repeatedly, shivering under the awning. An hour dragged by. Freezing and exhausted, I dialed her number. It took twenty minutes of continuous ringing before she finally picked up. In the background, the sounds of a video game roared. Dana’s voice was laced with the annoyance of someone who had been interrupted. “Oh, sorry. I totally forgot. Honestly, Gavin, you’re so dense sometimes. If I didn’t show up, you should’ve just hailed a cab instead of standing there like a statue. Fine, I’ll call an Uber for you.” Right then, Owen’s voice cut through the line, whining, “Cover me, cover me! We’re gonna lose!” The call was cut off without another word. I stood at the entrance, cold rain mixing with the tears on my face. I walked nearly two miles through the storm before I finally managed to flag down a taxi. The driver handed me a napkin, shaking his head. “Tough night, huh? There’ve been a couple of muggings around this area lately. You shouldn’t be wandering out here alone in this weather. Didn’t you have anyone to pick you up?” Hearing his words, a sudden chill ran down my spine. There had indeed been a string of violent robberies near the hospital. Dana had even ordered pepper spray and tactical alarms online, stuffing them into Owen’s backpack. She hadn’t bought a single thing for me. When I had asked her about it back then, she had leaned into my chest, murmuring, “Why would you need that when you have a girlfriend to walk you to your car every day?” Now, I had neither the protection nor the girl. I pushed open the front door of our apartment to find Dana blow-drying Owen’s hair. He was wearing my pajama set, the matching couple’s set I had bought. Hearing the door, Dana turned off the dryer, her expression instantly souring. “You’re finally back. Owen and I were worried sick. We were just about to go out and look for you.” The two of them were showered, warm, and wearing matching loungewear. They didn’t look like they had any intention of stepping foot outside. My eyes stung, and the bitterness I had bottled up finally boiled over. “Did it ever cross your mind that I could have been in danger out there? I’m your boyfriend, Dana, not him!” Dana froze. Owen’s face flushed bright red. He pushed past her, grabbing his coat and rushing out the door. Dana muttered a curse and made to follow him, but then stopped, turning back to me with a glare. “Did you take the wrong meds today? You were the one being stupid, and now you’re taking your attitude out on us? Tomorrow, Owen and I have a shift. There’s a surgery scheduled, and you’re going to assist. Consider it your way of making up for this tantrum.” She spun around and ran out to chase after Owen. I stood in the hallway, soaked to the bone, mud dripping from my jeans onto the hardwood floor. I was always the one left waiting for orders, never even given the chance to say no. The next morning, I woke up with my head spinning. I checked my temperature, and it was nearly 104 degrees. My vision swam, and I could barely lift my eyelids. I called Dana and Owen over ten times, but neither of them picked up. Desperate, I dialed the emergency line. Hearing Dana’s voice on the dispatch receiver, I felt like I was grabbing onto a lifeline. “Dana, please, I have a really high fever.” “Gavin? Why are you calling this line?” her voice snapped. “You’re clogging up the emergency line just because you’re sick? You’re a medical professional, Gavin. Act like one instead of playing games.” Suddenly, Owen’s voice drifted through the receiver, sounding on the verge of tears. “My mom just slipped and threw her back out! She can’t move at all! Dana, please, I called an ambulance but you need to help me.” His frantic cries drowned out my weak plea. The call was cut off. Eventually, a colleague noticed I hadn’t showed up for my shift and sent an EMT team to my apartment. When I finally opened my eyes, the attending physician on duty sighed heavily. “High-grade fever caused some mild neurological strain. You went to nursing school, Gavin. You know how dangerous that is.” I knew. And as a chief resident, Dana should have known better than anyone. It was past midnight when Dana finally realized I had been admitted. She walked in straight from her rounds, her white lab coat still on, and picked up the chart at the foot of my bed. “The fever is down, but we should run another IV to be safe.” Her hand brushed against my forehead, her touch unusually gentle, but I only stared at her with cold eyes. “I told you I was burning up. Why didn’t you help me?” Her hand paused, her brows knitting together. “Gavin, an elderly woman is fragile. What if she had fractured her hip? As medical staff, you should know how to prioritize.” But her favorite motto had always been that no patient’s life was worth more than another’s. Owen walked in then, his face a mask of guilt. “Gavin, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. My mom’s accident was so poorly timed, otherwise we wouldn’t have tied up the emergency dispatch.” Dana glanced at me coldly before turning to soothe him. “Accidents happen, Owen. Don’t beat yourself up. Gavin has always been dramatic about minor things anyway.” My voice fell flat and cold. “The hospital has more than one ambulance, Dana.” The faint smile on her face vanished, replaced by irritation. “But you’re fine now, aren’t you? Owen was panicking, and I couldn’t focus. Besides, I knew you’ve always been independent enough to take care of yourself.” Perhaps the squeaky wheel always got the grease. Or perhaps I was simply never her priority. But this time, I had almost died. This wasn’t just another petty snub. The bitter lump in my throat tasted like ash. I swallowed it down and said quietly, “Dana, let’s break up.” I turned away from her and closed my eyes. Owen tugged at my blanket from behind, his voice cracking. “Gavin, please. I’m so sorry. Blame me, but don’t do this.” Behind him, Dana let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Is this your first day knowing him, Owen? He probably saw some video online about playing hard to get. He’s never had a spine before. Suddenly he’s acting out like he’s someone else.” The two of them continued to talk about my passive nature, completely ignoring the flight confirmation notification that had just popped up on my phone screen. My final shift before leaving was assisting the two of them in the operating room. A male patient had been brought in after a head-on collision, and his vitals were highly unstable. During the procedure, I read out the vitals clearly. “Heart rate 120. Preparing beta-blockers.” Yet, Owen administered a dosage meant for a heart rate of 125. The monitor immediately erupted into a shrill alarm. Dana, acting as the lead surgeon, barked, “Get out! Both of you! Call Dr. Bennett to scrub in!” After a grueling three-hour rescue, the patient was stabilized. Dana walked out of the OR, ripping off her mask, her face livid. “What the hell was that? How do you make a rookie mistake like that?” Owen’s eyes instantly welled with tears. “I swear I heard 125. I’m sorry, I must have misheard.” Dana’s accusatory glare locked onto me. My chest tightened, and I quickly defended myself. “Everyone in that room heard me. I said 120.” Dana sighed, her impatience clear. “A mistake was made, Gavin, and someone has to take responsibility.” Without another word, she marked a giant UNSATISFACTORY on my annual performance review. The year-end excellence award wasn’t just a title; it came with a triple bonus. I had worked harder than anyone, practically living at the hospital and pulling consecutive 24-hour shifts to earn it. My eyes stung, my voice rasping. “The rest of the board already voted to approve my nomination.” Dana only offered a cold shrug. “Every file requires a comprehensive evaluation.” Behind her, a smug smirk played on Owen’s lips. Five years of sleepless nights and absolute dedication evaporated in a single second. Five hours remained until my flight. I gathered my belongings from the nurses’ station and packed them into a cardboard box. The other nurses steered clear of me, treating me like a pariah. Dana walked up, flanked by a group of interns. “I won’t be too harsh on you this time. I’ll have you reassigned to the triage desk. You have the patience for it anyway. Write a five-thousand-word reflection, apologize to the patient’s family, and we’ll put this behind us.” She looked down at me, waiting for me to bow my head, apologize, and beg for forgiveness like I always did. But I didn’t say a word. I picked up my heavy box and walked out. By the time Dana texted me demanding the reflection essay, my flight had already taken off. Owen was assigned to cover my shifts as a penalty, and Dana stayed at the hospital with him for three straight days to help him through. She figured a few days of silence would give me time to cool down and realize how foolish I was being. When the three days were up, Dana walked down to the nurses’ station, ready to take me home. She met Martha just as she was coming out of the locker room. “Hey Martha, can you call Gavin out for me? I’m taking him home.” Martha stared at her in utter disbelief, uttering a sentence that left Dana frozen in her tracks. “Dr. Dana, Gavin left for an overseas fellowship three days ago.”

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1 World Cup final day, the city roared. I sat alone in the silent living room, staring at four faded jerseys on the table—Dad’s number 10, Mason’s 7, Noah’s goalie kit, and Mom’s bright red supporter shirt she’d worn to every game. Past tournaments, we’d cram into this room, eating barbecue and screaming at the TV. Dad once promised, “Graduate high school, Andrea, and we’ll all go live.” I’d graduated. But they’d taken my adopted sister Beth to Cabo for the final. In Mason’s post, Beth sat center, radiant. His caption: A family of four, finally whole.I stared until the words blurred. They’d cut me from the roster long ago. Last summer, Beth shattered my state physics trophy, wailing, “Andrea wins everything—what’s the point of me?” Dad ripped my gold certificate. Mom banned me from academic decathlons. Mason funded Beth’s European healing trip, banishing me to a dingy basement for senior year. “You’re a genius,” he’d said. “Study anywhere.” I did. Perfect 1600 on the national merit exam, full ride to Stanford. I stuffed the jerseys into a trash bag, tossed it by the dumpster. As the players lifted the trophy on screen, I held my acceptance letter. This time, I wasn’t waiting for their applause. … “Andrea, why the hell did you throw away our jerseys?!” The front door slammed open, and Mason’s furious voice exploded through the living room. I sat on the sofa, not even bothering to look up. Dad walked in carrying bags of expensive souvenirs, while Mom hovered protectively around Beth. The last person to walk through the door was Noah. He was carrying a pristine pink gift box. It was the limited-edition collectible Beth had been bragging about online all week. “Are you mute? Answer me!” Mason closed the distance between us in three long strides. “Mom and Dad felt bad that you were home alone, so they paid out the ass to change our flights and rush back early. And the first thing we see when we pull up is our gear sitting next to the garbage.” He slammed the plastic trash bag onto the coffee table. “Do you have any idea how much these mean to us?” I looked at the washed-out fabric spilling from the bag. They did mean a lot. They were the last remaining proof that this family used to love each other. But now, they were just dirty rags. “They’re old. We don’t need them anymore,” I said, my voice completely flat. Mom’s face contorted in disgust. “What do you mean we don’t need them? How did you get so cold-blooded? Beth was worried sick about you the whole time we were in Cabo. She insisted we come back early to watch the replay with you. Why are you acting like a psycho?” Beth shrank behind Mom’s back, her eyes rimmed with red. “Andrea, are you mad at me? Are you upset because my health is bad and Mom and Dad had to take me to the beach to recover?” Dad slammed the souvenir bags onto the floor, his face dark with rage. “Do you even have a heart, Andrea? If Beth’s biological father hadn’t pushed me out of the way of that semi-truck, you wouldn’t even have a dad today! And if you hadn’t pushed Beth down the stairs all those years ago, she wouldn’t suffer from these chronic migraines!” My fingers twitched. That same old story. When I was twelve, Beth missed a step and tumbled down the staircase. But she pointed her trembling finger at me and told everyone I pushed her. From that day on, I became the resident sinner of this house. Noah placed the pink gift box into Beth’s hands and turned his disappointed gaze to me. “Andrea, stop throwing a tantrum.” I slowly picked up my phone from the table, letting the screen light up. “I’m not throwing a tantrum. I’m just giving you a heads-up. I got into Stanford.” The room went dead silent for a fraction of a second. Mason blinked, then let out a scoffing laugh. “You’ve been a straight-A nerd your whole life. Getting into a good college is expected. Mom and Dad pay for your food and board.” Mom nodded in immediate agreement. “Exactly. Your sister bombed her SATs this year, and she is already depressed about it. Did you really have to rub salt in her wound today?” Beth’s tears started falling faster. “Am I just completely useless? I just drag everyone down, don’t I?” Dad immediately wrapped his arms around her, shooting me a lethal glare. I watched them crowd around Beth, cooing and comforting her. I watched Noah gently rub her back to soothe her. It was purely absurd. I had bled over my textbooks for twelve years to get into one of the best universities on the planet. And my reward was a room full of people screaming at me. “She’s depressed?” I let out a dry, hollow laugh. “Depressed from taking selfies in Paris? Or depressed from eating lobster on a private beach in Cabo?” Mason lunged forward and pointed his finger an inch from my nose. “Why the hell are you picking a fight with a sick girl?” I stared dead into Mason’s eyes. “Because I’m not sick, I deserved to rot in a basement for a year? I deserved to have my family not even text me on the day college decisions came out?” Mom waved her hand dismissively, cutting me off. “Enough. Cut the crap. Since you got accepted, you can spend the rest of the summer tutoring Beth. She has to repeat her senior year.” I slowly stood up and slipped my phone into my pocket. “No.” Dad’s face turned purple. “Say that again.” I looked at all of them, my voice perfectly steady. “I said, I don’t owe you people a damn thing.” Dad raised his hand, fully intending to slap the defiance out of my mouth. Noah caught his wrist just in time. “Mr. Davis, don’t. Andrea is just stressed from exams. Let it go.” He turned to look at me, using that tone reserved for unreasonable toddlers. “Apologize to Beth, and we can forget this ever happened.” I looked at Noah’s handsome, familiar face. Once upon a time, that face was my only light in the dark. When I had a fever, he carried me to the clinic on his back. When kids bullied me, he was the shield standing in front of me. But now. “Why should I?” I looked him dead in the eye. Noah’s brows furrowed deeply. “You already have everything, Andrea. The grades, the perfect future. It’s all yours. Beth only has us. Would it kill you to just let her have this?” The corners of my mouth twitched. “She only has you? She has my parents’ absolute devotion, my brother’s endless wallet, and your protection. I have nothing but my grades.” Suddenly, Beth grabbed her chest and started hyperventilating. “Mason, my head… it’s spinning…” She collapsed straight into Noah’s arms. Noah caught her immediately, total panic washing over his face. “Beth! Hey, look at me, what’s wrong?” Mom turned pale as a sheet and started frantically digging through her purse for pill bottles. Dad pointed a trembling finger at me. “If anything happens to her, I will never forgive you!” Mason shoved me hard by the shoulder, knocking me into the wall. They swarmed Beth, scooped her up, and rushed out the front door. The heavy door slammed shut, plunging the house back into suffocating silence. I leaned against the plaster wall, slowly sliding down until I hit the floor. The bruise on my shoulder throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the massive, hollow cavity in my chest. … Early the next morning, my homeroom teacher called me. “Andrea, the principal wants to throw an honors assembly for you next Wednesday. You need to prepare a speech.” Her voice was bursting with pride. “Make sure you bring your parents. Having the valedictorian of the entire district is a huge honor for your family.” I gripped my phone, my throat feeling like sandpaper. “Thank you, Mrs. Gable.” I hung up. I was standing in the kitchen, trying to figure out how to tell them, when the front door clicked open. They were back with Beth. Dad was on his cell phone. “Yes, next Wednesday at noon. The biggest banquet hall you have. We are throwing an eighteenth birthday and cheer-up party for my youngest. She didn’t do well on her exams, so we need to make her feel special.” I froze in my tracks. Next Wednesday. The exact same day as my honors assembly. Mason noticed me standing there and immediately scowled. “You cause a massive scene yesterday, and you don’t even bother coming to the hospital to check on her? What is wrong with you?” I ignored him and spoke slowly. “Next Wednesday, the school is throwing an honors assembly for me. The principal wants you all there.” Mason let out a loud, mocking snort. “An honors assembly? Who cares? It’s just a bunch of teachers blowing hot air.” Dad hung up the phone and glared at me. “We can’t do next Wednesday. We are celebrating Beth’s birthday.” My fingernails dug into my palms. “This is the most important moment of my academic life. I am the district valedictorian.” Mom walked past me toward the kitchen, rolling her eyes. “So you got good grades. Does that mean you can just abandon your sister? Beth is traumatized by her scores, and you want to parade around at some assembly? Do you have any idea how bad that will make her look in front of our relatives?” I stared at her entitled, unapologetic face. “Did you ever stop to think how it makes me look? The district valedictorian, standing on stage without a single family member in the audience?” Mason stepped into my space, looking down at me with sheer disgust. “Stop being so incredibly selfish, Andrea. Next Wednesday, you are going to put on a nice dress and sit quietly at the banquet hall.” I took a deep breath, fighting the acidic burn behind my eyes. “I’m not going.” Dad slammed his leather briefcase onto the dining table. “If you dare walk out that door next Wednesday, you can forget about calling me your father!” I looked at his purple, furious face, and felt nothing but pure, unadulterated exhaustion. “Fine. Then I won’t.” Before the words even settled in the air, a heavy hand cracked across my face. The slap echoed in the room. My head snapped to the side, my ears ringing violently. Dad roared at the top of his lungs. “Then pay me back every single dime I spent raising your ungrateful ass!” Just then, the doorbell rang. Noah pushed the door open and walked in. He saw my bright red, swollen cheek and froze. “What happened?” Beth immediately threw herself into his arms, crying beautifully. “Noah, Andrea is insisting on going to her school assembly, and it made Dad so mad. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have planned my party for next Wednesday.” Noah held her, gently stroking her hair. He looked up at me, his brows knit in heavy disapproval. “Andrea, are you really not happy unless you are tearing this family apart?” I looked at his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, and the sight made my stomach turn. “Get your facts straight, Noah. They are the ones stripping away the proudest moment of my life.” Noah let out a heavy sigh, sounding like a exhausted parent. “Beth’s health is fragile. She can’t handle the stress. Plus, her biological dad literally died for your family. Giving up one day of the spotlight won’t kill you.” As he spoke, he pulled a small velvet box from his jacket pocket. “Look what I brought you, Beth.” He popped the box open. Resting on the black velvet was a delicate silver bracelet adorned with tiny, glittering stars. My breathing stopped completely. That was the bracelet Noah gave me for my sixteenth birthday. He had told me, “Andrea, you are the brightest star in my sky. I’ll protect you forever.” But a few months later, Beth “accidentally” lost it. I searched the house for a month, crying until my eyes bled. Noah had held me and promised to buy me a better one. It turns out, she never lost it. It just got a new owner. “Oh my god, Noah, it’s gorgeous!” Beth giggled through her tears. Noah smiled warmly and fastened it around her wrist. “No one is ever going to bully you again.” I took a step forward, biting the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood. “Noah, that bracelet is mine.” Noah’s hands stopped. “You’re remembering things wrong. I had this custom-made just for Beth.” Beth immediately covered her wrist with her other hand, looking at me like a terrified deer. “Andrea, are you really going to steal the gift Noah bought for me?” Mason lost whatever patience he had left. He grabbed my shoulders and shoved me violently out the front door. “You are absolutely insane! Get your ass back to the basement and don’t come out until you learn how to act like a human being!” The heavy door slammed in my face. I stood in the humid hallway, touching my burning cheek, and suddenly let out a laugh. I laughed so hard the tears finally spilled over. I walked back to my dingy basement apartment in a complete daze. When I pushed the cheap door open, I froze. The room was completely trashed. My competition notebooks from the last six years, my medals, my certificates. All of them were submerged in a plastic tub full of water. The ink had bled through the pages, turning years of my blood, sweat, and tears into a soggy, illegible mess. My phone buzzed. A voice memo from Beth. “Hey Andrea, I am so, so sorry. I wanted to clean up your apartment and maybe borrow your study notes. But I accidentally kicked over the mop bucket. You’re so smart, you won’t hold a grudge against me, right?” I gripped my phone so tight my knuckles turned white. I didn’t reply. I walked over to the tub and stared at the ruined remains of my entire childhood. I pulled them out, one by one. And I dropped them straight into the trash can. Along with every last ounce of love and hope I had left for that family, and for Noah. “Good,” I whispered to the empty room. “Now I can leave without carrying any baggage.” The next morning, I woke up burning with a high fever. I dragged myself out of bed, fumbling for my phone to call an Uber to the clinic. The moment the screen unlocked, a notification from the family group chat popped up. Mom had sent a photo. Beth was lying in a VIP hospital bed, surrounded by everyone. Dad was peeling an apple for her. Mason was making funny faces. Noah was reading a book out loud to her. Mom’s caption read: Beth had a headache flare-up today. The whole crew is here. Praying for my baby’s health. I stared at the picture and couldn’t even muster a bitter smile. I dropped the phone, forced myself to get dressed, and swallowed two expired ibuprofen pills. By the time I took the bus to the local urgent care, it was late afternoon. My fever had broken slightly, but my stomach was cramping from hunger. I was standing in a massive line at the pharmacy counter, clutching my prescription slip. “Andrea?” A familiar voice echoed behind me. I turned around. It was Noah. He was holding a stack of lab results, his brows pulled tightly together. “What are you doing here? You look terrible.” I didn’t answer him. I just turned back around and stared at the back of the person in front of me. My coldness clearly stung his ego. He marched up and grabbed my wrist. “Andrea, I am talking to you! Are you seriously still throwing a fit over a piece of jewelry?” I yanked my arm out of his grip. “Don’t touch me.” Noah looked stunned. Right then, Beth’s sickly sweet voice called out from down the hall. “Noah? Who are you talking to?” She was wearing a hospital gown, leaning heavily on Mason’s arm as they walked over. The second she saw me, she started trembling violently, hiding behind Mason’s broad shoulders. “Andrea, I swear I didn’t mean to ruin your notes.” Mason instantly flared up. He stormed over and pointed his finger right in my face. “You have some nerve showing up here! Beth’s head is killing her today because of the stunt you pulled yesterday!” I looked at him with dead eyes. “Do you own this hospital?” Mom and Dad hurried over from the waiting area, hearing the commotion. “What are you doing here? Did you come here to stress her out even more?” Dad barked. I looked at the group of people standing in front of me. My biological parents, my flesh-and-blood brother, and the boy who promised to protect me. They were guarding Beth like I was a serial killer holding a knife. “I have a fever. I came to get an IV,” I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. Mom let out a vicious sneer. “A fever? Beth is the one who is actually sick. Cut the crap and stop acting.” Suddenly, Beth grabbed her head and dropped into a crouch, screaming in agony. “Mason, it hurts! It feels like someone is driving needles into my brain!” Total panic seized Noah. He shoved me out of the way to get to her. He used his full body weight. I was already weak and dizzy from the fever. When his hands hit my chest, I flew backward. The back of my skull slammed violently against the cold tile wall of the corridor. A sickening crack echoed in my head, and a blinding wave of agony swallowed me whole. Right before the darkness took over, I heard Noah shouting. “Doctor! Get a doctor for Beth right now!” Not a single one of them turned around to look at me. Good. That made this so much easier. When I finally woke up, I was lying in a curtained-off ER bed. A nurse was gently removing an IV from the back of my hand. “You are crazy for walking around alone with a 103-degree fever, honey. That fall gave you a mild concussion. You need to go home and rest in a dark room.” I stared at the blinding fluorescent lights on the ceiling and whispered a raspy “Thank you.” By the time I walked out of the sliding glass doors of the hospital, it was pitch black outside. I went back to the basement and clicked on the flickering desk lamp. I pulled a rusted metal lockbox out from under my bed. Inside were eighteen years of blood, sweat, and glory. State math olympiad gold medals, regional physics trophies, straight-A report cards, and thick stacks of scholarship certificates. I took them out, one by one, and lined them up perfectly on my cheap desk. Then, I opened the local university forum on my laptop. I was about to create a new post when a recommended thread on the homepage caught my eye. It was an anonymous burner account named Beth Hates Meds. I scrolled through the posts, recognizing the highly specific details and photos. I let out a cold, sharp laugh. I ran a script to backup and download the entire account history. Then, I clicked ‘New Thread’ and typed out my headline. Incoming Stanford Freshman Auctioning Off 18 Years of Medals, Trophies, and Academic Blood. All proceeds will be used to pay a legal severance fee to my toxic biological family. I clicked post. Seeing the ‘Published Successfully’ banner flash across the screen, I let out a long, heavy exhale.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “530551”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I suspected the new transfer student in our department had been reborn. She always managed to beat me to the punch, snatching away every single opportunity that was supposed to fall into my lap. Competition slots, faculty research projects, public presentations—she even managed to “guess” the exact location of the research materials I was about to hand in before I even opened my mouth. After having my opportunities hijacked for the third time in a row, I deleted the entire proposal I was supposed to submit, leaving nothing but an empty file in its place. She ran up to the podium, hugging her laptop to her chest, and flashed a bright smile. “Professor, I’ve already organized everything for Roselyn.” The projector flickered on. The lecture hall fell dead silent. I looked up at her, my face a mask of absolute confusion. “What proposal?” … The air conditioning in the lecture hall was broken. Waves of heavy, suffocating heat pressed down from the ceiling. The projector screen glowed with an ashy white light, and the smell of chalk dust mixed with cheap coffee drifted into my nose. I sat in the third row, my fingers resting lightly on the edge of my laptop, watching Patrika up on the podium. She was wearing a creamy white blouse. Her hair was tied back in a low, effortless ponytail, the sleeves rolled up to her forearms. In her arms, she was hugging my laptop bag. Or, to be more precise, a laptop bag that looked exactly like mine. She stood there with perfect posture, wearing the exact kind of smile that made professors nod in approval and put classmates at ease. “Professor Davis, Roselyn hasn’t been feeling well the past few days. I was worried she wouldn’t be able to finish her presentation in time, so I went ahead and organized the materials for her.” A few heads turned to look at me. I didn’t move a muscle. Patrika plugged her flash drive into the computer. Her finger swiped across the trackpad, and a file name popped up on the projector screen. Urban Historic District Commercial Revitalization Proposal – Final Version. The sound of chairs scraping against the floor echoed through the room. I heard my roommate, Chloe, suck in a sharp breath next to me. She grabbed my sleeve, dropping her voice to a frantic whisper. “Roselyn, isn’t that the topic you’ve been killing yourself over for the past two weeks?” I stared at the projector screen, a single thought popping into my head. Oh. Here we go again. Patrika double-clicked the file. White screen. Empty. It wasn’t that the content was still loading. From the first slide to the last, it was completely blank. There was a title, and absolutely nothing else. Not even page numbers. The low hum of whispers in the classroom instantly died. Patrika’s smile froze on her face. Her finger swiped down the trackpad a few more times. The pages flipped by, one after another. All of them pure white. Her throat bobbed. I could see the veins on the back of her hand bulging. “Maybe… maybe the file got corrupted.” I stood up. The legs of my chair scraped harshly against the floor tiles, the sound setting teeth on edge. Professor Davis frowned at me. “Roselyn, what is the meaning of this?” I closed my laptop, hugged it to my chest, and kept my voice perfectly level. “Professor, I have absolutely no idea what proposal she’s talking about.” Patrika’s head snapped up. I looked at her, my eyes even more innocent than hers. “The topic I registered for this week is Community Elderly Care Services Research. Not historic district commercial revitalization.” Chloe froze, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Someone in the back row muttered, “But Patrika just said she organized the materials for Roselyn.” “How did she even know Roselyn was going to do the historic district topic?” “And the file is completely empty. What exactly did she organize?” The hand Patrika was using to grip the mouse trembled. The mouse hit the desk with a loud clack. She opened her mouth to speak, then swallowed the words back down. Professor Davis looked at her, then looked at me. His expression darkened. “Patrika, who authorized you to submit her materials on her behalf?” Patrika pressed her lips together tightly. It took her two full seconds to finally force the words out. “I… I just heard her mention this topic before. I was afraid she was running out of time.” I blinked. “When exactly did I ever mention it to you?” She choked. The broken AC unit hummed loudly above us. The hot air blew across the loose strands of hair on her forehead. A fine layer of sweat broke out on her temples, and her carefully crafted smile slowly disintegrated. I pulled out my phone, opened my notes app, and turned the screen toward Professor Davis. “Professor, this is the research topic I submitted to the portal last night. The timestamp is right here.” Professor Davis looked down at the screen. The light from my phone reflected off his glasses. Patrika stared at that timestamp, her fingernails digging so hard into her palms that the cuffs of her pristine blouse wrinkled. I added casually, “As for the historic district topic, I actually scrapped that idea last week. I realized the data was too difficult to source.” Professor Davis looked up. “Patrika, step down.” Patrika stood there, completely paralyzed. She had already walked up to the stage. She had already said the words. She had already prepared to steal my presentation slot right out from under me. But when she reached out to grab the prize, her hand closed around empty air. I walked past her, up onto the podium, and plugged my own laptop into the projector. The first slide popped up. It was a photo of the rusted, peeling iron sign outside a local nursing home. The second slide was my interview logs. The third was a data spreadsheet. The fourth was a series of on-site photographs. I heard someone in the audience whisper, “She really did change her topic.” “Then what the hell was Patrika trying to pull just now?” Professor Davis flipped through my physical materials, his frown easing slightly. Patrika stood frozen by the side of the podium, her shoulders stiff as a board. I didn’t even look at her. I just faced the class and said, “My presentation begins now.” The light from the projector washed over my face, the brightness stinging my dry eyes. Deep down, I let out a very soft, quiet laugh. You thought you knew exactly which road I was going to take. So I decided to go off-roading. 2 The first time I realized there was something seriously wrong with Patrika was the day we registered for the university-wide event planning competition. It was pouring rain that day. A layer of muddy water pooled outside the administration building. Dripping umbrellas left a mess all over the floor. The student council office was packed shoulder-to-shoulder, the printer chugging away in the corner. I was holding my registration form, waiting in line. There were three people ahead of me. Chloe was standing right beside me, holding two cups of hot soy milk. The plastic bag was digging into her fingers, turning her knuckles white. She shoved one cup into my hands. “Drink it fast before it gets cold and tastes weird.” I had barely taken my first sip when a soft, sweet voice drifted through the office door. “Excuse me, I’m here to submit my application for the planning competition.” Patrika walked in, clutching a glossy folder to her chest. She had just transferred to the university a week prior. She smiled at everyone she met, and she always spoke a half-beat slower than normal, as if she was terrified of startling people. The faculty advisor took her application, flipped through a few pages, and his eyes instantly lit up. “This is a fantastic concept. Converting unused campus spaces. It fits perfectly with this year’s theme.” My teeth froze around the plastic straw. Chloe looked at me, her eyes wide. “Wait, isn’t that the exact same topic you chose?” I nodded. Not only was it the same topic, the specific angle was identical. I was planning to propose converting the abandoned bicycle sheds in the North Campus into a late-night study corner. I had literally just talked to Chloe about it in our dorm the night before. Chloe had even teased me, asking why I was neurotic enough to go out and count the exact number of lightbulbs currently in the sheds. Patrika pushed her folder slightly closer to the advisor, her voice sickly sweet. “I went over to the North Campus yesterday and took a look. It’s such a waste to leave those sheds empty. If we turn them into a study corner, students heading back to the dorms late at night could actually use them.” When she finished speaking, she turned her head and looked right at me. It was a split-second glance, so fast that no one else in the room caught it. But I saw the smile hiding in her eyes. It was the look of a spoiled child who had just snatched someone else’s candy—a smug satisfaction she couldn’t completely hide. The advisor didn’t even hesitate. He immediately wrote her name down on the recommendation list. By the time it was my turn to submit my form, the advisor looked troubled. “Roselyn, you and Patrika have the exact same topic. Her materials are a bit more fleshed out. Would you consider switching yours?” I gripped the registration form. The corner of the paper had gotten soaked in the rain, turning mushy beneath my thumb. Chloe was furious. “Professor, Roselyn has been working on this for weeks!” Patrika immediately walked over, lowering her eyelashes in a perfect display of guilt. “I’m so sorry. I honestly had no idea Roselyn was doing the same topic. Should I withdraw my application?” She said the word withdraw, but her arms hugged the folder even tighter against her chest. A dozen pairs of eyes in the office turned to look at us. If I told her to withdraw, I would look petty and jealous. If I didn’t, I would be swallowing a massive loss. I looked down at the form in my hand, folded it neatly in half, and shoved it back into my bag. “No need. You take it.” Patrika let out a very audible sigh of relief. She thought I didn’t notice. The second time was when Ivy Design Studio came to campus recruiting for interns. The founder of Ivy Studio was Jack Vance. I had been following his work obsessively for three years. I knew for a fact that after every campus recruitment seminar, he would stay behind for exactly ten extra minutes, purely to review students’ personal portfolios. The night before the seminar, I stayed up until 3 AM printing and binding my portfolio. The binding wire slipped and sliced my finger open. A tiny drop of blood smeared on the inside of the back cover. The next day, the lecture hall was packed. People were standing in the aisles behind the chairs. The heat from the stage lights made my back sweat. Jack stood on the stage, the sleeves of his black dress shirt rolled up to his elbows. He didn’t use notes when he presented his projects. His finger tapped casually against the laser pointer, his voice low but commanding enough to hold the entire room hostage. I sat in the second row, my portfolio resting on my knees. I had wiped the cover clean three times. The moment the seminar ended, before I could even stand up, Patrika practically sprinted from the back of the room, completely bypassing the aisles, and planted herself directly in front of Jack. “Mr. Vance, I read the case study on your factory revitalization project from last year. I actually did a similar mock-up exercise. Would you mind taking a quick look?” She handed him her portfolio. The cover image was a revitalized factory. Even more coincidentally, her core design philosophy was exactly the same as mine: utilizing natural light zoning instead of hard physical partitions. Jack took the portfolio. When he flipped to the third page, he paused. “You have a very distinct perspective on spatial flow.” Patrika smiled brightly. “I just think that the very first thing a person sees when they step into a space is far more important than how much furniture you manage to cram into it.” That exact sentence was written on the title page of my portfolio. I had never posted it online. I had only read it out loud to Chloe in the privacy of our dorm room. All the color drained from Chloe’s face. She grabbed my wrist, her voice tense. “Is she eavesdropping on us?” I didn’t answer. I just watched Patrika standing in front of Jack. Her back was perfectly straight. Her eyes were burning with an intense, calculated ambition. That wasn’t the look of someone who had just overheard a clever quote in passing. It was the look of someone who knew for an absolute fact that that specific sentence would make Jack stop and pay attention. Jack asked her to leave her email. My ten minutes were gone. That night, I sat at my desk in the dorm, flipping through my portfolio over and over again. The rain outside had finally stopped. Delivery scooters buzzed past the building one after another, their sharp, electronic horns piercing the quiet night. Chloe was lying on my bed, fuming. “Is she psychotic? Once is a coincidence, but twice? And she hits the nail on the head so perfectly both times?” I pressed my thumb against the dried blood stain on the back cover. It’s not a coincidence. It’s because she already knows. But how the hell did she know? The third time was the historic district presentation. Before that presentation, I only did one thing. I sat in my dorm, making sure Chloe was in the room, and I loudly announced that I was definitely moving forward with the historic district topic. I then created an empty file, named it Final Version, and slapped it right in the middle of my desktop where anyone could see it. My actual, brand-new topic was locked in an encrypted folder on my cloud drive. All my interview notes were saved directly to my phone. Chloe asked me, “Are you fishing for her?” I hit save on the empty file and closed my laptop. “Not exactly.” “Then what are you doing?” I looked out the window. The streetlights illuminated the wet pavement, the reflection of the dorm building rippling in the puddles. “I’m waiting to see if she actually takes the bait.” And she did. She took it hook, line, and sinker. 3 After the historic district presentation blew up in her face, Patrika laid low for two days. She stopped trying to talk to me. She dropped the whole friendly, helpful new girl act. But she started watching me a lot more. Waiting in line at the cafeteria, in the stairwell of the library, hovering near the sign-in sheet before lectures—she was constantly lurking just at the edge of my peripheral vision, clutching her phone, the screen lighting up and going dark over and over. Chloe was totally creeped out. “Do you think she knows you’re onto her?” I pushed the green peppers to the side of my lunch tray. “She doesn’t know.” “How can you be so sure?” “If she knew I was onto her, she wouldn’t be staring at me like that.” Chloe didn’t get it. I didn’t bother explaining. A person who survives by stealing the answer key is absolutely terrified when the teacher suddenly changes the test. She wasn’t investigating me. She was desperately trying to figure out if the answers she had memorized were somehow flawed. On Friday afternoon, the department sent out a mass notification. The upcoming university anniversary exhibition needed a team of students to curate the main pavilion. The prize was five thousand dollars, the final project would be featured on the university’s official website, and representatives from Ivy Studio were confirmed to attend. The second the message hit the group chat, my phone started buzzing off the hook. Chloe sent me a screenshot. “Roselyn, you have to apply for this. Jack Vance is going to be there.” I stared at the words Ivy Studio, my finger hovering over the screen. Jack Vance. After the seminar, I honestly thought my shot was completely gone. But as the crowd was clearing out that day, he had walked past me, and suddenly stopped. His eyes had dropped to the portfolio resting on my knees, zeroing in on the tiny, smeared bloodstain on the back cover. “Is that yours?” I nodded. He held out his hand. “May I see it?” Before I could even hand it to him, Patrika shouted from the front of the room. “Mr. Vance! The dean is looking for you!” Jack turned around. My portfolio was left hanging halfway in the air. Then he left. I shoved the portfolio back into my bag. The sharp edge of the paper caught my finger, leaving a paper cut. But now, the opportunity had circled back. I typed out two words: I’m in. Chloe replied instantly: Make sure she doesn’t find out your topic this time. I looked up and saw Patrika standing right in the doorway of the classroom. She clearly heard that. I placed my phone face down on the desk and didn’t bother lowering my voice. “It doesn’t matter if she knows. I’m doing a vintage photo wall. It’s a classic, safe bet.” Patrika’s footsteps halted for half a second. She didn’t walk into the classroom. She turned around and left. Chloe’s eyes widened in horror. “Are you out of your mind?! Why would you tell her?” I pulled out my sketchbook and wrote two words on the very first page. Audio Archive. Chloe stared at the words, and a slow, wicked smile spread across her face. “You are so damn evil.” I clicked the cap back onto my pen. “She loves showing up early to steal the spotlight, doesn’t she? Let her.” The day before the anniversary exhibition applications closed, Patrika submitted her proposal. A Vintage Photo Wall. She threw it together incredibly fast. Too fast for it to be a genuinely original idea she had just brainstormed. People in the student council group chat started showering her with praise. “Patrika’s execution speed is insane.” “The logistics for sourcing the alumni photos in her proposal are so detailed.” “Wait, didn’t Roselyn say she wanted to do a photo wall too?” Patrika sent a cute little emoji into the chat. “I had no idea Roselyn wanted to do the same thing! Should we team up?” Chloe was so furious she practically slammed her phone onto the desk. “She’s pulling the exact same stunt! She either forces you to team up and share the credit, or she makes you look like a jealous bitch if you say no.” I typed a reply in the group chat. “No need. I changed my topic.” The chat went completely silent for a few seconds. Patrika quickly replied, “Isn’t it a bit late to change topics now? Won’t you be rushing?” I typed, “It’s fine.” She replied again, “Let me know if you need any help!” I stared at that line of text and smiled. “Thanks, but I’m good.” On the day of the panel review, the small auditorium was half-full. The hardwood floors gleamed under the lights. The edges of the projector screen were slightly curled, and empty water bottles crowded the corners of the judges’ tables. Patrika went first. She presented the vintage photo wall flawlessly. The photo sourcing process, the timeline, the alumni messages, the interactive photo spots—every single detail was rock solid. As she wrapped up, she looked directly at the judges’ panel. “I hope this wall allows everyone who returns to our campus to see the footprints they left behind.” The room erupted in applause. As she walked off the stage, she passed right by me. Her voice was barely a whisper. “You’re up, Roselyn.” Her tone made it perfectly clear: Let’s see how you scramble your way out of this one. I walked up to the podium holding nothing but a single, black digital recorder. The projector lit up. There were no photos. Just a series of audio waveforms pulsing across the screen. I hit play. The first clip was the cafeteria lady. “I’ve been serving food here for twenty years. Some of these kids come back ten years after they graduate and still call me ‘Auntie.’ They tell me they miss the tomato and egg stir-fry from the second floor.” The second clip was the campus security guard. “There was this one girl studying for her master’s exams. She came to the library at 6 AM every single day. I watched her walk through those doors from the dead of winter all the way through the summer heat. After she passed, she came back and gave me a tin of candies.” The third clip was a retired professor. “A university isn’t made of brick and mortar. It’s the kind of place that, long after a person walks out the gates, they still find themselves wanting to look back.” The auditorium was dead silent. I saw someone on the judges’ panel slowly put their pen down. Jack was sitting in the second row. He was resting his elbow on the armrest, his eyes locked onto the screen. He was wearing a dark grey jacket over a crisp white t-shirt. He was sitting in the shadows, but the light from the projector reflected perfectly in his eyes. I delivered my final line: “Because of this, my pavilion won’t ask people to stand in front of a wall and take pictures. I want them to put on a pair of headphones, and listen to this university speak to them.” The room stayed silent for two full seconds. Then the applause hit like a tidal wave. It was significantly louder than Patrika’s. As I walked down the steps, I saw Patrika sitting in the front row. She was squeezing a plastic water bottle so hard the plastic was caving in. With a sharp crack, the bottle buckled. She looked up at me. That smug, victorious smile she usually wore was completely, entirely gone. 4 I was officially named the lead curator for the anniversary exhibition. The moment the announcement went live, the group chats exploded. “The audio archive idea is actually genius.” “I literally almost cried listening to the cafeteria lady.” “Roselyn absolutely killed it this time.” Patrika didn’t say a word. It took her ten full minutes before she finally sent a message: “Congratulations, Roselyn.” Two words, followed by a little flower emoji. Chloe stared at the emoji and sneered. “Why do I feel like she’s about to pull out a pair of garden shears and snip that flower’s head off?” I locked my phone screen. “Sounds about right.” Sure enough, the very next morning, a post popped up on the university’s anonymous forum. The title read: Rigged Selection? Student Changes Proposal Last Minute and Still Wins First Place. Is the Review Process Actually Fair? The post didn’t explicitly name me, but it laid out my demographic details perfectly. Junior, female, recently changed her topic during a class presentation, known to have had contact with professionals from Ivy Studio. The comments immediately turned toxic. “Wow, changing topics last minute gets you first place? Taking notes.” “Did someone leak the judges’ preferences to her?” “Wasn’t that Jack guy from Ivy Studio on the panel?” Chloe was so furious she was practically vibrating. “I’m reporting this post right now.” I stopped her. “Hold on.” “What are you waiting for? She’s literally throwing dirt on your name!” I took screenshots of the entire thread, making sure to capture the timestamps of every single comment. “I’m waiting for her to double down.” Chloe looked at me, then slowly put her phone down. By the afternoon, the post had blown up. An anonymous user dropped a photo in the thread. It was a picture of me handing my portfolio to Jack at the end of the recruitment seminar. The angle was incredibly malicious. It only captured my outstretched hand and Jack looking down, making it look exactly like we were secretly exchanging something illicit. The caption was a single word: Makes sense. Chloe slammed her hand onto her desk. “That photo could only have been taken by someone who was physically in the room that day. It’s Patrika. It has to be.” I stared at the photo for a few seconds. At the very edge of the frame, caught in the reflection of the glass door, was half of a creamy white sleeve. It was the exact same blouse Patrika was wearing that day. I sent the screenshots directly to the faculty advisor in charge of the student council, and forwarded a copy to Professor Davis. At 7 PM, the department called an emergency meeting. The fluorescent lights in the conference room were blindingly white. A row of paper cups lined the long table, tea leaves floating on the surface of the hot water. The professors, my project team members, and the student council executives were all present. Patrika was sitting directly across from me. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She spoke first. “Professor, I know everyone suspects me, but I swear I didn’t write that post.” Her voice broke, and someone immediately softened. “Patrika’s usually really sweet…” “Yeah, maybe someone else is just jealous of Roselyn.” I didn’t rush to speak. Professor Davis looked at me. “Roselyn, do you have anything to say?” I turned my laptop around and hooked it up to the main display screen. The first slide was the timestamp of the forum post. The second slide was an official request log for the security footage from the student council office. The third slide was the metadata for the anonymous photo that had been uploaded to the forum. I said, “The account that made the post logged in from Computer #3 in the public lab on the ground floor. The time was 12:47 PM.” Patrika’s fingers twitched. I kept going. “At that exact same time, a USB drive was plugged into Computer #3. The volume label on that drive is ‘YQQ’.” Patrika’s initials. Several heads in the room snapped toward Patrika. The color drained from her face. “That doesn’t prove it was me. Anyone can change a volume label.” I nodded. “You’re right. Which is why I requested the security footage from the hallway outside the computer lab.” A video popped up on the screen. Patrika walked into the lab, hugging her laptop bag to her chest. The timestamp read 12:44 PM. She walked out holding a cup of milk tea. The timestamp read 12:52 PM. The only sound in the conference room was the hum of the AC unit. Patrika shot up from her chair so fast it crashed into the wall behind her. “I just went in there to print some documents! I didn’t write that post!” Professor Davis’s face was stone cold. “Sit down.” She didn’t sit. She stared at me, a desperate, cornered fire burning in her eyes. “Roselyn, why are you blowing this wildly out of proportion? Forget the post for a second. Can you look everyone in the eye and explain your private relationship with Mr. Vance?” She finally pulled her knife out. I looked at her, and the lingering annoyance in my chest finally settled into a cold, satisfying focus. Alright. My turn. I clicked play on the next video. It was the security footage from the back of the lecture hall on the day of the recruitment seminar. The camera angle was crystal clear. Jack stepped down from the stage. I stood up with my portfolio. Patrika practically sprinted past me to shove her portfolio into his hands. Then, a professor called Jack away. I never once left the room alone with him. The video kept playing. Patrika stood by the doorway, raised her phone, and snapped a picture of me and Jack. The exact same picture from the forum. Someone in the room gasped loudly. Chloe crossed her arms and sneered. “Does that answer your ‘forget the post for a second’ question?” Patrika opened her mouth, but the words died in her throat. Tears finally spilled over her lashes, hitting the conference table with heavy taps. “I just… I just felt like it was unfair.” Professor Davis pushed his paper cup to the side. Water sloshed over the rim, soaking the meeting minutes. “Feeling something is unfair does not give you the right to fabricate vicious rumors about a classmate.” Patrika lowered her head. Her shoulders shook violently. But I could see her hands hidden under the table. Her fists were clenched so tight her knuckles were bone white. She wasn’t crying because she regretted what she did. She was calculating her next move.

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1 After surgery, the doctor ordered three months of vocal rest. Still, my girlfriend Wendy and friend Jasper mocked me relentlessly. During arguments, Jasper would smirk and step back. Can’t hear you, buddy. Frustrated, throat burning, I’d clutch my shirt, struggling to repeat myself. He’d nudge Wendy, laughing. Told you—he’ll squeak himself hoarse and quit. Wendy smiled, high-fiving him. That evening, Jasper invited her to a bar for the playoffs. I gripped Wendy’s arm, signaling my needed follow-up. Jasper pulled her away. Too quiet, Nolan. Can’t hear a word. He whispered loud enough for me, Though he’s my brother, I pity you. Whiny before—now unbearable. Wendy adjusted my scarf. Be good. Stop the scene. Wait in the VIP lounge. I’ll take you after. She shoved me inside, locking the door. The room was stacked with nuts and snacks. AC blasted, circulating dust and peanut particles. I was severely allergic. I pounded the door, but only raspy hisses escaped my swollen throat. Outside, Jasper laughed. Another fit? Wendy paused. Let him be. He’ll tire out. By the time paramedics arrived, my airway was completely closed. … When I woke up in the hospital bed, my throat was in excruciating pain. Wendy was standing by the bedside, still wearing her coat, with the neon wristband from the bar still dangling from her wrist. Jasper leaned against her, his phone screen glowing. Someone in their group chat had just posted a photo of the crowd leaving the bar last night. In the center of the shot, Wendy and Jasper were clinking beer mugs, laughing brightly. The nurse flipped through my chart. “He had severe anaphylactic laryngeal edema last night. If he had arrived any later, it would have been fatal.” Wendy immediately bent over me, her eyes wide. “Nolan, does it hurt?” I wanted to ask her why she hadn’t opened the door. But the moment my throat muscles moved, tears of sheer physical pain welled in my eyes. The nurse pressed a hand to my shoulder. “Don’t speak. Not a single syllable.” She turned to Wendy, her tone accusing. “When the patient was screaming for help, why didn’t anyone open the door?” Wendy froze, then picked up my phone from the nightstand. In our three-person group chat, the last seventeen messages were all from me: Open the door. I don’t feel well. Further up was a meme Jasper had sent earlier: Understood, little mute. The little mute needs to be a good boy and type his words today. Wendy had replied once: Don’t call him that. Jasper had sent a tongue-out emoji: It’s just a cute nickname. He won’t get mad. Since then, I was the only one who ever posted in that group. The two of them had their own private chat. Last night, not a single one of my seventeen desperate messages had received a reply. Jasper bit his lip, stepping forward to speak first. “The bar was way too loud last night, Nolan. We didn’t hear our phones.” He looked at me, his voice dripping with cautious innocence. “And besides, you always exaggerate things whenever you and Wendy have an argument.” “Even though you’re my brother and I should support you, it’s exhausting for Wendy when you constantly use these emergencies to get her attention.” Wendy had been holding my hand, but when she heard Jasper’s words, her fingers slowly loosened. The nurse ignored him, turning to me. “Do you have any drug allergies?” I reached for the writing tablet on the bedside table. Jasper jumped in before I could grab it. “I don’t think so. I’ve looked after Nolan for a long time, and he’s never mentioned anything.” The nurse bent her head to write it down. I slammed my hand against the bed rail. The motion pulled hard on the IV needle in my hand, sending a sharp pain up my arm. Wendy finally handed me the writing pad. My hand was shaking so violently I could only scribble two words: Cephalosporin. The nurse’s face changed, and she immediately stopped writing. “Cephalosporin allergy?” Wendy’s eyes widened as she suddenly remembered. “Yes, he’s highly allergic to cephalosporin.” Jasper’s eyes turned red instantly. “I’m so sorry, Nolan. I completely forgot. I was just trying to help you so you wouldn’t have to strain yourself writing.” He was always like this, completely ignorant of my life, yet constantly pretending to be my most devoted caretaker. He had only met me after Wendy and I started dating. At our first meeting, he had wrapped an arm around my shoulder, gushing about how lucky I was to have such a great girlfriend, and insisted on being my best friend. I had genuinely treated him as a brother. But over time, he became Wendy’s advisor. If she wanted to buy me a gift, she asked him first. If we had an argument, she went to him to vent. He used to tell me, “I’m just helping you train your girlfriend.” But every time they finished “training” her, I was the one who had to bow my head and apologize. Wendy watched Jasper’s tears fall, her expression softening. “He didn’t do it on purpose, Nolan.” I stared at her, turning the writing pad to a fresh page: Let’s break up. Wendy’s brow furrowed. “You just woke up, and you’re already starting a scene?” The doctor walked in just then, handing over the discharge instructions. “He must return for a follow-up in one week. During this time, he cannot be left alone. Someone must watch him constantly, especially monitoring his breathing and any potential allergic reactions.” Wendy took the forms, finally finding a convenient excuse. “Did you hear that? Before your follow-up, you’re staying at my place.” I didn’t write anything back. The nurse told me to go to the lobby window to sign some papers and pay the bill. Wendy took the invoice from my hand but immediately tossed it back to me. “Your ID is in your bag, so you go pay. I need to take Jasper downstairs to get something sweet. His blood sugar is dropping.” I was left clutching the prescription bag, limping slowly toward the payment window. By the time I finished paying and turned around, Wendy and Jasper were already standing by the elevator doors. Jasper said something, and Wendy leaned in with a soft chuckle. I hurried to catch up with them. The elevator doors were slowly sliding shut. Wendy looked out and saw me. Her hand was inches away from the open door button. But she didn’t press it. I stood in the corridor, watching the metal doors seal shut. I remembered the last time we were at the pharmacy. I was waiting in a long line to get my post-surgery medication while they went ahead to buy Jasper some cold medicine. When I finally limped out to the entrance, Wendy had only frowned. “Why are you always so slow?” And that time at the convenience store. I was typing on my phone to tell her I wanted warm water, but before I could finish, Jasper had already grabbed a cold soda and handed it to her. She took it, took a sip, and only then turned to me. “What were you trying to say?” The elevator numbers ticked down on the display. I unlocked my phone, opened the medical app, and booked the very last specialist appointment at the Seattle Vocal Rehabilitation Center for seven days from now. Then, I booked a one-way flight to Seattle for the exact same afternoon. Once I got my follow-up results in seven days, I would leave. On discharge day, the doctor pulled Wendy aside to explain the medications. “Take this one thirty minutes after meals.” “Use the nebulizer twice a day. Do not skip the evening session.” I stood at the counter signing the paperwork. From a distance, I could see Wendy nodding, while Jasper hovered close by, listening intently. Jasper even smiled and raised his hand. “Don’t worry, doc. I’ll make sure he sticks to it.” When we got back to Wendy’s apartment, Jasper followed us inside, carrying his bag. “The match is tonight,” he sighed, tossing his bag onto the sofa. “But whatever. Who asked me to have such a high-maintenance brother like Nolan?” He turned to shoot me a playful wink. “Don’t get too emotional, little mute. Taking care of you is my duty.” Wendy’s brow twitched slightly. “I told you, don’t call him that.” Jasper stuck his tongue out. Wendy checked her phone. “I need to run to the office to grab some files. I’ll be back soon.” Jasper immediately raised his hand. “I’ve got him covered.” Once the door clicked shut, the apartment fell into a tense silence. Within seconds, Jasper blasted the TV volume. The roaring voice of the sports commentator echoed through the living room, sending a wave of tightness through my throat. Jasper curled up on the sofa, opening a bag of chips and sipping a cold milk tea. He laughed and cheered, his legs swinging wildly with every goal. My glass of water was empty, so I pushed myself up from the armchair, intending to get a refill. Just as I walked past the sofa, Jasper let out a sudden, ecstatic shout. “Yes! Goal!” He kicked his leg out in excitement. My knee caught on his shin, and I lost my balance, crashing hard against the sharp corner of the coffee table. The medicine bag was knocked over, and pill bottles scattered across the hardwood floor. Jasper finally turned around, a chip still clutched in his hand. “Oh, my bad. Why didn’t you make a sound?” I pushed myself up, my throat throbbing so intensely my vision blurred. He scrambled down to pick up the mess, but the first thing he grabbed was his spilled bag of chips. “If Wendy sees this when she gets back, she’ll think I haven’t been looking after you.” I knelt down, silently gathering the scattered medicine boxes one by one. A moment later, my phone buzzed. In our three-person group chat, Jasper had sent nine selfies in a row. Help me choose one for my feed. Wendy replied almost instantly: The third one. Jasper: But the fifth one makes my legs look longer. Wendy: Then post both. The notifications kept coming, making my phone warm against my palm. I took a photo of the medicine boxes on the table and sent it to the group. The doctor mentioned how to take these, but I was paying the bill and didn’t hear. How do I take them? A few minutes passed. Wendy replied: Just read the manual. A bitter ache bloomed in my chest. I locked my phone and placed it face down on my lap. At seven in the evening, Wendy returned. Jasper immediately bounced up from the sofa. “Boss, I’ve been playing maid all day. Don’t you think my advice deserves a reward?” Wendy set her files down, shooting a quick glance at me. “Is he okay?” Jasper cut in before I could move. “He’s fine. Good as gold.” He pointed to the medicine on the table. “I even made sure he took his pills.” In reality, the boxes remained untouched. The thirty-minute post-meal window had long passed. I reached for my phone, wanting to ask her directly, but Jasper was already dragging her toward the dining table. He had ordered spicy crawfish, claiming he was starving from a long day of caretaking. “Let’s see who can peel them faster,” Jasper said, tossing her a pair of plastic gloves. Wendy chuckled. “You lose every time.” “Then can’t you just let me win for once?” They sat directly opposite me. One peeled, the other grabbed. Jasper’s lips were bright red from the spice. Wendy placed a peeled crawfish into his bowl, and he immediately picked it up with his chopsticks, holding it to her lips. “Your reward.” I opened one of the medicine boxes, letting the pills spill into my palm. The tiny print on the instruction sheet blurred together. I stared at them for a long time, unable to figure out which ones could be taken together. I typed on my phone: I want to talk to you. Wendy looked up briefly. “Now?” I nodded, continuing to type: About the locked door, the nuts, and those seventeen messages. Before I could finish, Jasper burst into laughter. “Wendy, look at this one. Doesn’t it look like a heart?” Wendy turned her head to look. My fingers froze over the screen. By the time she looked back at me, her expression was laced with irritation. “Nolan, if you have something to say, can you speed it up? I have a major meeting tomorrow.” I slowly deleted the words in the text box. I backspaced letter by letter, until the screen was entirely blank. Wendy frowned. “Nothing?” She pulled her plastic gloves back on. “Then let’s wait until you can actually speak to have this conversation.” I lowered my head, blinking back tears as I tried to sort the pills in my hand. In the living room, Jasper won another round of their game. He piled the empty shells in front of Wendy with a grin. “You lost. You’re my personal driver again tomorrow.” Wendy agreed. Neither of them noticed that I hadn’t taken a single correct pill that night. The next day, Jasper complained that the apartment was too quiet and insisted on inviting a few friends over. “Nolan can’t go out anyway, so the least we can do is bring the fun to him.” By three in the afternoon, the living room was packed. The coffee table was covered with beers, chips, snacks, and two bowls of mixed nuts. I stared at the nuts, reaching for my phone to type. Wendy noticed my gaze and quickly moved the bowls to the far side of the table. “Keep those away from him.” Someone laughed. “Wendy, look at you being all attentive.” Jasper joined in, grinning. “Of course she is. Otherwise, Nolan would have another excuse to make her life miserable.” The room went quiet for a second, then someone chimed in. “Seriously, last night was wild. I thought it was some massive emergency, but Jasper explained it later. It was just Nolan getting jealous because the two of you were hanging out, right?” My fingers froze over the screen. Jasper quickly waved his hands. “Come on, don’t say that. Nolan just lacks security, that’s all.” He slid over, nudging my arm. “Right, Nolan?” I looked down, refusing to type a single word. When they played Truth or Dare, the bottle spun and landed on Wendy. “What is your biggest pet peeve about your boyfriend?” Before she could answer, Jasper raised his hand. “I know this one!” He grinned at me. “He is so incredibly slow.” The room erupted into laughter. “So true!” “Jasper, did you have to suffer through his whining too?” Jasper doubled over with laughter. “No, no, I’m on Nolan’s side. But seriously, when he could speak, he was slow, and now that he has to type, he’s even slower.” Wendy held her cards, her head tilted down as she let out a soft laugh. She didn’t disagree. I picked up my phone and slowly typed: I’m going to my room. Before I could hit send, Jasper shoved a card into my hand. “Nolan lost! Penalty drink, penalty drink!” Wendy frowned, pulling the shot glass away. “He can’t drink alcohol.” She poured a glass of warm water and pushed it toward me, checking the temperature with her finger. But Jasper immediately snatched the shot glass. “Then I’ll drink it for him!” He slammed it back, coughing as the liquid hit his throat, his eyes turning red. Wendy quickly handed him a tissue. “Why do you always have to show off?” Jasper waved her off, his voice slightly raspy. “Who asked me to have such a pathetic brother?” “I have to speak for him, take the blame for him, and now I’m drinking for him.” The friends laughed again. Someone teased, “Jasper, you act more like a real boyfriend than the actual boyfriend.” Jasper immediately covered his mouth. “Shh, don’t say that. Nolan will get mad.” Everyone looked at me. If I so much as frowned, I would be labeled as sensitive and petty. Later, they started singing. Jasper scrolled through his phone for a moment, his eyes lighting up. “This one! Didn’t Nolan and Wendy love singing this together?” It was a classic love song. Back when Wendy and I first started dating, she had held my hand and promised we would sing it together on every anniversary. As the intro played, Jasper held the microphone out to me. “Come on, Nolan. Let’s hear that romantic duet.” Then, as if suddenly remembering, he quickly pulled it back. “Oh, my bad. I forgot you can’t sing right now. I’ll sing your part for you. I know the lyrics anyway.” Wendy shot a quick, hesitant glance at me. I thought she would refuse. But Jasper had already forced the other microphone into her hand. “Come on, Wendy, let’s go!” She took it. They stood in the center of the room, singing together while their friends recorded videos on their phones. I sat on the very edge of the sofa, watching the lyrics scroll across the screen, unable to make a sound. By the time the party ended, it was almost midnight. Jasper, slightly tipsy, curled up on the sofa with a pillow. “Wendy, my throat is starting to burn.” Wendy pressed her hand to his forehead. “I’ll take you to the clinic tomorrow.” I looked up at her. Tomorrow was the day of my specialist appointment. The doctor had warned me that a follow-up within a week was critical. I had waited six days for this specific slot. Wendy seemed to recall something, looking down at her phone. “Let’s let Jasper use your appointment slot tomorrow.” I stood up so fast my knee slammed into the coffee table, making my water glass rattle. She frowned. “He drank that penalty shot for you tonight, and now his throat is irritated. You’re being selfish.” Jasper sat up quickly. “No, no, Wendy. Nolan’s condition is much worse than mine.” But as he spoke, he let out a couple of soft, dry coughs. Wendy’s tone hardened. “Don’t argue with him.” “You can’t speak anyway, Nolan. Going a day early or a day late won’t make a difference for you.” The next morning, Wendy went to park the car while Jasper, clutching his throat, walked ahead with her. I didn’t wait for them. I retrieved my ticket, checked in, and walked straight into the examination room. Every movement was swift and deliberate. The doctor reviewed my laryngoscopy results, falling silent for a moment. “Your recovery is not looking good.” “If you delay treatment any further, you may struggle to vocalize permanently.” I typed on my phone: I am flying to Seattle for treatment today. The doctor looked at me and nodded. “The sooner, the better.” When I walked out with my results, the corridor was empty. Wendy and Jasper were nowhere to be seen. My phone buzzed with a message from her: Jasper has been taking care of you for days. Is it really necessary to throw a fit over an appointment slot? Can you stop being so incredibly petty? Just wait at the entrance. Once Jasper is done, you need to apologize to him. He drank for you last night and offered to give his slot back to you today. Don’t be so ungrateful. I stood at the clinic exit, the cold wind making my throat ache. When the taxi pulled up, the driver asked where I wanted to go. I showed him my phone screen, which displayed the airport address. At three twenty in the afternoon, my flight was boarded. Before turning off my phone, Wendy called. I watched her name flash on the screen for several seconds. Then, I declined the call and blocked her number. From this moment on, I was completely done with both of them. Wendy walked back to the ENT department after Jasper’s examination, only to find the bench empty. She dialed my number. But the line only gave her a cold, automated rejection. Jasper, holding his neck, stood beside her and whispered, “Is Nolan still mad at me?” Wendy’s face was tense. “His temper is getting out of hand.” She typed a quick message to me, but a red exclamation mark flashed on her screen. Her fingers froze over the display. Jasper quickly grabbed her sleeve. “Wendy, don’t worry. Nolan is probably just upset that you took me first. Once he calms down, he’ll come back.” Wendy said nothing, driving straight back to her apartment. The entryway was dead silent. All of my belongings had been cleared out. The only thing left on the coffee table were a few boxes of medicine. One box was completely unopened. Another had some pills popped out, only to be stuffed back in. The nebulizer sat in its original packaging, its seal unbroken. Beside the boxes was a sticky note in my handwriting: Take after meals? Do not mix? Wendy picked up the note, her fingers slowly crushing the paper. Jasper walked in, and when he saw the medicine on the table, his expression faltered. Wendy looked up at him. “You said you made sure he took his pills.” Jasper’s eyes welled with tears. “I did remind him! But Nolan always hated me meddling in his business. I treated him like a brother, but he was always hostile toward me. You know that.” Wendy didn’t comfort him this time. She turned around and opened the living room security camera app. Jasper reached out to stop her. “Wendy, there’s no need to watch that. He’ll just accuse us of spying on him again.” Wendy brushed his hand away. The footage quickly loaded. On the screen, Jasper was lounging on the sofa watching the game with the volume blasted. I stood up, trying to get some water, when Jasper kicked his leg out. I tripped, my knee crashing into the table, and the medicine boxes scattered everywhere. Wendy’s hand stopped on the mouse. Jasper’s face went completely white. “I… I was just startled by the goal…” The footage kept playing. Panicking, Jasper lunged to slam her laptop shut. “Don’t watch it! He did that on purpose to make you feel guilty!” For the first time, Wendy shoved him away. “He didn’t even know I had access to these cameras.” In the footage from the early hours of the morning, the living room was empty except for me. I was quietly packing my medical records, ID, and a few clothes into my suitcase. Before leaving, I stood at the door, taking one final, long look at the apartment. Once the door clicked shut, there was no one left on the screen. Wendy immediately began searching my travel history. My GPS was turned off, but my flight had already landed.

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This world is a novel. And I am its leading lady. I have known this fact from the moment I was old enough to understand anything. So, three days after I caught Preston cheating on me, I sat in my empty room with red eyes and spoke into the silence, acting just as spoiled as I always did. “Mother, this toy is dirty. Get me a better one.” The very next second, the air froze. The curtains billowed without a single breeze. The entire fabric of reality began to flutter and flip like the pages of a paperback book. A gentle, wildly excited voice echoed from the void. “What kind do you want, baby?” “Mommy will swap him out for you.” “If he doesn’t love my leading lady, he can go straight to hell.” … Finding out Preston was cheating on me was incredibly easy. The way he hid his phone screen, the canceled dates, the sudden distance. The signs were glaringly obvious. When a man loves you, he wants to tear his entire world open and lay it at your feet. When he doesn’t love you anymore, even a piece of plastic and glass becomes a highly classified restricted zone. I used to be able to grab Preston’s phone whenever I wanted. His passcode was my birthday. He used to tell me that I was allowed to see every single important thing in his life. Back then, Preston really was perfect. At least, when he still loved me, he was perfect. When my hands were freezing in the winter, he would tuck them into his heavy wool coat. When I worked myself into a stomach ache during endless board meetings, he would cancel hundred-million-dollar contract signings just to bring me medicine. When his grandfather tried to force him into an arranged marriage with another heiress, he knelt in the pouring rain outside the Lancaster estate for an entire night, just to beg my father for my hand. I remember him looking at me with bloodshot eyes, his voice trembling. “Audrey, I can lose absolutely everything else.” “But I cannot lose you.” I believed him back then. Because I was the female lead, and he was my leading man. The romance between the two main characters was supposed to be the strongest, most brilliant, most incorruptible thing in this entire universe. So when I first noticed him changing, I didn’t even suspect infidelity. I just thought he was overwhelmed with work. Harrington Corp was in the middle of negotiating a massive merger with Apex Ventures. The project was worth billions. It made perfect sense for him to be working late into the night. When he didn’t text back, I made excuses for him. When he said he had back-to-back meetings, my heart broke for his exhaustion. When he said he couldn’t make it to dinner, I had my private chef send hot soup to his office. Until that one rainy night. I waited outside the Harrington Corp headquarters for two hours. The rain was coming down in sheets. I sat in the back of my car, watching the lights on the top floor of his building flick off one by one. My driver turned around for the third time. “Miss Lancaster, would you like me to call Mr. Harrington?” I looked down at my phone. Half an hour ago, I had texted him: When are you coming down? I’m waiting out front. He didn’t reply. Ten minutes ago, I texted again: It’s raining so hard. I just really want to see you. Still nothing. I was never a clingy woman. I grew up knowing I was the main character, which meant I was suffocated by the world’s love. My father loved me. My friends loved me. The readers loved me. Even Mother, the author who wrote this universe into existence, played favorites with me so blatantly it was almost unfair. I never lacked love. So I never needed to act needy just to prove I was loved. But that night, I just desperately wanted to see him. Maybe it was because we hadn’t sat down for a proper dinner in seventeen days. Maybe it was because I had spent four hours sparring with a bunch of corporate sharks in the boardroom that afternoon. I won beautifully, but I felt inexplicably drained. Or maybe it was because, for the past two weeks, a strange, creeping anxiety had been gnawing at the edges of my heart. Like a flawless porcelain vase that looked perfect on the outside, but was secretly harboring a hairline fracture within. I wanted to see him. I wanted to hear his low, gravelly voice call my name. I wanted him to pull me into his arms. Just one hug. That was all I needed. But I didn’t get him. Instead, I watched a sleek black Bentley roll out of the underground parking garage. I knew that license plate by heart. It was Preston’s car. As the vehicle glided past me, the rear window was rolled halfway down. I saw Preston. And I saw the woman resting her head on his shoulder. She was wearing a white knit dress. Her hair was damp, her face pale. She looked like a fragile little wallflower battered by the storm. Draped over her thin shoulders was Preston’s tailored suit jacket. When Preston looked down at her, his eyes were incredibly soft. It was a specific kind of tenderness I knew intimately. A tenderness that used to belong exclusively to me. My driver saw it too. All the color drained from his face. “Miss…” I raised a hand, signaling him to stay quiet. The silence inside the car became deafening. I watched the Bentley disappear into the curtain of rain, and a sudden urge to laugh bubbled up in my throat. So my anxiety hadn’t been paranoia after all. My leading man really was tainted. I didn’t chase after them that night. I went straight to our new house. It was a sprawling custom estate we bought right after getting engaged. The architecture, the interior design, every single detail was handpicked to my taste. Preston had told me this would be our home after the wedding. He said it while kneeling in the dirt of the backyard, planting a row of rosebushes for me. This untouchable, elite billionaire had his expensive white sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his hands covered in mud. I had crouched next to him, teasing him. “Mr. Harrington, isn’t this ruining your ruthless CEO aesthetic?” He looked up at me, his eyes catching the sunlight. “For Audrey Lancaster, I’ll throw away any aesthetic I have.” But now, he wasn’t throwing away his aesthetic. He was throwing me away. I sat on the living room sofa, waiting from ten o’clock at night until two in the morning. Preston finally walked through the door. He carried the scent of rain mixed with the faint, lingering notes of a perfume I didn’t recognize. It was subtle. But I smelled it. The moment he walked in and saw me sitting in the dark, his brow instantly furrowed. “Why are you still up?” In the past, he would have said, Why are you waiting up for me? You must be exhausted. Look at that. Love and indifference don’t even share the same vocabulary. I looked up at him. “Where were you?” Preston paused in the middle of taking off his coat. “The office.” I let out a dry laugh. “The office?” He stared at me. “Audrey, what is that supposed to mean?” He rarely used my full first name like that in that tone. He used to call me his queen when he was teasing. Even when he was genuinely annoyed, he would just sigh and softly say, Audrey, please don’t be difficult. But now, he said it like we were entering a cold, calculated business negotiation. I didn’t scream. I just picked up my phone, pulled up the photo my driver had discreetly snapped, and turned the screen toward him. In the picture, Willow was leaning on his shoulder, buried inside his jacket. A rainy night. A luxury car. A fragile woman and a stoic billionaire. It looked exactly like a promotional poster for a romantic movie. Except, I was supposed to be the female lead of this story. I asked him, “Who is she?” Preston glanced at the screen. His expression barely shifted. He didn’t even look panicked. And honestly, his absolute calm hurt far more than panic ever could. Because his lack of panic meant he had already rehearsed this exact confrontation in his head a thousand times. He said, “She’s a new project assistant. Willow.” I nodded slowly. “Does a project assistant need to wear your clothes and use your shoulder as a pillow?” “She had a fever,” Preston replied, his voice cooling down. “I was just dropping her off.” “She doesn’t have family? She doesn’t have friends? She can’t call a cab? She can’t afford an ambulance?” Preston looked at me, a flicker of raw impatience bleeding into his eyes. “Audrey, could you stop being so suffocating for once?” That word finally made me freeze. Suffocating. Asking my fiancé why he was chauffeuring another woman home in the middle of the night was considered suffocating. I stared at him and let out a hollow laugh. “I ask you one single question, Preston, and you call me suffocating?” His frown deepened. “The way you’re acting right now. It’s just exhausting.” I didn’t say a word. The living room fell into a long, heavy silence. The rain battered against the floor-to-ceiling windows. I looked at the man standing in front of me, and he suddenly felt like a complete stranger. It was still the same face. The sharp jawline, the striking features. When he wore a black suit, he looked like a freshly sharpened blade. But I just had this overwhelming realization that the Preston who used to look at me like I hung the moon had died on some random night I wasn’t there to witness. The man standing in front of me was just a defective knockoff wearing my leading man’s skin. I stood up and walked right up to him. “Preston, do you have feelings for her?” He looked at me like I had just spoken a foreign language. “Audrey, stop being completely irrational.” I kept my eyes locked on his. “Answer the question.” He went silent for three seconds. And in those three seconds, I had my answer. He didn’t deny it immediately. That was all I needed to know. I really didn’t want to make a scene. It felt beneath me. But in the end, I lost control. Because at that exact moment, I still loved him. When a woman truly stops loving a man, she doesn’t scream. She doesn’t break things. Screaming is a cry for help. Cursing is just struggling against the pain. Tears mean you still want to be caught when you fall. I grabbed the antique vase he had given me and hurled it across the room. He had bought it for me at an auction three years ago for three million dollars. He had told me, It’s a beautiful piece of history, but it doesn’t hold a candle to you. Now that I think about it, when a man is spitting out sweet nothings, you can’t even trust the punctuation marks. The vase shattered against the hardwood floor. Porcelain shards exploded everywhere. Preston finally snapped. “Audrey, are you out of your damn mind?!” My eyes were burning. “I’m out of my mind? Preston, you’re the one cheating on me!” “I did not cheat on you.” “Then tell me right now, do you have feelings for her?!” Preston’s face turned to stone. He refused to speak. I took a step closer, my chest heaving. “Say it.” He finally opened his mouth, his voice dripping with ice. “Willow is not like you.” I laughed bitterly. “How so?” He looked down at me. His gaze was incredibly complex, yet entirely cruel. “She’s simple.” “She doesn’t feel the need to win every single battle, Audrey. Not like you.” I stopped dead in my tracks. So that was it. I was too strong. Too proud. Too radiant. Too incapable of playing the helpless victim. When he loved me, my sharp edges made me a breathtaking rose. Now that he didn’t, those exact same edges were just an annoyance. I asked him, “Preston, did you forget? When your family threw you to the wolves, I was the one who stood by you and helped you win your empire back.” The color drained from his face, replaced by a dark, ugly flush. “And?” he spat. “Are you going to hold that over my head for the rest of my life?” That single sentence disgusted me more than the actual cheating. I wasn’t trying to hold the past over his head. I just wanted him to remember that we used to stand shoulder-to-shoulder against the world. But he had already forgotten. Or rather, he hadn’t forgotten. He just refused to acknowledge it. Because acknowledging our history meant admitting how pathetic he was acting right now. I looked at him, and the tears finally spilled over. “Preston, you’ve changed.” He looked away, his voice dropping into a cold monotone. “People change.” He was right. People change. Which meant even a male lead could become absolute trash. After that night, Preston and I didn’t speak for three days. On the first day, I cried until I couldn’t breathe. My eyes swelled up, and my throat went raw. I sat on the floor of my massive walk-in closet, pulling out every single thing he had ever given me. Diamond necklaces. Ruby earrings. Haute couture gowns. Handwritten cards. I read his old handwriting. Happy birthday, my queen. May my Audrey always keep her chin up. Never bow your head. I will always be standing right behind you. I read the words never bow your head, and I laughed so hard fresh tears streamed down my face. Preston, you’re the one trying to force my head down now. On the second day, the crying stopped. I started cleaning house. I had my assistant box up every piece of jewelry he ever bought me and sent it straight to an auction house. I had my staff pack up every item of clothing he left at my place and ship it to his corporate headquarters. I called the venue we booked for the wedding and canceled the reservation. The designer crafting my custom wedding gown texted me, asking if I was absolutely sure. I stared at the screen and typed back a single word. Positive. By the third day, I had found complete and utter peace. Preston finally sent his first text since our explosive fight. Are you done throwing your tantrum? Ten minutes later, another message popped up. Come home when you’re finished acting like this. I read those two sentences and suddenly realized all the tears I shed on day one were a total waste of hydration. Look at him. He didn’t even think he was in the wrong. He genuinely believed I was just having a dramatic episode. He thought I was going to follow the old script. Be angry, cry it out, and inevitably run back into his arms. I stared at the glowing screen, absolute clarity washing over me. I typed out a reply. Preston, do you honestly believe that no matter what you do, I will always forgive you in the end? He replied almost instantly, as if I had asked the dumbest question in the world. Audrey, what we have isn’t something ordinary people can compare to. He sounded so incredibly entitled. As if the phrase what we have was a magic spell that could instantly erase betrayal. I let out a soft scoff and typed back. So you think just because you have protagonist armor, you get free passes to screw up? The moment that message delivered, my phone started ringing violently. It was Preston. The ringtone grated against my ears like nails on a chalkboard. In that split second, I knew for sure. He knew. He knew he was a “main character.” But he didn’t understand the full scope of the rules. He knew he had plot armor, but he had no idea where that armor actually came from. He forgot one crucial detail. He didn’t write the rules of this universe. On the night of the third day, I slipped into his favorite black silk dress and poured myself a heavy glass of red wine. I sat in the middle of my cavernous, empty bedroom and looked up at the ceiling. I rarely called out to Mother directly. Mother was the author of this world. She created me. She favored me above all else. She gave me my beauty, my wealthy background, my intelligence, my flawless plot armor. And she had given me the Preston who used to love me with his entire soul. When I was a little girl and tripped in the garden, Mother would write a gust of wind to blow soft petals into my palms to cushion the fall. When I was nervous before an exam, she made sure the test only covered the exact chapters I had reviewed. When I got kidnapped for the first time, she immediately wrote in ten police cruisers and a spectacularly unlucky car crash for the kidnappers. Mother used to tell me. Audrey, you are mommy’s leading lady. I didn’t write you into existence just so you could suffer. I always remembered that. But I never expected that the first person to ever truly break my heart would be the male lead she wrote specifically for me. I drained the glass of wine. My eyes were still slightly red, but my voice was completely soft. Just like when I was a little girl asking for a favor. “Mother.” “This toy is dirty.” “Get me a better one.” And so, the world hit pause. The curtains billowed. Every light in the room flared blindingly bright, then dimmed all at once. I heard the sound of pages turning. One page. Two pages. Three. It sounded like someone angrily flipping through a manuscript that had gone horribly wrong. Then, Mother’s voice echoed in the room. She sounded loving, thrilled, and laced with a barely contained, homicidal rage. “What kind do you want, baby?” “Mommy will swap him out for you.” “If he doesn’t love my leading lady, he can go straight to hell.” My eyelashes fluttered, and I finally smiled. In that exact moment, I knew. Preston was finished. Not just because I was done with him. But because the universe itself was done with him. Mother’s voice grumbled in my ear, cursing up a storm. “I am so entirely sick of this guy.” “I wrote him to be deeply devoted. I gave him a billion-dollar empire, an eight-pack, a genius-level IQ, a clean background, and a borderline obsessive love for you. And he turns around and catches feelings for a pathetic little wallflower?!” “Is his brain actively rotting?” I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Mother, your language is very unprofessional for an author.” Mother scoffed. “He’s cheating on my daughter. Why the hell would I care about being professional?” “Tell me, baby, what exactly are you looking for in the new one?” I leaned back against the velvet sofa and actually thought about it. “He needs to be gorgeous.” “Obviously,” Mother replied. “Better looking than Preston.” “He needs to be rich.” “Filthy rich. Richer than Preston.” “He needs to be obedient.” “Taking notes on that one.” “And he needs to be a little unhinged.” Mother went silent for two full seconds. Then, her voice spiked with pure excitement. “Baby, you’ve finally grown up.” I was speechless. She didn’t need to sound quite so proud. I swirled the remaining drops in my glass. “But not the irrational, annoying kind of crazy. I want him to be a ruthless monster to the rest of the world, but perfectly behaved when he’s with me.” Mother snapped her fingers. “Understood. A gentle, unhinged, devoted hound. The absolute premium upgrade.” I nodded. “Add a little bit of danger.” “Done.” “And he absolutely cannot have a soft spot for helpless little white lotuses.” Mother’s voice dropped to absolute zero. “I’d like to see any of them try.” I smiled. “Mother.” “Hmm?” “Will Preston regret it?” Mother stayed quiet for a moment. Then she said. “Yes.” “But not because he deserves the luxury of regret.” “He’s going to regret it because mommy is going to show him exactly what it looks like when a male lead gets reduced to absolute garbage in just three days.” I lowered my eyes. The lingering ache in my chest was slowly being smoothed away. Not because I wasn’t sad anymore. But because I knew my sadness wasn’t going to be a pointless waste of energy. There are so many women in this world who have to swallow their pain and suffer in silence. But I was different. I was the female lead. If I suffered, the heavens would rewrite the script just to make it right. This was a romance novel, after all! When I woke up the next morning, the sunlight was pouring through the windows. I walked downstairs in my silk robe. My butler informed me that Preston was here. He was sitting in the living room, looking terrible. We hadn’t seen each other in three days, and he looked visibly exhausted. I used to hate seeing him like this. A single crease in his brow used to make my heart ache. Now, looking at him just felt like a mild annoyance. Preston stood up when he saw me coming down the stairs. His eyes locked onto my slightly swollen eyelids, and he hesitated. “You’ve been crying?” I gave a dry smile. “Isn’t it obvious?” His brow furrowed deeply. “Audrey, we really don’t need to make this so ugly.” Ugly. There he goes again. I walked over to the sofa, sat down, and took a sip of the coffee my maid handed me. “Did Mr. Harrington come all this way just to lecture me?” He hated it when I called him Mr. Harrington. Predictably, his expression darkened. “Audrey.” “Don’t call me that,” I cut him off. Preston fell silent for a few seconds, actively suppressing his temper. “I can explain what happened the other night.” I looked up over the rim of my cup. “Explain why you were playing chauffeur for Willow in the middle of the night?” “She had a fever.” “Explain why you let her sleep on your shoulder?” “She was incredibly weak.” “Explain why you gave her your clothes?” “It was raining.” “Explain why it took you three entire days to show up here?” He had no answer for that one. I let out a short laugh. “Look at that, Preston. Every single one of your excuses sounds perfectly reasonable on its own.” “But when you put them all together, it’s just repulsive.” Preston’s face turned grim. “Do you always have to speak to me like this?” “I’ve always spoken like this.” I stared right back at him. “Didn’t you used to love it?” His breath caught in his throat. I set my coffee cup down, taking my time. “You used to tell me that I had every right to be proud, to have sharp edges, to never back down.” “Why don’t you like it anymore?” “Because Willow isn’t like that?” Preston’s eyes turned freezing cold. “This has absolutely nothing to do with Willow.” I just gave a soft, noncommittal oh. Right on cue, a timid, fragile voice drifted in from the foyer. “Mr. Harrington…” I glanced toward the door. Willow was standing there in a pristine white dress. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she was clutching a stack of folders to her chest. When she saw me, she practically flinched, taking a half-step back like a startled deer. “Oh, Miss Lancaster, you’re here too…” I raised an eyebrow. What an interesting choice of words. We didn’t know each other at all, yet she was acting like she had stumbled into my territory. Anyone watching would think we were a couple of concubines fighting over the emperor’s favor. Preston whipped his head around, frowning. “What are you doing here?” Willow lowered her voice to a pathetic whisper. “Mr. Harrington, the paperwork for Apex Ventures needs your signature immediately. The executive secretary said you were here, so I just…” Her eyes welled up with fresh tears. “I’m so sorry. Am I interrupting something?” Give the girl an Oscar. I looked down at my coffee and stayed quiet. Preston looked at Willow, then looked back at me. In that split second, I could practically hear the gears turning in his head. Willow was fragile and helpless. I was cold and dominant. Therefore, he automatically assumed I was about to verbally destroy her. Sure enough, his next words were aimed at Willow. “Go wait for me outside.” Willow bit her lower lip. “But the documents…” “Outside.” A single tear spilled over her lashes. She shot me a terrified glance, spun on her heel, and practically sprinted out the door. I clapped my hands slowly. “Spectacular.” Preston’s face was livid. “Audrey, are you happy now?” I looked at him like he was insane. “She ran away on her own. What does that have to do with me?” “Did you really have to push her like that?” I almost laughed in his face. “What exactly did I say?” Preston froze. Because I literally hadn’t said a single word to her. But his savior complex was so deeply ingrained that he instinctively blamed me for her tears. I looked at him, and the very last shred of nostalgia I held in my heart was thoroughly, completely eradicated. “Preston.” “What?” “Did you know? Three days ago, I was actually pretty heartbroken over this.” His eyes flickered. I kept going. “But I’m not heartbroken anymore.” He seemed to realize where this was going. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “What are you trying to say?” I stood up and walked until I was standing right in front of him. “I’m saying I don’t want you anymore.” Preston froze completely solid. For a second, he just looked bewildered. As if the mathematical possibility of me ever saying those words had never even entered his brain. After a few beats, he let out a dark chuckle. “Audrey, is this your new strategy to force me to apologize?” I smiled. “You flatter yourself.” I picked up a thick manila envelope from the coffee table and shoved it into his chest. “Notice of cancellation for the engagement. Confirmation of cancellation for the venue. The asset division strategy for all our joint ventures, and a finalized ledger of every single asset you ever transferred to my name, all ready to be returned.” “Preston, you know me. When I cut dead weight, I don’t drag my feet.” The color drained out of his face, inch by inch. “You’re serious?” “What did you think?” I tilted my head. “Did you really think I was playing some childish game of hard to get?” Preston stared at me, his eyes burning. I could see the rage. But beneath the rage, I finally saw the creeping panic clawing its way to the surface. Too bad it was way too late. “Audrey.” His voice dropped into a low, commanding register. “Calm down.” My smile only grew sweeter. “I’ve been calming down for three days.” “I am completely, entirely calm.” Right at that moment, a sharp gasp echoed from the front porch. “Mr. Harrington!” It was followed immediately by the shattering of glass. Preston’s instincts kicked in. He spun around and sprinted out the door without a second thought. I stood in the center of the room, watching him run. Look at that. Habits really are terrifying. He didn’t even look back at me once. A few minutes later, my butler walked in, looking incredibly strained. “Miss, the young woman outside accidentally knocked over the Ming dynasty replica vase by the entrance. She scraped her hand.” I asked, “Is it serious?” “Not at all. Barely broke the skin.” I nodded. “Make her pay for it.” My butler blinked. “Pardon?” I smiled. “That vase was three million dollars.” He immediately bowed his head. “Yes, Miss.” From the porch, I could hear Willow’s pathetic sobbing. Preston’s furious voice cut through the air. “Audrey! It’s just a damn vase. Do you really need to be this vindictive?” I strolled out to the front door and looked down at them. Willow had a single band-aid wrapped around her index finger. She was hiding behind Preston, crying her eyes out. Preston was shielding her with his body, glaring at me like I was the villain of the century. I drawled, taking my time. “Mr. Harrington, it’s just a vase. Three million dollars. Will that be cash or wire transfer?” Willow turned ashen. “I… I didn’t mean to…” I nodded sympathetically. “Oh, so if it’s an accident, it’s free? Good to know. If I accidentally bulldoze the Harrington Corp headquarters, I assume I won’t have to pay for that either?” Willow sobbed even harder. Preston gritted his teeth. “She can’t afford that.” “And?” I looked him up and down. “Are you going to pay for it?” Preston hesitated for a fraction of a second. I laughed. “Make sense. She can’t afford it, but you definitely can.” “After all, you two are so very close.” Preston’s face was practically black with rage. “Audrey Lancaster!” I was bored with his yelling. I turned to my butler. “Add it to his tab and have the legal department draft the lawsuit.” Then I looked back at Preston. “Mr. Harrington, the gate is that way.” “Take your little project assistant and get off my property.” After dropping that line, I felt better than I had in weeks. Maybe it was the sheer power trip of having main character privileges. Or maybe it was just knowing that my shiny new toy was going to arrive very soon. That very night, disaster struck Harrington Corp. Apex Ventures abruptly announced the immediate suspension of all merger negotiations. Preston had been bleeding himself dry over this project for six months. He had bet the entire next three years of the company’s strategy on this deal. The second the news broke, Harrington Corp’s stock plummeted, wiping out billions in market value in a single afternoon. The financial news networks were having a field day. I was sitting in my dining room eating dinner when my phone started vibrating off the table.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “530568”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Kevin is a superstar voice actor with millions of fans. I’m a retired one, my career ended when I destroyed my vocal cords saving his life. On the day the doctors declared me mute, Kevin knelt beside me, vowing to adapt my novel into an audio drama. He promised to use my archived voice for the lead role. But when the script was finalized, he replaced me with a rising starlet. I signed frantically, demanding answers. He looked irritated. You’re mute, Gwen. Expect fans to listen to old, static recordings? Molly’s voice is expressive, nearly identical to yours. She’s perfect. Stop being selfish. At the launch, I lingered outside the dressing room. Inside, Molly cooed, Kevin, why mimic Gwen’s old pronunciation? He chuckled. It was her signature. Old fans will recognize it. We’ll ride her popularity for buzz. I froze, clutching a cassette of my master recordings. I’d believed seven years of sacrifice earned respect. Instead, I was just a washed-up prop for profit. My grip tightened until the plastic snapped. My world had been silent for seven years. I no longer needed his voice to fill the void. … The lights on the main stage flared to life, and Kevin led Molly to the center of the platform. The host smiled warmly. “Kevin, this audio drama has been seven years in the making. We all heard rumors that it was a gift for your wife, but the lead role went to Molly. Aren’t you worried your wife will be jealous?” Below the stage, the fans began to cheer and tease. Kevin held the microphone, his profile bathed in the soft stage lights, looking incredibly gentle. “She will understand. A masterpiece requires the most suitable voice, and Molly is exactly that.” Molly lowered her head with a shy smile. The silver custom earpiece she wore caught the light. That was a birthday gift I had customized for Kevin last year. Engraved on the inner band was a single sentence: May you always be heard by the world. I stood in the shadows of the backstage wing. My palm was still stinging from the sharp plastic edges of the broken cassette tape. Production assistants rushed past me, none of them recognizing who I was, and none of them knowing that the original creator of this story should have been the one standing in the spotlight. Kevin had once promised me that when he reached the peak of his career, he would personally narrate my story to the entire world. Now, he had reached the peak. But he was holding someone else’s hand. Molly took the microphone, her voice as sweet as honey. “Honestly, I’ve been under a lot of pressure. Kevin told me that Gwen’s voice used to be legendary, and I was so worried I wouldn’t do it justice. I didn’t want to let them down.” Someone in the crowd yelled, “You’re doing amazing, Molly! You have way more emotion than any AI!” Kevin smiled, reaching over to gently adjust her earpiece. “Don’t be nervous. You are far more suited for this role than she is now.” My fingers curled into a tight fist. Those words weren’t loud, but they felt like a cruel hand dragging my seven years of silence into the open just to stomp on it in front of a crowd. My assistant, Penny, saw me and quickly hurried over, keeping her voice low. “Gwen, Kevin said it’s best if you don’t go out to the front. Since you can’t speak, it might make things awkward if the media starts asking questions.” I opened the notes app on my phone and typed a message for her to read. I am the author, and I own the rights to this story. Why can’t I go out there? Penny’s face went stiff. “Gwen, there are too many fans here today. If you get emotional and start using sign language on camera, it’s going to look really bad. Kevin is only looking out for you.” Looking out for me. I had heard those words for seven long years. During the studio fire seven years ago, the soundproof panels collapsed, trapping Kevin inside the recording booth. I was the one who ran through the flames to drag him out, ruining my vocal cords from the toxic smoke. The doctor told me that if I had the secondary reconstructive surgery immediately, I might still have a chance of speaking again. But back then, Kevin had just signed his first major contract, and his sudden split from his management agency left him with a massive debt in liquidated damages. I took my surgery savings and used every penny to pay off his debt. He had held my hands and promised, “Gwen, once I make it, I will say everything you can’t say for the rest of our lives.” I believed him. I believed him right up until today, when the first thing he chose to say on my behalf was that I was no longer suitable. When the launch event ended, Kevin walked backstage. Molly followed close behind, cradling a massive bouquet of flowers from her fans. When he saw me, his brow instantly furrowed. “Why are you still here?” I raised my phone. Why did you block me from going on stage? Kevin glanced at the screen, pinching the bridge of his nose with obvious exhaustion. “The casting was a team decision. I don’t need to report every single business move to you.” This script is my intellectual property, and the female lead is based entirely on me. Why was I excluded? Kevin’s expression went cold. “Gwen, do you absolutely have to make things difficult for Molly?” I stared at him, typing out my reply letter by letter. But the only one being humiliated here is me. Kevin gave a dismissive sigh. “I have never forgotten that you saved me, Gwen. That’s why I’ve taken care of you and provided you with the best possible life for the last seven years. But business is business. You can’t use your past sacrifice to leverage my professional decisions.” A bitter smile played on my lips. So our seven years of marriage amounted to nothing more than him “taking care” of me. I looked down at my phone and tapped send on a pre-drafted email. I hereby withdraw my authorization for the audio drama adaptation. My legal counsel will follow up with the breach of contract details shortly. The confirmation notice flashed on the screen. I locked my phone, turned around, and walked out into the rain. 2 Kevin did not come home that night. The motion-sensor light in the hallway flickered on and off in the empty apartment, leaving only the vintage cassette player sitting quietly on the desk. I placed the broken pieces of the cassette tape into a drawer. Lying right beside them was the unsigned surgery consent form from seven years ago. The paper had already yellowed with age, and the signature line remained entirely blank. At the time, the doctor had pressed me, “Are you absolutely sure you want to delay the secondary reconstruction? If you wait too long, you might lose your voice permanently.” I had simply nodded. I did it because Kevin had been standing in the hospital corridor, fresh off a devastating call from his agent, looking completely pale. He had told me that if his debut project fell through, his career would be over before it even started. I never could have guessed that once he finally made it, he would never bother to look back at the girl who sacrificed her voice for him. At eight in the morning, the front door clicked open. Kevin walked in, carrying the faint scent of the recording studio’s mint diffuser. He held a sleek shopping bag in his hand, which he placed gently on the dining table. “The launch went perfectly yesterday, and Molly is already trending,” he said, slipping off his jacket. “Look, I know I’ve been neglecting you lately. I bought this to make it up to you.” I opened the bag. Inside was the latest model of a digital text-to-speech voice synthesizer. A small sticky note was attached to the user manual. Pre-loaded with Molly’s customized vocal profile. I stared at the note, a chill creeping over my skin. Kevin unbuttoned his cuffs, his voice entirely casual. “From now on, whenever you type, it will read the words out loud. It’ll save you the trouble of using sign language when people can’t understand you.” I typed a single question on my phone and showed it to him. Why does it have her voice? Kevin glanced at the screen. “The sponsor gave it to me for free. Of course it uses Molly’s voice profile. Don’t be so sensitive. Having this is much better than you waving your hands around like a mute.” He sat down on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. The screen lit up with a voice note from Molly. “Kevin, I just tried the warm honey water you sent over. My throat feels so much better! I can’t believe you remembered that I can’t have ice.” A soft, genuine smile touched Kevin’s lips as he typed back, “Rest your voice. We have a long recording session this afternoon.” Standing next to him, I suddenly realized I hadn’t tasted warm honey water in years. My respiratory system had always been weak, and after the fire, the doctor warned me to avoid cold drinks, stress, and late nights. Kevin had remembered those rules for a few weeks in the beginning. But once his schedule packed up, my nightly coughing fits only brought a frown to his face. “Maybe you should sleep in the guest room, Gwen. I have a major session tomorrow, and I can’t afford to lose sleep.” Molly sent another photo. It was a shot of her newly decorated dressing room at the studio, complete with her favorite strawberry cakes and a wall covered in pink sticky notes. Her caption read: Kevin says every girl deserves to be spoiled at work. Kevin looked up at me. “See how sweet she is? She actually appreciates the little things people do for her.” I pulled up my phone. I used to love strawberries, too. Kevin blinked, as if trying to recall a distant memory, before giving a shrug. “Really? I thought you hated sweet things.” I didn’t bother replying. I stopped eating sweets because my stomach had been ruined by years of working double shifts to support us. When he got his first lead role, the studio didn’t provide meals, so I walked miles every day to deliver hot food to his booth. On my way back, I would huddle outside a convenience store, choking down cheap, stale bread just to save money. Eventually, the sheer exhaustion made me vomit at the smell of butter and cream. He didn’t know. He had never cared to ask. At noon, Kevin’s phone rang. It was his manager. “Kevin, Resonance Studios just contacted us. They said the author of the novel is renegotiating the audio rights. Isn’t the author your wife? What is going on?” Resonance Studios was the absolute titan of the audio production industry. Kevin’s gaze immediately snapped to me. He hung up the phone, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Did you contact another studio?” I nodded, offering no explanation. He stood up, his anger boiling over. “Gwen! Do you have any idea how much money we’ve sunk into this project? Are you really going to burn everything down just because of a casting dispute?” I am not throwing a tantrum. This is a business decision. Your studio changed the lead voice actor and altered the marketing direction without the author’s written consent. You are in material breach of our contract. Kevin let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “We are married, Gwen. My studio is your studio. Do you really have to draw such a petty line between us?” I looked at him, typing my response slowly and deliberately. From now on, yes. Kevin’s face turned incredibly dark. Before he could speak, the doorbell rang. Molly stood on the mat, cradling a stack of script folders. “Kevin, did I come at a bad time?” she asked timidly. Kevin’s voice softened instantly. “Not at all. Come on in.” As she stepped inside, she naturally slid her feet into a pair of soft-soled slippers. Those slippers were a custom pair I had bought for myself because of an old injury on my left foot that made hard soles painful. Kevin, of course, had never noticed. Molly sat down in my usual spot on the sofa, opening her script. “Gwen, I was hoping to listen to your old cassette tape today. Kevin said your crying scenes had incredible depth when you were younger. I want to study your technique to do the character justice.” I looked over at Kevin. He avoided my eyes, muttering, “It’s just an old demo tape, Gwen. Don’t be petty.” I walked over to the desk, pulled the broken cassette tape out of the drawer, and placed it on the coffee table. Molly gasped, her face turning pale. “It’s broken?” I typed. It’s useless now. Kevin suddenly grabbed my wrist, his grip painfully tight. “Gwen, have you lost your mind? That was the only master recording we had of your original voice. We needed it for promotional comparisons! How could you destroy it?” The plastic edges dug into my skin, but I didn’t flinch. He remembered it was the only copy. But he didn’t care that my voice was gone forever. He only cared about the lost marketing value. The signing ceremony with Resonance Studios was scheduled for Saturday morning. Cory, the lead director, pushed the new contract toward me. “Gwen, once you officially revoke the authorization from Kevin’s studio, we will handle the production from scratch. We won’t use a stand-in voice for your character. We suggest keeping the female lead silent, using ambient sounds, narration, and text overlays to tell her story.” I stared at him, momentarily stunned. He understood my silence and added gently, “Your silence is a powerful part of the story. It doesn’t need to be simulated by anyone else.” I picked up the pen and signed my name. As the ink dried, my eyes welled with tears. For seven years, someone had finally acknowledged that my lost voice was not a flaw to be covered up. Cory’s assistant handed me a schedule. “Gwen, we have a small press conference scheduled for this afternoon. You won’t have to speak. We’ve prepared a digital board and real-time screen displays for you.” I nodded, a weight finally lifting from my chest. Suddenly, my phone buzzed with a live-stream notification. I opened the link to find Molly’s personal account streaming live. The title read: Rehearsing the final confession scene with Kevin. I was about to close the app when I saw Marcus, Kevin’s childhood friend, sitting on the studio sofa, laughing loudly. “Did she actually think Kevin made this drama for her? Kevin, you really knew how to sweet-talk her back then.” Another voice chimed in. “She’s mute now, yet she still wanted to hoard the lead role. She obviously doesn’t care about what the fans want.” Molly made a weak attempt to quiet them down. “Don’t talk about Gwen like that. She did sacrifice a lot for Kevin.” Marcus scoffed. “Sacrifice? No one forced her to run into that fire. Kevin didn’t beg her to save him. Besides, Kevin has treated her like a queen for seven years. She has a house, a car, what else does she want?” The camera panned over to Kevin. He didn’t defend me. He simply kept adjusting the audio mixer, his expression indifferent. Someone asked, “Kevin, is she really revoking the rights?” Kevin replied casually, “She’s just throwing a fit. She has nowhere else to go. Once she calms down, she’ll sign the papers.” The comment section was flying by. So the author is Kevin’s wife? A mute trying to play the lead is honestly kind of embarrassing. Molly’s voice is so sweet. She shouldn’t be guilt-tripped by some washed-up senior. I gripped my phone, a cold numbness spreading from my chest to my fingertips. So everyone knew how pathetic I was. They knew he didn’t love me, they knew his promises were hollow, and they knew my seven years of silent waiting was nothing but a “tantrum” in his eyes. I was the only one kept in the dark. Cory gently took the phone from my hand, locking the screen. “Gwen, don’t look at it.” I took a slow, deep breath and typed. The press conference proceeds as planned. At two in the afternoon, the Resonance Studios press hall was packed with reporters. The giant screen displayed the new concept art for the audio drama. There were no actors’ names listed, only a picture of a shattered cassette tape and a single tagline: Her seven years of silence will finally be heard. When the host introduced me, the applause from the crowd was respectful and quiet. I walked onto the stage carrying my digital writing pad, writing my first statement: This story will no longer be a charity case for anyone. As I began typing the second sentence, a sudden commotion broke out at the entrance. Kevin pushed past the security guards, marching into the hall. He had clearly rushed straight from the airport; his black trench coat was damp with rain, and his brow was set in a deep scowl. The media cameras immediately swung toward him. Molly followed right behind him, panting for breath. “Gwen, please stop this. Kevin hasn’t slept in days because of this project.” Kevin looked at me on the stage, then at the massive Resonance Studios logo on the screen. His expression fractured. “Gwen!” His voice rang out clearly through the hall’s sound system. “Would you seriously rather give your work to strangers than support me?” I looked at him, feeling nothing but a profound sense of exhaustion. Even now, his only concern was his own career. Cory stepped in front of me. “Kevin, the authorization has been legally revoked. Please leave the premises.” Kevin glared at him, letting out a cold sneer. “And who are you? Her new sponsor?” The flashbulbs were blinding. I lifted my writing pad, displaying three words: He is my lawyer. Kevin’s eyes widened in shock. He took a step toward the stage, but security guards quickly closed in from both sides. I held the stylus tight, watching him stand just a few feet away. “Gwen, come down here,” Kevin commanded, his eyes locked onto mine. In the past, whenever he called my name like that, I would drop everything and run to him. I would hand him water, organize his scripts, or use sign language to soothe his anxiety when he was on the verge of a breakdown. This time, I didn’t move an inch. The host tried to diffuse the situation. “Kevin, today is Gwen’s press launch. If you have personal matters to discuss, please wait until after the event.” Kevin shot him a lethal look. “This is between me and my wife.” I raised my writing pad again. Not for long.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “530553”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I am the default companion NPC bound to the ultimate Boss of a horror game. Everyone in the entire server knows it. I am cowardly and low-level. I don’t even know how to scare the players. Every time rookies enter the dungeon, I just hide in a wardrobe and shiver. Jarvis, on the other hand, is an Abyss-tier Boss. He is the most dangerous entity in the entire Infinite Corridor. With a single thought, he can reset any dungeon instance. So nobody understood. Nobody knew why a supreme being like him would ever look at a useless NPC like me. Only later did I realize. It wasn’t affection. It was merely a habit. 01 I had been with Jarvis for three years when the System launched the first cross-server event. It was a massive affair. All the high-tier players gathered. The Great Hall of the Abyss was ablaze with light. I sat right next to the Boss’s exclusive throne. That was my designated spot. It had been that way for three long years. Every monster knew it. Every player knew it. I belonged to Jarvis. At least, until the event began and a girl stepped forward. Her name was Sienna. She was the top-ranked player in the real-world server and the most popular streamer on the platform. She was beautiful, daring, and broke speedrun records with ease. In just six short months, she had risen to the legendary hall of fame. The moment she arrived, the crowd erupted into cheers. Jarvis sat on his throne, his expression as cold and detached as ever. But then Sienna walked up to the stage and smiled. “I’ve heard the Abyss Boss is unmatched,” she said, her voice carrying across the silent hall. “I’ve always wanted to test that theory.” The silence was absolute. Everyone knew her words were a direct provocation. Yet, in the very next second, Jarvis did something unexpected. He smiled. “And how exactly do you want to test it?” he asked. It was the first time he had ever acknowledged a player in public. I froze. Beside us, the skeletal butler responsible for tracking game data froze as well. The hall held its breath for two agonizing seconds before exploding into a frenzy of whispers. Sienna’s eyes lit up. “What if I win?” Jarvis rested his chin in his hand, looking completely unbothered. “Then you get a reward.” With a wave of his hand, a dark, shimmering authority panel materialized in the air. A collective gasp echoed through the room. That was the Abyssal Writ, the highest-tier clearance pass in the game. Whoever held it could enter Jarvis’s primary domain at will. For the past three years, that permission had belonged to only one person. Me. I stared at the glowing writ, suddenly feeling very cold. 02 Once the event ended, the community forums exploded. [Did the Abyss Boss just fall for the top streamer?] [Abyssal Writ granted to a player for the first time!] [Is the bound NPC finally losing her crown?] Dozens of posts flooded the front page. I didn’t read them. Clutching my plush rabbit close to my chest, I slipped back to my room. In the dead of night, Jarvis returned. Seeing that I was still awake, he reached out and gently ruffled my hair. “What’s wrong?” he asked. I looked up at him. “Where is the Abyssal Writ?” Jarvis paused, seemingly caught off guard by my question. “It was just a reward,” he said softly. “Required for the event.” I offered a quiet nod and lowered my gaze, refusing to say more. If it was just a reward, why did it have to be that specific token? If it was just for the event, why choose the one thing that connected us? Perhaps sensing my withdrawal, Jarvis pulled me into his arms. “Are you angry?” I shook my head. “No.” And I meant it. Because in that moment, I suddenly remembered something. Jarvis and I had never actually gone through a formal bonding process. I was merely a randomly generated NPC, while he was the supreme ruler of the Abyss. In theory, he could replace me whenever he pleased. I had no right to be angry. 03 The next day, I went to work as usual. Hide in the cabinet. Shed a few tears. Hand the key to the players. But the moment my shift began, a group of players barged in, recording with their system cameras and laughing. “Is this her?” “The NPC who got replaced by the streamer?” “She looks so ordinary.” “I heard the Boss kept her around for three years. He must be bored of her by now.” They chuckled among themselves. I curled up inside the wardrobe, hugging my knees, and kept silent. By afternoon, a new post topped the forums. [Breaking! Sienna receives permanent Abyssal clearance!] In the attached clip, Jarvis stood before his throne, personally handing the Abyssal Writ to her. Sienna accepted it with a radiant smile. The crowd cheered. Staring at the screen, a strange sense of detachment washed over me. Three years ago, when Jarvis gave me that same clearance, he had looked at me with the same intensity. He had told me, “From now on, nobody will ever bully you.” I had believed him for a very long time. 04 That evening, the skeletal butler came to see me. He hesitated for a long time before handing me an application form. “My lady,” he said gently. “Several other dungeons are currently short-handed on NPCs. If you wish to transfer…” He left the rest of the sentence hanging. But I understood completely. Everyone assumed Sienna would replace me. Even the monsters believed it. Staring down at the paper, I let out a soft, wry laugh. “Can I transfer to a completely different sector?” The butler blinked in surprise. “You want to leave?” I nodded. “Yes. I want a change of scenery.” He remained quiet for a long moment before asking, “Does the Master know?” I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.” Three days after I submitted the request, the main System approved it. [NPC Designation: 0731.] [Transfer request: Approved.] [Effective in: Seven days.] Staring at the glowing notification, I felt a weight lift from my chest for the very first time. During those seven days, Jarvis became busier than ever. He was managing the cross-server events, streaming with Sienna, and coordinating with the main platform. The forums were entirely saturated with news of them. Some said Sienna was the only player worthy of standing beside the Boss. Some said she was the true protagonist of this world. Nobody knew I was already preparing to leave. 05 On the seventh night, Jarvis finally returned. He brought a mechanical rabbit with him. Standing at the doorway, exhaustion was written all over his face. “I heard you’ve been unhappy lately,” he said, holding it out. “I bought this for you.” Looking at the toy, I felt a sudden urge to cry. If this had been before, I would have been overjoyed. But now, it felt entirely meaningless. I took the rabbit and whispered, “Thank you.” Jarvis frowned, sensing the coldness in my tone. “Evelyn,” he said, using my name for the first time. “What is going on?” I simply smiled. Then, I unclasped the clearance pendant I had worn around my neck for three years. I placed it gently into his palm. “I am returning this to you.” The air in the room grew heavy. His expression shifted, hardening. “What is the meaning of this?” I met his eyes. “My transfer request went through. I am leaving the Abyss tomorrow.” Silence fell over the room like a physical weight. For the first time, Jarvis looked genuinely bewildered. He stared at me as if I were speaking a foreign language. “What did you just say?” I looked at him, the dim light catching his handsome features. He looked exactly the same as always, yet everything felt so distant. Suddenly, I lost the energy to argue. So, I let out a soft laugh and crinkled my eyes. “Nothing. Just a joke.” Jarvis watched me for a few seconds, as if searching for something. Ultimately, he just reached out and patted my head. “Don’t make jokes like that,” he said, his tone carrying a hint of exasperation, as if I were merely throwing another childish tantrum. I lowered my head and murmured an agreement. I didn’t explain, and he didn’t press. After all, over the last three years, I had said similar things so many times. “I don’t want to stay here.” “I want to work somewhere else.” “What if I run away one day?” Every single time, he would simply pull me into his embrace or offer a few half-hearted words of comfort. He had never once taken me seriously. That night, he left as usual, leaning down to kiss my forehead before he walked out. “Get some rest.” I stood by the door, watching his silhouette disappear down the long hallway. Only when the footsteps completely faded did I quietly close the door. 06 The next morning, the System finalized the process. [NPC 0731: Transfer fully effective.] I dragged my suitcase out of the Abyssal Citadel. There were no farewells, and I notified no one. I had already said my goodbyes the night before. It was just that no one chose to believe me. I boarded the transit train heading to Sector 13. Only after the train chugged to life and started moving did the intercom suddenly screech with static. Then, a name that had absolutely no business being broadcasted outside his domain echoed through the entire train. “Attention all units.” “The primary Abyssal instance has entered total lockdown.” “The Supreme Boss authority has seized control of all servers.” “Currently searching for NPC 0731.” I slowly raised my head. Outside the train window, the once-bright sky was slowly turning into the color of fresh blood. 07 Instantly, the entire carriage went wild. “The Supreme Boss authority?” “Is this a joke?” “The ruler of the Abyss never interferes with external sectors!” “Who on earth is NPC 0731?” The train was packed with monsters and minor NPCs, all whispering and looking at each other in confusion. I quietly pulled my hat down, a terrible premonition settling in my gut. A second later, the broadcast blared again. “Repeating notification.” “Target: NPC 0731.” “Name: Evelyn.” “Identifying features: Easily frightened, prone to crying, carries a plush rabbit.” The carriage fell into a dead silence. Dozens of eyes slowly turned to look at me. I froze. I was doomed. Three minutes later, I was sprinting through the train, desperately clutching my suitcase. “She’s over there!” “Catch her!” “The bounty is a hundred thousand points!” “Don’t let her escape!” I ran, tears streaming down my face. I had never realized I was worth so much money. The conductor chased me with a megaphone, shouting, “Miss Evelyn! Your boyfriend is looking for you! Please do not disrupt public order!” I nearly tripped over my own feet. What boyfriend? He was my ex. And who in their right mind locks down the entire server database over a breakup? Fortunately, the train finally screeched to a halt at Sector 13. The portal hissed open, and I dove straight through. 08 The world finally grew quiet. Sector 13, also known as the Ruined Fairground. It was one of the most remote and neglected dungeons in the game. There were no high-level players, no competitive leaderboards, and barely any decent loot. Its only saving grace was that it was incredibly far from the Abyss. Or so I thought. Two hours after stepping off the train, I saw the Abyssal Legion. The sky split open, revealing a massive, swirling rift. Thousands of flying monsters swarmed the heavens, blocking out the sun. The ground trembled as columns of high-ranking armored beasts marched in perfect formation. My jaw dropped. These people were absolutely insane. The supervisor NPC in charge of my reception turned pale. “Miss Evelyn, who exactly are you?” I wanted to know the answer to that myself. Just then, a system alert flashed before my eyes. [Server Announcement.] [The Abyssal Boss has upgraded the bounty.] [Anyone providing actionable leads on NPC 0731 will receive one million points.] The entire server lost its mind. The community forums crashed under the sheer volume of traffic. I sat in my tiny staff dormitory, watching the threads multiply at a dizzying speed. [The Abyss Boss Hunts Down His Runaway NPC] [Rumor Has It the Boss’s Girl Fled] [Does Anyone Know What Happened?] [One Million Points! My Mom Is Asking Why I Haven’t Logged In to Join the Hunt] There were tens of thousands of replies. [I heard she dumped him.] [No way, seriously?] [My buddy works in the Abyss. He said the Boss hasn’t slept in three days.] [Not three days, it’s been five.] [They’ve already terminated seventy-eight managers in the main dungeon.] I quietly shut down the interface, too terrified to keep reading. 09 That evening, there was a knock on my dormitory door. The supervisor stood there with a deeply complicated expression. “Miss Evelyn, someone is here to see you.” I blinked. “Who?” The supervisor swallowed hard. “Sienna.” A few minutes later, in the reception room, I met the legendary top streamer for the second time. She was even more stunning in person than on screen. When she saw me, she paused, seemingly surprised by my plain appearance. After a moment, she let out a soft laugh. “So, it really is you.” I nodded, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. Sienna looked at me and asked, “Why did you run?” I hadn’t expected her to be so direct. I remained quiet for a brief moment before replying, “I just wanted to work in a different place.” Sienna stared at me as if I had just given the most absurd answer in the world. “Just because of that?” I nodded. “Yes.” She laughed, shaking her head. “Evelyn, do you have any idea what’s going on?” “The entire server thinks I stole your spot.” I was stunned. Sienna leaned back against her chair, her expression showing a hint of weariness. “But the truth is, I’ve only ever seen Jarvis three times.” “The first time was at the event.” “The second was to receive the prize.” “And the third time…” She paused. “He came to find me.” I raised my eyes instinctively. Sienna continued, “He told me never to set foot in the Abyss again.” I sat frozen. “Why?” “Because he said it would make you unhappy.” The air in the room grew entirely still. Sienna stared down at her teacup, turning it slowly. “I thought he was out of his mind at first. But then I realized…” “He was just using me as a tool.” I had no words. “The event needed hype, and it needed a controversial figure, so he chose me. But the moment the event ended, he revoked my clearance immediately.” Sienna met my gaze. “Evelyn, did you ever even bother to ask him about it?” My mouth opened, but no sound came out. After that day, I indeed hadn’t asked a single question. I had simply filed for a transfer. 10 Suddenly, terrified screams echoed from outside the reception room. The entire building shook violently. Red alarms began to flash frantically on the walls. [Warning!] [Warning!] [An SSS-tier hazardous target has breached the perimeter!] [An SSS-tier hazardous target has breached the perimeter!] My heart leaped into my throat. The supervisor practically crawled into the room, gasping for breath. “Miss Evelyn! Run! The Abyssal Boss is here!” A deafening explosion tore through the room. The concrete wall crumbled into dust. Through the thick shroud of smoke, a familiar silhouette emerged. He wore a long dark coat, his pale skin contrasting sharply with the shadows, and his intense gaze locked directly onto me. It had only been seven days, but Jarvis looked visibly thinner. And terrifyingly cold. The entire hall was dead silent. Nobody dared to breathe. Only the automated system warnings continued to blare. I stood frozen, my chest thumping wildly. Jarvis stared at me as if I were a precious, long-lost treasure. After an agonizing pause, he spoke. “Evelyn. Come home with me.” I took a step backward. Jarvis’s entire body stiffened. The silence deepened. It was the first time I had ever refused to go to him. And it was the first time he had ever seen such unfamiliarity in my eyes. 11 Long after that day, someone dug up the surveillance footage of the encounter and posted it online. In the video, the most terrifying Boss in the game stood in the center of the ruins. And the usually timid NPC raised her head for the first time, asking him a quiet question. “Jarvis, did you come to find me because of a habit?” “Or because of love?” The silence in the hall was so profound you could hear a pin drop. Everyone waited for his answer. But Jarvis remained silent. He stared at me, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper. He looked like a man facing an impossible, unsolvable puzzle. Nobody in the room dared to draw a breath. Jarvis kept his eyes on me, eventually repeating, “Just come back with me.” I shook my head. “No.” His expression darkened. “Why?” I felt a profound exhaustion wash over me. In the past, I would have immediately explained myself. I would have told him why I was sad, why I felt slighted, and why I cried in secret. But now, I didn’t want to explain anymore. Because the pain I felt had been real. The moments of being overlooked had also been real. “Jarvis,” I said softly. “Have you noticed something?” “In these past seven days, you have never once asked me why I left.” He froze. “You only wanted to find me and drag me back. But you never cared about the reason I wanted to go.” Jarvis stared at me, speechless. Looking at him, many memories began to float to the surface. It wasn’t just about the Abyssal Writ. In the past, I had always made excuses for him. He was busy. He wasn’t good at expressing himself. He was the Boss. He had too many responsibilities. So every time I felt hurt, I kept it to myself. But those feelings never truly disappeared. They simply accumulated, day by day, until there was no room left to hold them. “I don’t want to go back.” 12 Jarvis stood frozen, the color draining from his face. The system interface popped up another alert. [Target’s desire to sever connection is rising.] [Estimated time to unbinding: 28 days.] [27 days.] The countdown had begun. Jarvis’s pupils contracted. This was the highest-level binding agreement. Once the countdown ended, I would no longer belong to the Abyssal instance. We would have no connection left whatsoever. He took a sudden step forward. I instinctively took a step back. Three years ago, when I first met him, I loved being near him more than anything. Even when I was shivering with fear, I would cling to his arm and refuse to let go. But now, I was actively dodging him. Jarvis’s face grew increasingly pale. He finally realized that I was truly letting him go. 13 That night, Jarvis did not leave Sector 13. The entire fairground dungeon was placed under maximum security. All the resident NPCs were too terrified to sleep. But after that encounter, Jarvis didn’t try to see me again. Some said he had returned to the Abyss and cancelled the bounty. A few days later, I returned to my dormitory clutching my toy rabbit. The moment I opened the door, I froze. A familiar box was sitting on the floor. I knelt down and opened it. Inside was an old scarf. The stitching was uneven and incredibly crooked. I had knitted it myself two years ago. I had spent an entire month on it, but when I gave it to Jarvis, he had simply said he didn’t care for such things. I had been heartbroken for a very long time. I never expected him to keep it. At the bottom of the box was a slip of paper with a single line written in his sharp, elegant handwriting. [I didn’t dislike it.] I stared at those words for a long time, unable to move. 14 Suddenly, a server-wide announcement blared across the entire system. [Emergency Notice.] [The hidden dungeon of Sector 13 is opening ahead of schedule.] [Hazard Level: Unknown.] [Dungeon Designation: The City of Oblivion.] Hearing the announcement, my face went completely white. Because three years ago, that was exactly where I had come from. Back then, I had no past, no memories, and no identity. My system profile simply read: [NPC 0731.] [Created: Three years ago.] Yet, in the dead of night, a lingering voice in my subconscious always told me that wasn’t the truth. Whenever I dreamed, I would see a city of snow, and someone standing in the raging blizzard, calling my name over and over. Every time I woke up, my chest would ache with an unbearable tightness. I had once asked Jarvis, “Did we know each other before?” He had been reviewing documents at the time. He had paused for a fraction of a second before answering quietly, “No.” And I had believed him. But now, as the City of Oblivion reopened, a profound sense of unease settled deep in my bones. The next day, the entire server was abuzz. An unknown hazard level, a complete system lockdown, and even leaderboard players were blocked from accessing any details. The forums went wild. By noon, the System issued a new exploration quest. [Countdown to the opening of Oblivion: 24 hours.] [Entry Condition: Must possess the Ancient Emblem.] The very next second, my inventory slot flashed with a brilliant red light. An item I had never seen before materialized. [The Ancient Emblem.] [Holder: Evelyn.] I gasped. How was this possible? Before I could process it, my entire system interface began to glitch violently. Screeching alarms echoed in my mind. [Anomaly detected.] [Anomaly detected.] [Archived data discovered.] [Bypassing restrictions…] A flood of memories crashed into my mind. I saw endless snow. I was standing on top of a high tower, with a roaring fire consuming everything behind me. In the distance, a young man covered in blood was stumbling toward me through the storm. His voice was muffled by the wind, but I could still hear his desperate plea. “Evelyn! Don’t jump!” A searing pain split my head. I fell to my knees, cold sweat soaking through my clothes. Static filled my ears. [Memory recovery: 1%.] [2%.] [3%.] At that exact moment, back in the Abyssal Citadel, the cup in Jarvis’s hand shattered into tiny pieces. The skeletal butler nearly fell to his knees in terror. “Master?” Jarvis slowly raised his head, his face incredibly pale. “Her memories are returning.” The air in the room turned to ice. The butler’s face went white. Because the entire Abyss knew. Three years ago, Jarvis had done something. Something that no one dared to mention. And now, that secret was about to unravel.

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